Sons of Fortune

“Bail refused,” said the judge, and brought his hammer down. “This court is adjourned until Monday the seventeenth.”

“All rise.”

Mr. Justice Abernathy winked at Fletcher as he left the courtroom.

Thirty-four minutes and ten seconds. Nat couldn’t hide his delight that he had not only broken his personal best, but had managed sixth place in the university trials, and was therefore certain to be picked for the opening meet against Boston University.

As Nat cooled down, and went through his usual stretching routine, Tom walked over to join him. “Congratulations,” he said, “and my bet is that by the end of the season, you’ll have knocked another minute off your time.”

Nat stared at the sour red scar on the back of his leg as he pulled on his sweat-pants. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight,” continued Tom, “and celebrate, because there’s something I need to discuss with you before I go back to Yale.”

“Can’t manage tonight,” said Nat as they began to stroll across to the locker rooms. “I’ve got a date.”

“Anyone I know?”

“No,” said Nat, “but as it’s my first for months, I have to admit I’m quite nervous.”

“Captain Cartwright nervous? Whatever next?” mocked Tom.

“That’s the problem,” admitted Nat. “She thinks I’m a cross between Don Juan and Al Capone.”

“She sounds like a good judge of character,” said Tom. “So tell me all about her.”

“There’s not that much to tell. We ran into each other on the top of a hill. She’s bright, ferocious, quite beautiful, and thinks I’m a bastard.” Nat then recounted their conversation outside the dining hall.

“Ralph Elliot obviously got his version in first,” said Tom.

“To hell with Elliot. Do you think I should wear a jacket and tie?”

“You haven’t asked for that sort of advice since we were at Taft.”

“And in those days I needed to borrow your jacket and your tie, so what do you think?”

“Full dress uniform with medals.”

“Be serious.”

“Well, it would certainly confirm her opinion of you.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to disabuse her of.”

“Well then, try looking at it from her point of view.”

“I’m listening.”

“What do you think she’ll wear?”

“I have no idea, I’ve only seen her twice in my life, and on one of those occasions she was in her running shorts covered in mud.”

“God, that must have been sexy, but I don’t suppose she’ll turn up in a tracksuit, so what about the other occasion?”

“Smart and understated.”

“Then follow her lead, which won’t be easy, because there’s nothing smart about you, and from what you say, she doesn’t believe that you’re capable of being understated.”

“Answer the question,” Nat said.

“I’d go for casual,” said Tom. “Shirt, not T-shirt, slacks and a sweater. I could, of course, as your advisor on sartorial elegance, join you both for dinner.”