CHAPTER 12THE TWO LADIES
TUCK was pouring his third cup of breakfast coffee when the doorbell rang. Knowing Brigit, he had expected the doorbell to ring, and the gnawing of the expectation had somewhat dimmed his appreciation of Sibelius’s Second Symphony.
He opened his front door onto Brigit, Froody and Mr. Gonzales’s small fat dog, backed by the green hill and its stubby black oil wells. Tuck did not let Mr. Gonzales’s dog in, knowing from experience that his paws would be thick with the oil that Mr. Gonzales’s well pumped up day and night, providing the where-withal for dogs and children and wine.
“Music?” asked Brigit doubtfully, looking over at Tuck’s radio-phonograph.
“Yes.”
“This early in the morning?”
“It’s never too early for music. Never too late . . . How are your mumps, F
