and Jonathan Small on the tortuous, traffic-blocked
Thames.

He found himself reading the love passages with a sudden and sympathetic
insight. No longer did he feel tempted to skim those pages hastily that
he might resume the thread of the main and more engrossing plot. Didn't
Louise live almost across the street from him? Wasn't his interest in
her explained by that paragraph, "A wondrous and subtle thing is love,
for here were we two who had never seen each other before that day--"

"John!" His mother stood in the doorway, stern disapproval in her gaze.
He looked at her blankly.

"Put up that book this minute. Don't you know that reading is the worst
thing possible for inflamed eyes?"

The treasure was surrendered regretfully. His mother replaced it on the
shelf.

"Where's the key to your bookcase?" He shrugged his shoulders. "It
doesn't matter. Mine fits your door, anyway."

The squeak of the lock sounded the death knell to the one course of
amusement that had lain open to him. His mother pulled down the window
shades and stooped over in the darkened room to kiss him.

"Sleep a little, son," she counseled. "Mother wants you to feel better
in the morning."

He undressed and threw himself into bed angrily. Even books were denied
him. What was the fun in being sick, anyway, if a fellow's mother
insisted on taking that sickness seriously. Why wasn't she as easy going
as Mrs. DuPree who allowed that privileged youngster to stay up as late
as he wanted and to indulge in other liberties not usually granted to a
boy of ten?

Sid and the class must be finishing arithmetic now. He wished he were
there. Anything--even school--was better than staying in bed in a
darkened room. Did Louise enjoy his back seat? Had she found the big wad
of chewing gum he'd left on the bottom of the desk? Was Silvey having
the same unfortunate time as he?

The room was warm and close in spite of the open east exposure. He
yawned dismally. A fly lighted on his nose. He brushed it away in drowsy
irritation. In a moment his eyes closed.

He was awakened by the buzz of the egg beater in a china bowl in the
kitchen below him. Must be 'most dinner time. He felt hungry enough.
What was his mother cooking? A fragrant hissing from the hot pan hinted
of an omelet. Just let him sink his teeth into one. Wouldn't be long
before he was ready for another.

He roused himself and went into the hall.

"Moth-a-ar," he called down the stairway.

"Yes