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Show City Motel 12g small boy who must belong to the family that Mrs. Jackson had heard congratulating themselves on their savings and t h r i f t , but the motel manager standing against a pink-painted metal t r e l l i s with her arms folded and a smile on her face. "Good morning," said Mrs. Jackson, admitting that she'd been seen. "Beautiful day, i s n ' t it?" the manager said. The rest of the Roberts family came t r a i l i ng out of Room 3-three other children and Thelma Roberts whose eyes sparkled. Al Roberts was close on her heels carrying a brown Samsonite traveler covered with stickers from Yellowstone, the Black H i l l s , Carlsbad Caverns and Niagara Falls, and tied shut with a nylon rope. "Best sleep I've had in years," Al Roberts said to the manager. "Why I feel like a baby just been nuzzlin' gainst my mammy's bosom." "People who pay in advance always make comments like that," the manager said, looking out of the corner of her eye at the Jacksons. " I feel downright cleansed," said Thelma Roberts who had spent half an hour squatted in the closet, laughing at everything that crossed her mind, like pennies saved being pennies earned, like her husband's vanity about the gap between his front teeth, like her own quarrel with fate. Harold Jackson set the bag down on the welcome mat to watch the Roberts family pack their Volkswagen van and his wife pretending to be interested in the children. "You really should be proud of such well-behaved youngsters," Eva was saying to Mrs. Roberts. |