Krenek knew from reports assembled when the senator and his wife applied for admission to the Palms that Raborn had been famous in the Senate for using his seniority and personal power to bring ever-larger infusions of federal money into his state. One cynic pointed out that if his state got any more government installations it would sink, and Raborn himself had once observed that 'people in the big cities can laugh at us rubes out in the sticks, but their taxes go to support our operations.' So Krenek knew the odds were that Raborn would get his workshop.

Ken first called Miss Foxworth to see if there was any budget provision for such a room and she could recall none. He then discussed the problem with Andy, who capitulated to the inevitable: 'You say we printed it in one of our early brochures? We did? Then, I guess we have to see to it that it's done. A wood lathe can't cost a fortune. Get one.'

When Krenek asked where they were going to find a room, Andy reminded him that there were still vacant one-room apartments on the first floor of Gateways. Krenek went back to Miss Foxworth to determine where they could tuck in a workshop, and she pointed out that they'd had trouble disposing of one of the ground-floor rooms that opened directly onto a parking lot, and the decision was made to use it.

The Palms was generous in providing not only the lathe but also the hand tools that would normally go with it, and the four tertulia members were equally helpful in donating their own equipment to the common effort, so that soon the new work-room was humming night after night behind a door that was never opened to the other residents. Rumors circulated about what might be going on inside, but not even the two wives, Marcia Raborn and Felicita Jimenez, knew what their husbands were doing there. What was obvious was that it involved wood, lots of high-powered epoxy glue, and bits of canvas, but this information did not explain the mystery.

Then one day Felicita Jimenez, in opening her husband's mail as she was accustomed to do, found a well-illustrated catalog for 'men who were building their own airplanes.' It offered a wide variety of items for the enthusiastic amateur to purchase, with diagrams of how the components would be fitted together. 'My God!' she cried in disbelief. 'Are those idiots trying to build an airplane?' Aghast, she ran downstairs to consult with Mrs. Raborn, and when the senator's wife saw the catalog, she and Felicita marched to Raborn and demanded that they be allowed to see what was happening in the new work-room. Reluctantly he agreed and opened the sawdust-covered room. The sight that confronted them struck the women with terror.

The four men were indeed building an airplane. Starting with a kit that provided much of the intricate innards, they were adding the canvas, the struts, the fuselage. Even more appalling to the two women, who knew something about the difficulty of putting together even the parts of a dress, was that the men were actually trying to build the wooden propeller. Since it was to be a single-engine plane, the efficiency and durability of the propeller was crucial, yet there they were, cutting the pieces of some exotic wood, which, when laminated and shaped, would be the element that would keep the plane aloft, assuming it ever left the ground in the first place.

When word flashed through the Palms that the resident geniuses were building a plane that they intended to fly, discussion centered first on the expertise of the four participants: 'Ambassador St. Pres told me that while serving in one of the new African republics he learned to fly the embassy's one-engine plane, in case he might have to evacuate in a hurry,' and someone else noted that President Armitage had been good at science and had once taught a seminar on the properties of various metals and woods. Ral Jimenez was skilled at amateur woodworking, having built various small items to enhance their apartment, and Senator Raborn was knowledgeable about gasoline-powered engines, having taken apart and reassembled automobile power trains since he was a boy of eleven.

It was agreed that the four men had the ability to bring together the various parts of a small airplane, but it was obvious that they could not build an engine that would fly it, nor were they having much success in constructing the propeller. 'The engine's no problem,' St. Pres assured those who asked. 'The Lycoming people in Pennsylvania have been building great engines for half a century. They've said they'd sell us one and send instructions on how to install it. Raborn says he'll know how to attach the controls and see that it's properly fitted to the propeller.' The men spoke with such confidence that even those who had at first doubted their engineering skills finally had to concede that it might be done.

Their optimism was strengthened when the original four took in a fifth partner, Maxim Lewandowski, eighty-six years old but a first-class scientist with proficiency in varied fields; he would assume responsibility for fashioning the propeller, determining the various angles and taking charge of the laminating that would bind different woods into an indestructible bond. To watch him hard at work with the lathe, the pot of epoxy and his shaping tools was to see an old man reborn and revitalized. He became the intellectual core of the operation, just as St. Pres with his firm insistence that the job could be done and that their energies would produce a plane that could fly, had provided the moral force.

