to practice his German. All the while the professor had the hearing machine clamped to his head, wires running this way and that and him fidgeting with the dial, which made him look even more ridiculous.
When they got to the Model T, Chauncey handed Jack the ledger and fountain pen and took off his belt and holster.
âWhy are you doing that, sir?â Wilber asked.
âBecause thereâs mostly women in libraries and real soldiers respect women. Seeing a pistol might give them the vapors.â
As they walked toward the entrance, he thought of how his mother had wanted him to go to college. Chauncey, like his daddy, had argued heâd learn more about banking by being in one instead of a dusty classroom. Besides, he had never cottoned to school much, especially recess when other boys called him chicken when he wouldnât roughhouse. He hadnât been chicken. It was just that, unlike them, Chauncey had nice store-bought clothes he didnât want ruined.
When they came to the building that housed the library, Chauncey paused to study the letters chiseled above the thick oak doors. Latin or Greek, he knew, and thought how even during a war English wasnât good enough for the college. Chauncey nodded at the boys and the three of them went through the foyer and into the library wing. On the wall was a painting of an old man who didnât look that much different from Professor Mayer, though he didnât have the hearing gimcrack on his head. In front of the bookshelves were wooden desks and chairs. Some were occupied by students, their books and tablets splayed out before them as they slowly turned pages or dipped their pens into ink wells and wrote. The main desk was to the right. They moved to the roomâs center, the boys wide eyed at the tall ceilings and row after row of filled shelves. A male student came to the front desk with a book, an audible click as the librarian stamped the inside cover. It wasnât Miss Yount but a student assistant. A pretty young woman, another reason to be glad Miss Yount wasnât there. As the male student passed them on his way out, he didnât meet Chaunceyâs eyes. Too embarrassed, Chauncey knew, because he was hiding out at a college when real men were fighting a war. Chauncey looked beyond the tables and chairs to where books were lined up row after row as if poised for an attack.
âCome on,â he told the boys.
As they passed the front desk, Chauncey saw that the student librarian was even prettier than heâd first thought, rosy cheeks and eyes a deep blue. Her perfume smelled like roses. She smiled at him and he was tempted to smile back but a serious demeanor was more appropriate. Still, Chauncey had obviously made a good impression. Heâd come back some other time, without the boys. They went into the stacks and began checking book spines. He went through five shelves before he found letters that werenât English, but the books were in languages other than German. Theyâve hidden them, he thought, but there were more foreign books on the next shelf. He found one that looked promising and compared it with the book confiscated from Professor Mayer. Chauncey studied the page in the library book first.
Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Bücher
verbrennt, verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.
Then he looked at the professorâs book.
Widerspreche ich mich?
Na gut . . . ich widerspreche mich
Ich bin geraümig . . . ich enthalte Massen.
It was like deciphering a secret code as he searched for similar words. He looked farther down the pages and found one match and then another and then a third. He handed the library book to Jack and then others until both boys had their arms full.
âTake them over to an empty table,â Chauncey said.
There were thirty-seven. Chauncey opened his ledger and took out the fountain pen heâd used at the savings and loan. Customers noticed the penâs
When they got to the Model T, Chauncey handed Jack the ledger and fountain pen and took off his belt and holster.
âWhy are you doing that, sir?â Wilber asked.
âBecause thereâs mostly women in libraries and real soldiers respect women. Seeing a pistol might give them the vapors.â
As they walked toward the entrance, he thought of how his mother had wanted him to go to college. Chauncey, like his daddy, had argued heâd learn more about banking by being in one instead of a dusty classroom. Besides, he had never cottoned to school much, especially recess when other boys called him chicken when he wouldnât roughhouse. He hadnât been chicken. It was just that, unlike them, Chauncey had nice store-bought clothes he didnât want ruined.
When they came to the building that housed the library, Chauncey paused to study the letters chiseled above the thick oak doors. Latin or Greek, he knew, and thought how even during a war English wasnât good enough for the college. Chauncey nodded at the boys and the three of them went through the foyer and into the library wing. On the wall was a painting of an old man who didnât look that much different from Professor Mayer, though he didnât have the hearing gimcrack on his head. In front of the bookshelves were wooden desks and chairs. Some were occupied by students, their books and tablets splayed out before them as they slowly turned pages or dipped their pens into ink wells and wrote. The main desk was to the right. They moved to the roomâs center, the boys wide eyed at the tall ceilings and row after row of filled shelves. A male student came to the front desk with a book, an audible click as the librarian stamped the inside cover. It wasnât Miss Yount but a student assistant. A pretty young woman, another reason to be glad Miss Yount wasnât there. As the male student passed them on his way out, he didnât meet Chaunceyâs eyes. Too embarrassed, Chauncey knew, because he was hiding out at a college when real men were fighting a war. Chauncey looked beyond the tables and chairs to where books were lined up row after row as if poised for an attack.
âCome on,â he told the boys.
As they passed the front desk, Chauncey saw that the student librarian was even prettier than heâd first thought, rosy cheeks and eyes a deep blue. Her perfume smelled like roses. She smiled at him and he was tempted to smile back but a serious demeanor was more appropriate. Still, Chauncey had obviously made a good impression. Heâd come back some other time, without the boys. They went into the stacks and began checking book spines. He went through five shelves before he found letters that werenât English, but the books were in languages other than German. Theyâve hidden them, he thought, but there were more foreign books on the next shelf. He found one that looked promising and compared it with the book confiscated from Professor Mayer. Chauncey studied the page in the library book first.
Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Bücher
verbrennt, verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.
Then he looked at the professorâs book.
Widerspreche ich mich?
Na gut . . . ich widerspreche mich
Ich bin geraümig . . . ich enthalte Massen.
It was like deciphering a secret code as he searched for similar words. He looked farther down the pages and found one match and then another and then a third. He handed the library book to Jack and then others until both boys had their arms full.
âTake them over to an empty table,â Chauncey said.
There were thirty-seven. Chauncey opened his ledger and took out the fountain pen heâd used at the savings and loan. Customers noticed the penâs
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