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In the guest room, where John Wolf wanted to fall asleep, he found Duncan Garp still wide-awake.
"Excited by the trip, Duncan?" Wolf asked the boy.
"My father's been to Europe before," Duncan said. "But I haven't."
"I know," John Wolf said.
"Is my father going to make a lot of money?" Duncan asked.
"I hope so," John Wolf said.
"We don't really need it, because my grandmother has so much," Duncan said.
"But it's nice to have your own," John Wolf said.
"Why?" Duncan asked.
"Well, it's nice to be famous," John Wolf said.
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bsp; "Do you think my father's going to be famous?" Duncan asked.
"I think so," John Wolf said.
"My grandmother's already famous," Duncan said.
"I know," John Wolf said.
"I don't think she likes it," Duncan said.
"Why?" John Wolf asked.
"Too many strangers around," Duncan said. "That's what Nana says; I've heard her. 'Too many strangers in the house.'"
"Well, your dad probably won't be famous in quite the same way that your grandmother is," John Wolf said.
"How many different ways are there to be famous?" Duncan asked.
John Wolf expelled a long, restrained breath. Then he began to tell Duncan Garp about the differences between very popular books and just successful ones. He talked about political books, and controversial books, and works of fiction. He told Duncan the finer points of book publishing; in fact, he gave Duncan the benefit of more of his personal opinions about publishing than he had ever given Garp. Garp wasn't really interested. Duncan wasn't, either. Duncan would not remember one of the finer points; he fell asleep rather quickly after John Wolf started explaining.
It was simply John Wolf's tone of voice that Duncan loved. The long story, the slow explanation. It was the voice of Roberta Muldoon--of Jenny Fields, of his mother, of Garp--telling him stories at night in the house at Dog's Head Harbor, putting him to sleep so soundly that he wouldn't have any nightmares. Duncan had gotten used to that tone of voice, and he had been unable to fall asleep in New York without it.
* * *
--
In the morning, Garp and Helen were amused by John Wolf's closet. There was a pretty nightgown belonging, no doubt, to one of John Wolf's recent, sleek women--someone who had not been asked to spend last night. There were about thirty dark suits, all with pinstripes, all quite elegant, and all failing to fit Garp by about three extra inches in the pantlegs. Garp wore one he liked to breakfast, with the pants rolled up.
"Jesus, you have a lot of suits," he said to John Wolf.
"Take one," John Wolf said. "Take two or three. Take the one you're wearing."
"It's too long," Garp said, holding up a foot.
"Have it shortened," John Wolf said.
"You don't have any suits," Helen told Garp.