When residents asked: 'Who will fly it if you do get it finished?' St. Pres said with icy confidence: 'Any one of the four of us could do it. After all, it's like driving an automobile in the air.'

'Yes, but who will take it up the first time?' and he said: 'I will. I flew in Africa. It's nothing, really, if you have a stout plane and a reliable engine.'

As the venture slowly progressed with various components nearing completion, it enthralled the residents, who were allowed to look into the workshop at announced intervals. Their repeated question, 'How are you going to get this huge thing out of this little room?' was easily answered: 'We take out that window and drag it out with a small lawnmower motor-and our muscle power.'

'Yes, but what do you do about those big wings standing in the corner?'

'We attach them when we get outside.'

'But we don't see any motor.'

'In an airplane it's an engine. That's due to arrive in several months. We fit it in, turn it over, check to see we have enough gasoline and oil, and fly away.'

'Where will that take place?' they asked and the men showed where, in a relatively flat place in the savanna, they had employed a man with a power mower to clean a narrow strip that could be used for takeoffs and landings. Seeing this field, the residents were satisfied that their five wizards really did intend to fly their contraption. A thrill of pride spread throughout the Palms; their men, all of them past seventy and one nearing ninety, were going to build and fly an airplane! It gave everyone a boost in morale, especially those in Assisted Living who had generally felt that their hospitalization was probably the beginning of the end. 'Hell,' one man recovering from a hip operation grumbled, 'they're all of them older than me. If they can do a crazy thing like that, what might I do at only sixty-two?'

But the effect on the third floor, Extended Care, was even stronger. The sensible people who knew they were close to death went to their windows to watch the mower clearing the space in the savanna and applauded: 'I hope they make it! More power to them!' and the elderly team with their flying machine became the symbol of the entire Palms complex, an affirmation of the life force. People immured on floor three prayed that the airplane would soon be finished so that they could see it fly, triumphant in the heavens, before they died.

Eleven years earlier, when the Taggart Organization in Chicago had appointed Ken Krenek to be the number two man at the Palms, it had not been their intention that he should also serve as the person responsible for the social entertainment of the guests in Gateways. But he showed such a remarkable talent for keeping people active and happy, that without ever having been assigned to the task, he found himself making the decisions. 'I had a vision of elderly people wasting their hours here in boredom and decline,' he explained to Mr. Taggart, 'and I thought that a shame. A waste of human capacity. These people still had years of fine living ahead of them, they could make real contributions. And best of all, it would cost us only pennies to help them.'

When Taggart asked how this would strengthen the Palms, Krenek said: 'They'll enjoy themselves, feel younger, remain active, and when prospective clients come for exploratory visits our residents will become our salesmen. They'll say: "We have a great time here. Something happens every day." And the visitors will see retirement as much different from what they had been fearing. You watch! We'll sign up the undecideds.'

So, given a free rein, Krenek had developed a schedule that would have been appropriate for a summer camp for fifteen-year-olds. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays the private bus belonging to the Palms started at nine in the morning for a tour of four big shopping centers in different parts of Tampa. Residents who got off at the first stop at nine-fifteen were allowed two hours of shopping and exploring: at eleven-fifteen sharp the bus came back to pick them up along with their sometimes bulky packages. At nine-thirty, with pickup at eleven-thirty, the shoppers were dropped off at the second mall, and so on through the third and fourth stops.

Tuesdays the bus was reserved for a rich variety of field trips, to places like zoos, flower gardens, nature trails, lakes and the starting points for one- or two- or three-mile hikes through interesting countryside, with the bus waiting when the hike ended.

Thursdays were reserved for trips to cultural activities, and here Krenek displayed his extraordinary inventiveness, for he had searched out little theater groups, musical ensembles, university courses in the arts and the various art museums in Tampa, nearby St. Petersburg and Sarasota. Besides the Dali Museum and the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey circus history museum, one of the most appreciated excursions was the one to a series of bookstores in the region. At every such visit the Palms awarded one free copy of a desirable book-a popular novel, a book on Florida birds or a splendid selection of historic maps in color-to a member of the tour selected by lot.

