Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. "What do you mean?" cried Winifred in alarm. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing.
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