The Hound of Rowan by Henry H. Neff Page A

where he was. Lying back on his bed, Max watched the constellations rotating slowly, their golden contours fainter from the tints of pink and gold peeking from the dome’s bottom rim. The chimes counted seven.
    Max yawned and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Stumbling downstairs, he found his fuzzy yellow towel hanging from a hook by his dresser. David was already downstairs, coughing hard.
    â€œHi,” said David, turning his back to slip on a T-shirt.
    â€œHey—I guess this is as close to morning as it gets in this room!”
    David laughed and pulled on a pair of shorts.
    â€œAre you gonna shower?” asked Max.
    David turned around quickly with a nervous expression. “Oh, no. I’m okay,” he said.
    Max left the room and walked barefoot down the hall carrying his towel and toiletries. Hearing his name, he turned to see Connor trotting after him.
    â€œMorning, Max! Reckon they could have told us Old Tom would turn up the volume for the bell.”
    Connor grinned and pushed through the door to Room 301. Max followed and saw him standing speechless.
    The bathroom was a huge space filled with cedar lockers, slatted benches, and tropical plants. Max could hear classical music over the light babble of a marble fountain. One long wall was lined with gleaming sinks and silver faucets shaped like leaping dolphins. Across the room were three archways with brass signs indicating toilets, showers, and spa.
    The door opened behind them, and Max turned to see Rolf, Jesse, Omar, and several other boys.
    â€œWow!” exclaimed Omar, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Did you guys
configure
this?”
    â€œSomeone had to,” said Connor humbly, examining his nails. He slung his towel over his shoulder and headed for the spa.
    Max remembered the time and hurried to the showers. Stepping inside a stall, he was puzzled at what he found. Instead of normal faucets, there were six small silver levers protruding from the marble wall. Max pulled the one on the far left, then hopped up and down as cold water sprayed from a showerhead above him. He turned it off and tried the next only to have hot water—
much
too hot—pin him into the corner until he could kick the lever upright with his toe. Wincing a bit, he pulled the third lever and let out a sigh of relief as a heavy jet of warm water burst from the showerhead.
    A frantic shriek sounded from several stalls over.
    â€œThird from the left!” Max shouted.
    â€œThank you!” piped a grateful voice in reply.
    After tugging at the fourth lever, Max jumped back as soap bubbles ran out of a little hidden spigot and quickly filled the stall, cascading over the door before Max could slow the stream. Lever five produced an emerald dollop of shampoo that he caught in his hand. Lever six sputtered once before releasing a steady stream of warm shaving cream. Max laughed and dabbed a bit on his chin, then sculpted a white beard of foam. He peered out the shower door to look at himself just as Omar did the same. The two burst into laughter and disappeared into their respective stalls.
    Standing in puddles of water, dozens of boys were brushing their teeth and chatting when they heard a loud “Ahem!” Turning, Max was startled to see a bald three-foot-tall man who looked like a leprechaun wearing an old blue suit and massaging his jowls as he surveyed them. He smelled very strongly of musky cologne, and he looked angry.
    â€œEnjoying yourselves, are you? Fun business making a mess of Jimmy’s bath, is it?”
    The little man stepped toward them.
    â€œWell, what’s the matter, lads? Mum got your tongues? Old enough to shave, but too young to answer for yourselves?” He flashed a dark look at Omar and Max, who shrank against the wall. Several faucets continued running behind them.
    Connor stepped forward.
    â€œSir, we didn’t mean—”
    â€œSilence!”
    Max shot a glance at Connor, who