On Saturdays there was a special tour. At eight in the morning the bus left to take the residents who had made reservations to a well-regarded restaurant that served a bountiful breakfast at nine-thirty for a flat fee of $7.50 and was worth, many said afterward, 'at least fifteen bucks in New York or Chicago.' Sometimes Krenek would hire a local guitarist or a duo to provide music to accompany the meal, in which case the party might last as long as a couple of hours. Rarely was anyone disappointed in these breakfast forays; one stout fellow in his seventies announced loudly: 'All my life I heard about southern grits. I thought they were a Dixie version of oatmeal, God forbid. But that custard of grits, cheese and bacon bits-angels must have been sent down to bake that dish.'

On Sundays the bus started at seven with trips to Catholic churches for early Mass, and was kept busy till two in the afternoon hauling residents to various churches and bringing them back home for the gala Sunday-noon dinner, at which women were supposed to put aside their weekday trousers and shorts and appear in a dress, while their husbands were expected to wear a jacket and tie. A normal week at the Palms could not be boring unless one insisted on making it so because, in addition to the daily tours, Mr. Krenek also provided at the east and west ends of each floor in Gateways quiet nooks for bridge games, plus a pool table in the recreation room, a library with thousands of books that had been left behind by departing guests, and two top-rated motion pictures on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Quite often, on Sunday evening when no meals were served in the dining room, musical groups from nearby colleges performed or devotional services were conducted by local clergymen, perhaps with their church choirs.

One resident summed it up accurately: 'It's the mirror image of childhood. In those days people served as older teachers, showing us how to learn and amuse ourselves. Today young people instruct us oldsters how we can educate and entertain ourselves. Either way, it's a good system.'

Andy was so appreciative of the contribution that Krenek made with his program that he asked him: 'How did you ever become a professional in a field like entertainment? You don't seem the type, and nothing in your record would indicate it.'

Krenek gave an involved explanation: 'My parents hadn't much money, but they loved to take cultural expeditions and vacations that meant something. They were masters of the free museum, the inexpensive weekend. They happened to patronize a Jewish bakery operated by a wonderful fellow named Levy, and he told Pop: "The places that give you the most for your money are the big Jewish resort hotels in the Catskills. Grossinger's, the Concord, and a tremendous value, the Beersheba. You catch a bus, it takes you right into the mountains Friday afternoon and brings you back early Monday morning. Best vacation dollar in America."

'So the Kreneks became Jews, said we were from Lithuania, and we began frequenting Grossinger's and the Concord. But my father was always looking for the bottom dollar, and we wound up at the Beersheba, smaller, friendlier and with a much better pastry cook. I was very happy at the Beersheba until my father saw that I was falling in love with a Jewish girl. We stopped being Jewish and became standard Germans again. No more delicious pastry.

'But there was a young man at the Beersheba who made a lasting impression on me, Izzy Korngold, everybody called him Izzy Korn. He was a tummler.'

'A what?'

'Tummler, spelled with a u but pronounced toomler, and he was one of the best, definitely on his way to the top of his class. Under a different name he became a standard Borscht Belt comedian, and a good one.'

'What were his talents?'

'His job was to keep the guests tummled, entertained but in a very active way. Games, crazy dances, singing. He was a master at Simon Sez, in which he'd have everybody up and down and wagging their ears, and hopping on one leg. I was crazy about him, he seemed to make everybody happy, and I began to follow him around, asking how he did his tricks, what his secrets were, and he was very patient. He told me: "The secret, Kenny, is that people are lonely. They want friends. They want to talk with their neighbors, and laugh and cut up. But by themselves they simply cannot do it. Believe me, Kenny, you could have the Louvre Museum, that's in Paris, right over here and they'd never go see it unless I led them, and joked with them, and told them how much fun it's going to be, something they'll never forget."

