d blindly beneath the bed that he
might throttle the insistent alarm clock before the clamor awakened the
other members of the household. Then he lay back and listened
breathlessly for parental voices of inquiry as to what he might be doing
at the unearthly hour of half-past three on a late September morning.

Far down the railroad embankment which passed the rear of the house, an
engine puffed lazily cityward with a load of empty freight cars. Over
the elevated tracks a mile to the south, a train rumbled somnolently
towards the park terminal, and under the eaves of the house, just above
his room, two sparrows squabbled sleepily. Inside, the only audible
sounds were the chirpings of a cricket somewhere down the hall, and the
furious, muffled pounding of his own little heart.

He glanced from the window near the head of his bed. The air was
oppressive with a strange, almost rural quietude. In the east, a faint
streak of light brought the tree tops of the park into indistinct
relief, and to the north a thin line of smoke floated apathetically from
a hotel chimney to show that a light breeze from the west augured
favorably for the morning's sport.

Stockings, knickerbockers, and blouse were drawn on with unwonted
rapidity. His coat and necktie he left hanging over the back of the
chair, disdained as unnecessary impediments on a fishing trip. Then with
a final glance from the window at the fast-graying sky, he reached
behind the bookcase for his carefully concealed pole and tackle,
gathered his shoes in one hand, and tiptoed down the pitchy hall with
the stealth of a cat.

Down the stairway he went, step at a time, scarcely daring to breathe as
he shifted his weight again and again from one foot to the other. On the
first landing, a board creaked with alarming distinctness. Came a
maternal voice:

"John."

Her son hugged the stairway in a very agony of fear lest his carefully
made plans had been spoiled. Why hadn't he walked along the end of the
steps as bitter experience had taught? He knew that board was loose.
Again the well-known tones:

"John, what _are_ you doing?"

A subdued babel of conversation in the big south room followed, in which
his father's deep bass took a prominent part.

"Nonsense, Jane, you're imagining things!"

"But you know I forbade fishing during school mornings. And he was
looking at the DuPree's weather vane when he watered the lawn last
night. Get up and see what he's doing."

John