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"I'll bet it's Charlie," Roberta said.

They passed on to the reports: who was living, presently, at Dog's Head Harbor; whose tenancy was expiring; who was about to move in. And what were the problems there, if any?

There were two painters--one in the south garret, one in the north. The south-garret painter coveted the north-garret painter's light, and for two weeks they didn't get along; not a word to each other at breakfast, and accusations concerning lost mail. And so forth. Then, it appeared, they became lovers. Now only the north-garret painter was painting at all--studies of the south-garret painter, who modeled all day in the good light. Her nakedness, about the upstairs of the house, bothered at least one of the writers, an outspoken anti-lesbian playwright from Cleveland who had trouble sleeping, she said, because of the sound of the waves. It was probably the lovemaking of the painters that bothered her; she was described as "overextended," anyway, but her complaints ceased once the other writer-in-residence suggested that all the Dog's Head Harbor guests read aloud the parts of the dramatist's play in progress. This was done, successfully for all, and the upper floors of the house were now happy.

The "other writer," a good short-story writer whom Garp had enthusiastically recommended a year ago, was about to move out, however; her term of residency was expiring. Who would go in her room?

The woman whose mother-in-law had just won custody of her children, following the suicide of her husband?

"I told you not to accept her," Garp said.

The two Ellen Jamesians who just, one day, showed up?

"Now wait a minute," Garp said. "What's this? Ellen Jamesians? Showing up? That's not allowed."

"Jenny always took them in," Roberta said.

"This is now, Roberta," Garp said.

The other members of the board were more or less in agreement with him; Ellen Jamesians were not much admired--they never had been, and their radicalism (now) seemed growingly obsolete and pathetic.

"It's almost a tradition, though," Roberta said. She described two "old" Ellen Jamesians, who'd been back from a bad time in California. Years ago they had stayed at Dog's Head Harbor; returning there, Roberta argued, was a kind of sentimental recovery for them.

"Jesus, Roberta," Garp said. "Get rid of them."

"They were people your mother always took care of," Roberta said.

"At least they'll be quiet," said Marcia Fox, whose economy of tongue Garp did admire. But only Garp laughed.

"I think you should get them to leave, Roberta," Dr. Joan Axe said.

"They really resent the entire society," Hilma Bloch said. "That could be infectious. On the other hand, they are almost the essence of the spirit of the place."

John Wolf rolled his eyes.

"There is the doctor researching cancer-related abortions," Joan Axe said. "What about her?"

"Yes, put her on the second floor," Garp said. "I've met her. She'll scare the shit out of anyone who tries to come upstairs." Roberta frowned.

The downstairs of the Dog's Head Harbor mansion was the largest part, containing two kitchens and four complete baths; as many as twelve could sleep, very privately, downstairs, and there were still the various conference rooms, as Roberta now called them--they were parlors and giant dens in the days of Jenny Fields. And a vast dining room where food, mail, and whoever wanted company collected all during the day and night.

It was the most social floor of Dog's Head Harbor, usually not suited for the writers and painters. It was the best floor for the potential suicides, Garp had told the board, "because they'll be forced to drown themselves in the ocean rather than jump out the windows."

But Roberta ran the place in a strong, motherly, tight-end fashion; she could talk almost anyone out of anything, and if she couldn't, she could overpower anybody. She had been much more successful at making the local police her allies than Jenny ever had been. Occasional unhappies were picked up by the police, far down the beach, or wailing on the boardwalks of the village; they were always gently returned to Roberta. The Dog's Head Harbor Police were all football fans, full of respect for the savage line play and the vicious downfield blocking of the former Robert Muldoon.

"I would like to make a motion that no Ellen Jamesian be eligible for aid and comfort from the Fields Foundation," Garp said.

"Second," said Marcia Fox.

"This is open to discussion," Roberta told them all. "I don't see the necessity of having such a rule. We are not in the business of supporting what we largely would agree is a stupid form of political expression, but that doesn't mean that one of these women without a tongue couldn't be genuinely in need of help--I'd say, in fact, they have already demonstrated a definite need to locate themselves, and we can expect to go on hearing from them. They are truly needful people."

"They are insane," Garp said.

"This is too general," said Hilma Bloch.

"There are productive women," Marcia Fox said, "who have not given up their voices--in fact, they are fighting to use their voices--and I am not in favor of rewarding stupidity and self-imposed silence."

"There are virtues in silence," Roberta argued.