'I remembered what he told me, and in college I helped the non-fraternity kids discover things to do and how to make friends. It came naturally to me, and when I came here it was simple to pick up where I'd left off with Izzy Korn. A Jewish widow in Gateways, she's dead now, bless her, told me one day: "Mr. Krenek, you must be Jewish. You're a perfect tummler," and when I told her I'd learned how at the Beersheba, she embraced me, wouldn't let me go. "The Beersheba!" she cried, "Herman and I went there for years, but we never met this Izzy Korn," and I told her: "He came later. He was very young when I met him but already very good." And that's how I learned to help people have a good time-and a good life.'

Three times each year two buses were required for what had become not only a tradition but also one of the most unusual and instructive tours on the west coast of Florida. On these days Judge Lincoln Noble conducted a tour to a remarkable place, unlike anything the residents had ever known, which he had discovered some miles south of Tampa. Krenek was eager for Andy to see this miracle, so when the next tour came round in April they were both seated in the front bus beside the judge and listened attentively when Noble spoke to him about the origin of the miracle they were going to see: A paraplegic veteran from Vietnam named Tom Scott had come home in a wheelchair, and to give him something constructive to do his uncles bought him a little plot of land right on the Gulf of Mexico, about as big as a tennis court, no more, but with a sandy beach that extended north and south to touch and included the beaches in front of two expensive condominiums.

'There this enterprising young man with his wife-she'd been his nurse in Vietnam-achieved an amazing feat: they lured to their beach a collection of hungry pelicans, among which were several that had been crippled by being hit by motorboats or entangled in fishing lines, especially the invisible filaments that never rot or disintegrate. Such birds are doomed unless some human being untangles them, and even then many remain crippled.

'The young man, Tom Scott, prevailed upon his uncles to build him, inland from the beach and crammed into a tight space, a sanctuary for birds, pelicans principally, and there in wire cages the birds prospered. As the cripples recovered, but not enough to resume flight in the wild, they began to live their natural lives, building nests, having babies and showing inquisitive visitors how pelicans live. You're going to have a marvelous peek into nature's secrets today.'

'How did you find the place?' a woman asked and the judge explained: 'As you've probably seen, I've pretty well tamed a big pelican at the Palms. One morning he brought with him a bird that was hopelessly tangled in fisherman's filament, bound to die unless someone unwound him. I couldn't tempt the doomed one to come ashore, but a workman who saw my futile attempts ran up and told me: "There's a man south of here who takes care of birds like that." The telephone operator was able to locate him, and up he came in his special Ford pickup truck-he's a paraplegic but his car has special controls-and he and his helper were able to lure our cripple and take him back to the refuge. When I drove south to visit my bird I discovered this miraculous place, and we've been going back ever since.'

'What is the miracle?' the woman asked, and he said: 'There're at least a dozen of them, but there's one, I am sure, will blow your mind, as my grandson says.'

Andy asked: 'What is this supermiracle?' and Noble laughed: 'No, you've got to wait, too,' and the two buses continued their way south to a spot right in the midst of a cluster of typical Florida condominiums. Andy, looking at the place, told Noble: 'You wouldn't expect nature to have a foothold here,' and the judge agreed: 'That's what I thought when I first saw it.'

When the buses had disgorged some sixty people, the judge led them to an inconspicuous passageway between tall buildings that opened onto a wonderland. In a space not much larger than a tennis court, Tom Scott and his wife had utilized every square inch to provide pens for various kinds of wounded birds, a rather big central cage filled with pelicans, an office building, benches for visitors, and a walkway down to the beach with the Gulf of Mexico smiling beyond. Rarely had land been so constructively and ingeniously used.

Scott, in his motorized wheelchair, was the most energetic person in the crowd, darting everywhere and delivering a lecture about his establishment: 'These are the older birds who have mated and reared their young. The parents will stay here for the rest of their lives, no way they could survive out there,' and he pointed to the gulf. 'But their chicks, like those noisy ones over there, we'll be setting them free before long. They can fend for themselves.' And everywhere he moved, everything he explained, focused on the pelican, that amazing big bird with the stubby body and the extraordinary head and beak: 'He was summed up perfectly by an American poet in a famous verse, which I'll recite. Ten dollars to anyone who can name the author: "A wonderful bird is the pelican,

His bill will hold more than his belican.

