with you, Fuzzy Head! I love you most—but Pops is all right, too, I guess!" Mom wasn't so bad either, he conceded after a moment of calm thought. The calmness had come slowly, brightening all about him like sunlight after rain. Johnny felt happy and relieved. Also, he was as sleepy as a bewhiskered tomcat that had overstayed its leave on the back fence. Johnny's father opened the door of Johnny's room and stared in at his son. Johnny was sleeping with one small arm thrown across Fuzzy Head and a peaceful look on his face. There was a curious wetness on Johnny's eyelashes, as though he'd just returned from a walk in the garden, through the dewy darkness, with moist clover and elfin cobwebs under his feet. Had Johnny been crying? Stephen smiled tenderly and a little incredulously. Then, slowly, his lips tightened and he shook his head. It had to be done! He wasn't going to have Johnny grow up with a doll complex. It had gone on too long already. Cautiously Stephen bent and disentangled the doll from his son's embrace. His hands shook a little. He hoped that Johnny wouldn't wake up. But even if Johnny awoke and sat up straight, his eyes bright and accusing in the pulsing gloom, Fuzzy Head's fate would remain grimly sealed. Fuzzy Head was about to go on a trip through the dark, silent house. Along the hall and downstairs into the cellar, helpless in the clutches of a very determined father. Johnny did not even stir in his sleep. There was nothing but pitch blackness in the hall outside Johnny's room. Stephen hurried along the hall, and down two flights of stairs with Fuzzy Head securely cradled in the crook of his right arm. "This is the pay-off, little man!" he whispered fiercely. The instant Stephen reached the cellar he shifted Fuzzy Head to his left arm, holding him upside down. He had to have his right arm free to get the furnace door open. The furnace was raging brightly on a strong updraft—Stephen had seen to that well in advance. Through the grated door a red inferno was visible.
Prev.
Back
Top