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Bodger believed he could catch the falling child, because in his ever-anxious heart he was prepared for just such a situation as plucking a plummeting body out of the dark sky. The dean was as short-haired and muscular and curiously proportioned as a pit bull, and shared with that breed of dog a similar smallness of the eyes, which were always inflamed, as red-lidded and squinty as a pig’s. Like a pit bull, too, Bodger was good at digging in and lunging forward, which he now did, his fierce arms outstretched, his piggy eyes never leaving the descending pigeon. “I’ve got you, son!” Bodger cried, which terrified the boys in their hospital smocks. They were unprepared for anything like this.
    Dean Bodger, on the run, dove for the bird, which struck his chest with an impact even Bodger was not wholly prepared for. The pigeon sent the dean reeling, rolled him over on his back, where he felt the wind socked out of him and he lay gasping. The battered bird was hugged in his arms; its beak poked Bodger’s bristly chin. One of the frightened boys cranked the spotlight down from the fourth floor and shone the beam directly on the dean. When Bodger saw that he clutched a pigeon to his breast, he threw the dead bird over the heads of the gaping boys and into the parking lot.
    There was much fussing in the admittance room of the infirmary. Dr. Pell had arrived and he treated little Garp’s leg—it was a ragged but superficial wound that needed a lot of trimming and cleaning, but no stitches. Nurse Creen gave the boy a tetanus shot while Dr. Pell removed a small, rusty particle from Jenny’s eye; Jenny had strained her back supporting the weight of Garp and the rain gutter, but was otherwise fine. The aura of the admittance room was hearty and jocular, except when Jenny was able to catch her son’s eye; in public, Garp was a kind of heroic survivor, but he must have been anxious about how Jenny would deal with him back in their apartment.
    Dean Bodger became one of the few people at the Steering School to endear himself to Jenny. He beckoned her aside and confided to her that, if she thought it useful, he would be glad to reprimand the boy—if Jenny thought that, coming from Bodger, it would make a more lasting impression than any reprimand she could deliver. Jenny was grateful for the offer, and she and Bodger agreed upon a threat that would impress the boy. Bodger then brushed the feathers off his chest and tucked in his shirt, which was escaping, like a cream filling, from under his tight vest. He announced rather suddenly to the chattering admittance room that he would appreciate a moment alone with young Garp. There was a hush. Garp tried to leave with Jenny, who said, “No. The
dean
would like to speak to you.” Then they were alone. Garp didn’t know what a dean was.
    “Your mother runs a tight ship over here, doesn’t she, boy?” Bodger asked. Garp didn’t understand, but he nodded. “She runs things very well, if you ask me,” Dean Bodger said. “She should have a son whom she can
trust
. Do you know what
trust
means, boy?”
    “No,” Garp said.
    “It means: Can she believe you’ll be where you
say
you’ll be? Can she believe you’ll never do what you’re not supposed to do?
That’s
trust, boy,” Bodger said. “Do you believe your mother can trust you?”
    “Yes,” Garp, said.
    “Do you like living here?” Bodger asked him. He knew perfectly well that the boy loved it; Jenny had suggested that this be the point Bodger touch.
    “Yes,” Garp said.
    “What do you hear the boys call me?” the dean asked.
    “Mad Dog”?” asked Garp. He
had
heard the boys in the infirmary call
someone
“Mad Dog,” and Dean Bodger looked like a mad dog to Garp. But the dean was surprised; he had many nicknames, but he had never heard that one.
    “I meant that the boys call me sir,” Bodger said, and was grateful that Garp was a sensitive child—he caught the injured tone in the dean’s voice.
    “Yes,