He can take in his beak

Enough for a week,

But I'm damned if I see how the helican." '

When no one could identify the poet, Scott said triumphantly: 'Dixon Lanier Merritt, and no one has ever been able to tell me who he was. If you can find out, write to me.'

When his visitors had studied the ungainly birds close up, he invited them to join him in a crowded office containing a big white cotton screen on which he showed a film clip of pelicans diving into the water to catch fish. 'The cormorant is known as the world's premier fisherman among birds,' Scott said as the lights were lowered, 'but bird for bird, the pelican catches far more fish. Let's watch how he does it. First, at normal speed. See, he comes in just as you and I would if we had wings. Belly parallel to the water, head pointed down so that the eyes can patrol the waters below, then a bend forward into a diving posture, and with all parts of the body under control, a headfirst dive into the water.' He ran the film again showing an apparently routine dive: 'But wait! Did you catch what looked like a blur right at the end? Let's take another look at that,' and with the film running in very slow motion Andy and the others witnessed a maneuver they could not believe. About two feet off the water, at the end of a powerful flight and with his prodigious beak about to smash into the waves to spear the target fish, the pelican turned over on his back so that he could dive down into the water upside down.

'Yes,' Scott said as he showed the slow motion three more times, 'this amazing bird, big and clumsy on land, can flip completely over at the most powerful point of his flight and hit the water upside down.'

'Why does he do it?'

'We've speculated and found no explanation. I believe it's so that his eyes, in this critical final second when seeing beneath the water is all-important, can have an unobstructed view. But you've seen for yourselves. He really does turn upside down at eighty miles an hour.'

'Has that speed been checked? By radar gun?'

'I'm just guessing. It looks like eighty, could be forty. But for a bird that size it's awesome.'

The woman who had asked questions on the bus directed the next query not to Scott but to Judge Noble: 'Is this the miracle you told us about?' and he answered: 'No, it's much bigger.' Scott called to his wife: 'Gloria, let's move the feeding up a bit so we can take our visitors out now.' When his wife appeared with a huge canvas shopping bag over her left shoulder, Scott himself led the way down a boardwalk that had been specially constructed for his mechanical chair, and the group went down to the white-sand beach.

When they arrived there, they saw two or three birds pecking at invisible goodies, but within fifteen seconds of the arrival of the big shopping bag, visible to birds for miles, the pelicans began to stream in, scores of healthy creatures flapping their big wings and landing in a cloud of sand close to the intruders. Before the first morsel of fish could be thrown out by Mrs. Scott, more than a hundred noisy pelicans had arrived, darkening the white sands and attracting observers in the surrounding condominiums.

When Mrs. Scott started throwing out bits of fish, two male helpers from the sanctuary did the same from less conspicuous containers, and soon the beach in front of the sanctuary was covered with birds while the sands in front of the condominiums were also well populated. Scott said: 'Experts have tried to count a flock like this. They come up with something like a hundred and fifty pelicans, two hundred gulls.'

Suddenly he cried to the two helpers: 'Over there! The one with the broken wing.' The men threw down their feeding bags and dashed into the midst of the birds, focusing on a crippled bird who could not escape capture. Bringing him back to the spectators, they showed how some accident had broken the pelican's left wing so badly that flight was impossible. 'He's one for the pens,' Scott said. 'The vets may be able to mend that one, but I doubt it.'

One of the Palms people, an elderly woman named Mrs. Goldbaum, asked in a whisper: 'Mr. Scott, this is truly a wonder. Would I be allowed to move out among the birds? I might never again have a chance like this.' He motioned to his wife: 'Gloria, please take her out,' and the two women, one so young and fresh, the other so old and wasted, moved slowly out into the middle of the pelicans. The birds edged away, of course, but not to any great distance, and when Mrs. Scott signaled for one of the helpers to fetch a stool, old Mrs. Goldbaum sat in the middle of a hundred pelicans, luring the birds to her with a few bits of fish until the bolder ones were eating from her fingertips.

For fifteen minutes or more she remained on her stool, conversing with her pelicans. When she finally signaled that she was ready to leave, the birds followed her back to the others.

