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A home run over the left field fence! Bully!" "But, surely, they know his real name!" Pem's aloof absorption in that fell like fog-drip even upon the glow from that left field fence. "Maybe they do and maybe they don't! He refused it to the fans. And when the Greylock coach cornered him he palmed it off as Selkirk.
Simultaneously, however, the phonograph on the piazza struck up, as a prelude to festivities, the Virginia reel, the notes tripping gaily out across the painted lake; and the rower shot one glance upward, as if to say: "I'll be there in time!" then bent his hungry nose to the paper again. "What what did you find out about him?" Pem's interest was equally hungry positively famishing. "His name eh?"
"He's instructor in a college and each year he gets us started on something; last summer it was astronomy he brought a small telescope along." Pem's heels drummed more excitedly on the sod the starry heavens were her scope. "But we have a good deal of fun with the big compound microscope, too and more without it," acknowledged Studley.
The gurgle of that cloistered brooklet was already in Pem's heart as her dilating gaze spanned the Housatonic, broad and open, "warbling" amid its soft meadow slopes, as she had looked upon it from the Devil's Chair. "But, goody! I hope we won't run across him there Jack at a Pinch! Flaunting round like a grosbeak!" She bit the thought into an olive.
And what a view old Lucifer must have from it, was Pem's first thought provided he didn't, as an Irishman would say, reside away from home!
"He says that if that does not drift back to earth safely with the crow-like parachute if anything should happen to it, to the two little wheels, with the paper winding from one on to the other, all dashed with pencil marks the world would call him a fool's mate.... If it did!" Pem's teeth were clinched.
That was the moment when Pem's shoulders trembled like the needles upon the little green cedar sapling that grew by the rill: all because the Wise Woman in her was shaking the Elf, bidding her go to sleep for ever which the Elf, very properly, refused to do, for, after all, undiluted wisdom would be a colorless cloak for any young back.
Standing upon the shoulders of two brother scouts, in his belt a club snatched from one of them, he reached the lowest point of the tapering fissure. "Ha! There he goes, in spite of his teeth," tremored a younger boy. "His teeth aren't chattering!" Pem's eyes lightning-blue hurled back the charge.
But there the Lightning's lore suddenly gave out, her signaling memory, as the news was vivaciously transmitted by staccato dot and lengthier dash, the latter being the same quarter-circle once described in a single movement to the right. Over the valley the message was hung up. It was hung up in Pem's heart, too, and the honor, the fair grace, of boyhood with it.
And the answer came in clear, ringing, boyish tones from another angler presumably momentarily rainbowing the wood. "Yes sure that Parmachene belle is the girl, Dad! If if there's a trout in the stream, she'll put the 'come hither! on it." "Bah! Likening a trout-fly to a girl! So like his 'nickum' impudence!" Pem's teeth in her present mood came together with a snap.
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