Pay Attention, Carter Jones: Chapters 1–4

“I have procured the milk,” he said.

“Certainly not—and mockery is the lowest form of discourse.”

“Certainly not—and mockery is the lowest form of discourse.”

“The package is for Miss Charlotte,” he said. “Tell her we are most fortunate that American delicatessens are, though parsimonious in their selection of food items that have seen the light of the sun, at least eclectic.”

“The package is for Miss Charlotte,” he said. “Tell her we are most fortunate that American delicatessens are, though parsimonious in their selection of food items that have seen the light of the sun, at least eclectic.”

“She won’t know what eclectic means.”
“Copious.”
“That either.”

“Your father-in-law’s passing is only part of my message, madam. I am to inform you as well that Mr. Seymour Jones has left a most generous endowment to support my continuing service to his family.”

“It seems reasonable to consider that a family with four young children and a father currently deployed in Germany might well stand in need of some aid suited to my occupation.”

“I can assure you, madam, my service in this capacity is exemplary, and I would gladly furnish names and addresses for reference, should you desire them.”

“Wait,” I said. “You mean my grandfather, like, left you to us in his will?”
“Crudely articulated, but true in the most generous sense.”

“Wait,” I said. “You mean my grandfather, like, left you to us in his will?”
“Crudely articulated, but true in the most generous sense.”

“Young Master Jones, indentured servanthood having been abolished even in your country, no. You do not, like, own me.”

“Young Master Jones, indentured servanthood having been abolished even in your country, no. You do not, like, own me.”

The Butler started to wipe it up—I didn’t need to be all over him while he was doing that—and when my mother came down and saw him under the kitchen table, she said he didn’t come across the Atlantic to clean up after a dog, and he said, “Madam, the parameters of my duties are wide-ranging”—so my mother let him take care of Ned’s throw-up and then we all went outside, sort of crowded together under the satellite-disk umbrella, which I was still holding.

“So you did remember. Most gratifying. Young Master Jones, what you mean to say to your mother is ‘And how was your day?”’

“Because your mother has had a very long one, punctuated with unfortunate mechanical news of all stripes—if you'll pardon my interruption of your interruption.”

“The mechanic’s colloquial description of the situation was this: ‘Lady, you can stick a fork in this one and call it done.’”

“On the occasion of emergency. Had I been hired as your scullery maid—apparently with regularity. But I am not your scullery maid.” He handed me a roll of paper towels and a plastic bag.

“I usually don’t take Ned for walks right after school,” I said. “I sort of like to crash.”
“A habit confirmed by Ned’s protruding belly. Isn’t it fortunate that habits may be changed with discipline?”

“I’m not taking piano lessons anymore,” she said.
“A loss that you and I shall amend.”

“This isn’t fair,” I said.
“An irrelevancy,” said the Butler.

“A claim you share with Vikings, Huns, assorted barbarian hordes, and marauders of all stripes. I have taken the liberty of adding more sugar than one might normally expect.”

“A claim you share with Vikings, Huns, assorted barbarian hordes, and marauders of all stripes. I have taken the liberty of adding more sugar than one might normally expect.”

“A claim you share with Vikings, Huns, assorted barbarian hordes, and marauders of all stripes. I have taken the liberty of adding more sugar than one might normally expect.”

When he turns in the opposite direction or turns blind—a dangerous tendency—he cannot see the state of the play, and so takes the risk of being run out. To turn blind is a risky endeavor.

So I decided to revolt.
But a revolt doesn’t have to be obvious. I mean, it can start with a small thing. Something a British tyrant hardly even notices. But you open up a crack.

“You are such a very young nation, aren’t you? And with so little sense of the persistence of history.”

“Bowles-Fitzpatricks fell in the Wars of the Roses long before you were a nation, and at least one fought with Nelson at the Battle of the Nile. Their latest martyrs include one who died in the trenches of Flanders during the First World War and one who died in a destroyer, accompanying the American merchant fleet during the Second. We are, as you might perceive, an aggressive lot, accustomed to battle. Be wary, young Master Jones. Now, ladies...”

“Bowles-Fitzpatricks fell in the Wars of the Roses long before you were a nation, and at least one fought with Nelson at the Battle of the Nile. Their latest martyrs include one who died in the trenches of Flanders during the First World War and one who died in a destroyer, accompanying the American merchant fleet during the Second. We are, as you might perceive, an aggressive lot, accustomed to battle. Be wary, young Master Jones. Now, ladies...”

“Bowles-Fitzpatricks fell in the Wars of the Roses long before you were a nation, and at least one fought with Nelson at the Battle of the Nile. Their latest martyrs include one who died in the trenches of Flanders during the First World War and one who died in a destroyer, accompanying the American merchant fleet during the Second. We are, as you might perceive, an aggressive lot, accustomed to battle. Be wary, young Master Jones. Now, ladies...”

So she read Patty Trowbridge’s paragraph about an Amish farm in Pennsylvania, and Jennifer Washburn’s paragraph about the aquarium in Chicago, and then she read about my visit to Liberty Park in New York City and how it was foggy and clammy and cold and we could hardly see anything until a wind came up off the river and suddenly it was clear and you could see the World Trade Center site and it was solemn (that word was the Butler’s suggestion).

So she read Patty Trowbridge’s paragraph about an Amish farm in Pennsylvania, and Jennifer Washburn’s paragraph about the aquarium in Chicago, and then she read about my visit to Liberty Park in New York City and how it was foggy and clammy and cold and we could hardly see anything until a wind came up off the river and suddenly it was clear and you could see the World Trade Center site and it was solemn (that word was the Butler’s suggestion).

I guess you can tell the Butler wasn’t a serial killer, since he cared about word choice.
“What wonderfully evocative connotations,” said Mrs. Harknet.

I guess you can tell the Butler wasn’t a serial killer, since he cared about word choice.
“What wonderfully evocative connotations,” said Mrs. Harknet.

Beside that, a china cup of hot tea with milk and sugar. And in front of it all was a white nameplate with “Master Carter Jones” in dark calligraphy.