On the ride home she sat next to Dr. Zorn and said: 'One day like this is worth all the years we struggle to reach it, all the medicines, the operations, the nights without hope. Such a day, a hundred big birds coming to visit with you and eating from your fingers without biting you. I'm so glad you arranged this.'

That night, at about three in the morning, the signal bell at the watchman's desk in Reception was activated, meaning that some resident was in trouble. Checking the source, the watchman found that it was Mrs. Goldbaum, who lived alone in a spacious apartment on the third floor. Her door had been left unlocked, and when he rushed in he saw Mrs. Goldbaum, dressed in her sleeping gown, lying dead on the floor. It looked as if she had suspected the approach of death and, after signaling for help, had unlatched the door so it would not have to be broken down to find her.

When Andy was summoned he found Scotch-taped to the inside of the door a check for ten thousand dollars made out to the Pelican Sanctuary and signed in a wavering hand 'Rita Goldbaum.'

It was a paradox. One of the major reasons why couples moved into the Palms was to escape the tyranny of their adult children and the noisiness of their grandchildren. But the warmest and most rewarding days of the month came when some family with numerous grandchildren appeared for an informal reunion, and the chatter and laughter of children could again be heard. Then a sense of life throbbed through the place and the older people were reminded of what the grand march of life was: this endless cycle of the old growing older and their orderly replacement by the young. Such days gave the residents special joy.

Ral Jimenez said: 'The sound of children laughing is the echo of civilization,' but his wife, Felicita, added: 'And the wonderful part is that after dinner they go home.'

One couple had three charming granddaughters under the age of ten, and when they appeared with their two mothers, who looked like cover girls in their thirties, they were a quintet of beauties, with their lovely complexions and graceful manners. The residents enjoyed it when they visited, and some of the other grandmothers liked to stop by their table at dinner and compliment the little girls. 'We wish you could be with us always,' some of the women said, but the girls' mothers, knowing what hellions their girls could be at home, replied: 'We're not sure you'd like it on a daily basis,' and the girls' grandmother, though she doted on them, had to agree.

Less pleasant was the visit of a man in his late forties. Lester Chubb was not married, at least not now, had no children of his own, and it was difficult to determine what he worked at, if he had a job at all. He came from Iowa to visit his widowed mother, and each appearance was something of a trial to both mother and son. It was believed by those who watched him that he visited only to keep in the good graces of his mother, who controlled the purse strings of the family. When Chubb was asked what he did, a question put to almost everyone at the Palms, he said that he looked after his mother's interests, but she had already made it clear to friends that she had no financial interests in Iowa, that they were in the hands of a bank her husband had used in Chicago.

When, during one visit, Lester suggested rather strongly that his mother shift her account to an Iowa bank, she consulted with Senator Raborn, whom she regarded as a trustworthy conservative: 'One of my fears is that Lester-a fine boy, I'm proud of him-has never been good at handling his own accounts. Why would he do better with mine?'

When Raborn looked into the situation and asked a gentleman on the Senate banking committee to check into the two banks involved, his friend told him: 'On a scale of one hundred, Chicago is about ninety-two, Iowa down around thirty-one,' and he advised Mrs. Chubb to keep her money where it was. But after that rebuff, Lester did not come to visit anymore. His mother, fearing that her refusal had offended him, tried to appease him but he continued to sulk in Iowa and stayed away for an entire year.

It was a different story when the four Lewandowski children and their spouses and children descended on the Palms. The two sons and their wives and the two daughters with their husbands, all in middle age, presented a portrait of America at its best. One son was a full professor at Caltech; his brother, CEO of a major industrial company. One of the daughters was a professor at Wisconsin; the other, vice president of a computer firm. The spouses also had equally impressive careers, and all eight served on the boards of various educational, cultural and community political organizations. The four couples had nine children among them, making a total of nineteen family members when all the Lewandowskis gathered for a reunion with Maxim and Hilga. No one at the Palms was surprised that the children's behavior was exemplary.

There were other families whose children and grandchildren were pleasant to have around and whose presence enhanced the Palms in various ways, especially the Grigsby children, three of whom played musical instruments and gave informal concerts when they visited.

