shoelaces were giving him trouble and I was working on those, while Damon searched everywhere for his belt. As if in accompaniment to our efforts, Morrie suddenly resumed: "I might cite you Santayanaâ'the world of matter is the absolute reality.' I don't mind telling you, Oliver, I find those words have considerably more meaning here in the West than they did in the ostensible halls of learning."
Rose happened past our bedroom on her way to some chore just then, and giving us a lightning smile that said she knew what we were up to, she paused there with us to listen in on the kitchen colloquy.
"Where did you take your degree, Morrie?" As a proud graduate of Manitowoc Technical School, Father was always interested in educational pedigree.
"Knox."
Hearing that, Rose frowned, and made a move toward the stairway.
"In Illinois? A fine college, I've heard." Father caught on. "Or do you by chance mean 'hard knocks'?"
"A feeble jest, Oliver. I apologize. But it
was
at an Illinois institutionâthe University of Chicago."
Shaking her head, Rose reversed course from the top of the stairs and went off on her chore.
Damon had stopped what he was doing and his eyes widened. I didn't follow football as he did, but I'd heard of that school's unbeatable teams under its titan of a coach, Amos Alonzo Stagg. Even Toby had absorbed snippets from Damon's constant attention to the teams in his sports scrapbooks. In excited recognition he whispered now, "Damon, the Baboons!"
"The Maroons," Damon hissed back at him. He looked longingly across the room. "I have to show Morrie my football scrapbook."
"Not now, you don't," I told him. "Come on, let's get this day over with."
But I was the one who veered off at the bottom of the stairs to track down Rose whistling up work for herself. Next to where she hung her coat I noticed the itty-bitty sack of lunch she brought every day. Morrie had brought nothing at all. What did these people exist on?
"Morrie better find out where the pond is," I murmured to Rose when I found her. "He's going to smell to high heaven after he spends a day shoveling chicken matter."
Her lips twitched. "Houdini and I will share the secret with him, depend on it."
Father made an appearance in the kitchen doorway. "The last I knew, school still existed. Aren't you charactersâ"
"We're going," I blurted, Damon and Toby tumbling into line behind me to get out the door.
The ride to school was a blur, my mind on Eddie Turley and his steel-gray horse, while Damon pelted me with last-minute advice and Toby was as wound up as a music box. The schoolyard was a mass of anticipation when we reached it, everyone hanging on outside watching for us even though Miss Trent always wanted us all in our seats by the time she was done beating on the triangle.
It was barely into arithmetic time, when the sixth-graders were at the blackboard working on division problems she was giving them, when Miss Trent wheeled around with surprising quickness for someone of her shambly build.
"Tobias Milliron."
Every head in the schoolroom snapped up at her tone. "Perhaps you would like to share with the rest of us what you are so busy confiding to Sigrid."
"N-n-no, ma'am," Toby replied in all honesty.
"Do it anyway," Miss Trent commanded.
Next to me at our desk Carnelia snickered, until she realized that if Toby was nailed for whispering and had to tell what was going on, it meant no race. Up at the blackboard, Damon abruptly turned as pale as the chalk in his fist. He and I traded helpless looks. I didn't dare try to draw Miss Trent's attention away from Toby; she had been eyeing me suspiciously ever since I had turned into a center of attention at every recess.
Besides, there was the question of whether Miss Trent had it in for the Milliron family.
Oh, she was punctilious enough toward us in the classroom. Damon was not put on this earth to make life easy for any teacher, but Miss Trent was careful not to keep him after school
Rose happened past our bedroom on her way to some chore just then, and giving us a lightning smile that said she knew what we were up to, she paused there with us to listen in on the kitchen colloquy.
"Where did you take your degree, Morrie?" As a proud graduate of Manitowoc Technical School, Father was always interested in educational pedigree.
"Knox."
Hearing that, Rose frowned, and made a move toward the stairway.
"In Illinois? A fine college, I've heard." Father caught on. "Or do you by chance mean 'hard knocks'?"
"A feeble jest, Oliver. I apologize. But it
was
at an Illinois institutionâthe University of Chicago."
Shaking her head, Rose reversed course from the top of the stairs and went off on her chore.
Damon had stopped what he was doing and his eyes widened. I didn't follow football as he did, but I'd heard of that school's unbeatable teams under its titan of a coach, Amos Alonzo Stagg. Even Toby had absorbed snippets from Damon's constant attention to the teams in his sports scrapbooks. In excited recognition he whispered now, "Damon, the Baboons!"
"The Maroons," Damon hissed back at him. He looked longingly across the room. "I have to show Morrie my football scrapbook."
"Not now, you don't," I told him. "Come on, let's get this day over with."
But I was the one who veered off at the bottom of the stairs to track down Rose whistling up work for herself. Next to where she hung her coat I noticed the itty-bitty sack of lunch she brought every day. Morrie had brought nothing at all. What did these people exist on?
"Morrie better find out where the pond is," I murmured to Rose when I found her. "He's going to smell to high heaven after he spends a day shoveling chicken matter."
Her lips twitched. "Houdini and I will share the secret with him, depend on it."
Father made an appearance in the kitchen doorway. "The last I knew, school still existed. Aren't you charactersâ"
"We're going," I blurted, Damon and Toby tumbling into line behind me to get out the door.
The ride to school was a blur, my mind on Eddie Turley and his steel-gray horse, while Damon pelted me with last-minute advice and Toby was as wound up as a music box. The schoolyard was a mass of anticipation when we reached it, everyone hanging on outside watching for us even though Miss Trent always wanted us all in our seats by the time she was done beating on the triangle.
It was barely into arithmetic time, when the sixth-graders were at the blackboard working on division problems she was giving them, when Miss Trent wheeled around with surprising quickness for someone of her shambly build.
"Tobias Milliron."
Every head in the schoolroom snapped up at her tone. "Perhaps you would like to share with the rest of us what you are so busy confiding to Sigrid."
"N-n-no, ma'am," Toby replied in all honesty.
"Do it anyway," Miss Trent commanded.
Next to me at our desk Carnelia snickered, until she realized that if Toby was nailed for whispering and had to tell what was going on, it meant no race. Up at the blackboard, Damon abruptly turned as pale as the chalk in his fist. He and I traded helpless looks. I didn't dare try to draw Miss Trent's attention away from Toby; she had been eyeing me suspiciously ever since I had turned into a center of attention at every recess.
Besides, there was the question of whether Miss Trent had it in for the Milliron family.
Oh, she was punctilious enough toward us in the classroom. Damon was not put on this earth to make life easy for any teacher, but Miss Trent was careful not to keep him after school
Similar Books