All in all, children and grandchildren, whether exceptional or not, were equally appreciated, even if they did remind residents of their own mortality. 'Well be gone,' Felicita Jimenez said one evening after her family of six had departed, 'but the Palms will still be here, and other grandchildren will be visiting. It's quite reassuring, when you think of it.'

When a daughter of one couple at the Palms was killed along with her husband in a helicopter crash, their three teenage children were taken in by their grandparents for temporary shelter. They were so endearing that several residents asked Mr. Krenek: 'Why can't they remain here during the rest of the school year?' but he wisely said: 'We're not geared for that kind of occupancy, not even for the Garbers.'

The visiting of young people was therapeutic for the older residents, for it prevented them from focusing entirely on themselves, but not all the visits were salutary. During the spring the children of the dancing Mallorys visited the Palms twice, the son and his wife, the daughter and her husband, accompanied by their children in their twenties and thirties. Their visits were curious, for when they were at the table with the elder Mallorys they ate in almost total silence or conversed only in grunts, but when they were with other residents and their parents were not present, they asked probing questions about the elder Mallorys. Enough comments were made about this odd behavior that Ken Krenek went to Dr. Zorn with his fears: 'Andy, I've watched that Mallory brood and what I see I do not like.'

'What are they up to?'

'I'm not sure. I'm judging only from the fact that they're an ugly gang, those children, and they do not wish the old folks well.'

'Ken, we don't deal in vague suspicions around here. Anything specific?'

'I work on the averages. They resemble some others I've watched. Believe me, they mean our Mallorys no good. Keep an eye on them.'

Thus alerted, Zorn did watch the Mallory brood and the more he saw of them on that first visit, the more he distrusted them. On their second visit they continued ignoring their parents while visiting various businesses in Tampa. What business dealings the group was involved with, Zorn could not ascertain, but when they left Florida, Andy went to Krenek: 'Ken, I'm satisfied you guessed right on those creeps. But the mystery remains. How could two people as delightful as the Mallorys produce children and grandchildren who seem to be such perfect boors?'

'They're worse than boors, Andy. That crowd is evil. You can see it in their eyes. You and I ought to warn the Mallorys. They'll defend them, of course, but we might get some clues.'

Zorn did not relish prying into residents' affairs, but Krenek was so disturbed that against his better judgment he allowed the interview to occur. It took place on the veranda overlooking the pool, and at first Mr. Mallory acted as if he did not know what the administrators were hinting at. All he would admit was that the children did not like the Palms and felt that their parents were being cheated financially, but from time to time Mrs. Mallory did indicate that she could understand why Krenek was asking these discomfiting questions.

'The children have never been close to their father,' she said at one point, much to her husband's irritation. 'They seem to resent him, and they certainly don't like me at all. It's as if they think I come between them and their father. Under the circumstances I certainly do.'

'Esther! They're your children, too.'

'Yes, and I'm not proud of them. They have none of our joy of life. They grew up to be, God alone knows how, mean-spirited people, and I'd be content if they stopped visiting us. They bring no joy.'

Mr. Mallory stared at his wife, unable to belive that she had spoken so frankly to strangers, but when he started to rebuke her, she said: 'I think of Dr. Andy and Mr. Krenek as my children much more than I do those others. You're the ones, you two, who give me comfort and consolation these days, and it grieves me to say so.'

When the conversation ended, with the administrators having learned nothing substantial about the Mallory children, Krenek accompanied Zorn back to the latter's office: 'Andy, what she said there at the end-you and I are her children-she looks to us for support-I've seen this happen before. We're here. We're available. We can make things easier for them if they run into trouble. It's a dangerous development, so please, don't either of us do anything to increase that kind of identification with us. The children could develop a real complaint against us and move their parents out, even charge us with exerting undue pressure.'

'That sounds improbable.'

'Damn it all, we had two cases with the former administrator. Heart as big as a pumpkin, he listened to every complaint and did side with the old folks against their children. When they died-the old folks, that is-the kids found their parents had left him something in their will, and they went to court and had it upset. A messy affair, but it did look as if he'd exercised undue influence at the end.'

'You're a very suspicious guy, Krenek.'

'No. It's just that I have a very sensitive nose for garbage.'