emerging from the basement and switchisg off the stairlight. "I hope you didn’t hurt yourself or anything. It’s heavier than I thought."
Her son was contemplating him with the same shyness as before. "You’re the Mr. Gumm who’s the contest winner?" he asked.
"Yes," Ragle said.
The boy’s kindly face clouded over with embarrassment. "Maybe I shouldn’t ask you this, but I always wanted to ask some guy who wins a lot of money in a contest ... do you think of it as luck, or do you think of it like earning a big fee, the way a lawyer gets a big fee if he’s got something on the ball no other lawyer has? Or like some old painters whose paintings are worth millions."
"It’s a lot of hard work," Ragle said. "That’s how I think of it. I put in eight to ten hours a day."
The boy nodded. "Oh yeah. I see what you mean."
"How did you get started?" Mrs. Keitelbein asked him.
Ragle said, "I don’t know. I saw it in the paper and I sent in an entry. That was close to three years ago. I just drifted into it. My entries won right from the start."
"Mine didn’t," Walter said. "I never won once; I entered around fifteen times."
Mrs. Keitelbein said, "Mr Gumm, before you go I have something I want to give you. You wait here." She hurried off into a side room. "For helping."
He thought, Probably a cookie or two.
But when she returned she had a brightly-colored decal. "For your car," she said, holding it out to him. "It goes on the back window. A CD sticker; you dip it in warm water, and then the paper slides off and you slide the emblem on the car window." She beamed at him.
"I don’t currently have a car," he said.
Her face showed dismay. "Oh," she said.
With a braying, but good-natured, laugh, Walter said, "Hey, maybe he could paste it onto the back of his coat."
"I’m so sorry," Mrs. Keitelbein said, in confusion. "Well, thank you anyhow; I wish I could reward you, but I can’t think how. I’ll try to make the classes as interesting as I can; how’s that?"
"Swell," he said. Picking up his coat he moved toward the hall. "I have to be going," he said. "I’ll see you Tuesday, then. At two."
In a corner of the room, on a window seat, somebody had built a model of some sort. Ragle stopped to inspect it.
"We’ll be using that," Mrs. Keitelbein said.
"What is it?" he said. It appeared to be a representation of a military fort: a hollow square in which tiny soldiers could be viewed at their duties. The colors were greenish brown and gray. Touching the miniature gun-barrel that stuck up from the top of it, he discovered that it was carved wood. "Quite real," he said.
Walter said, "We built a bunch of those. The earlier classes, I mean. CD classes last year, when we lived in Cleveland. Mom brought them along; I guess nobody else wanted them." He laughed his braying laugh again. It was more nervous than unkind.
"That’s a replica of Mormon fort," Mrs. Keitelbein said.
"I’ll be darned," Ragle said. "I’m interested in this. You know, I was in World War Two; I was over in the Pacific."
"I dimly remember reading that about you," Mrs. Keitelbein said. "You being such a celebrity... every once in a while I come across a little article about you in one of the magazines. Don’t you hold some sort of record as the longest contest winner of any of the newspaper or TV contests?"
"I suppose so," he said.
Walter said, "Did you see heavy fighting in the Pacific?"
"No," he said candidly. "Another fellow and I were stuck on a hunk of dirt with a few palm trees and a corrugated-iron shack and a radio transmitter and weather-measuring instruments. He measured the weather and I transmitted the information to a Navy installation a couple hundred miles to the south of us. That took about an hour a day. The rest of the day I lay around trying to figure out the weather. I used to try to predict what it would be like. That wasn’t our job; all we did was send them the readings and they did the predicting. But I got pretty
Her son was contemplating him with the same shyness as before. "You’re the Mr. Gumm who’s the contest winner?" he asked.
"Yes," Ragle said.
The boy’s kindly face clouded over with embarrassment. "Maybe I shouldn’t ask you this, but I always wanted to ask some guy who wins a lot of money in a contest ... do you think of it as luck, or do you think of it like earning a big fee, the way a lawyer gets a big fee if he’s got something on the ball no other lawyer has? Or like some old painters whose paintings are worth millions."
"It’s a lot of hard work," Ragle said. "That’s how I think of it. I put in eight to ten hours a day."
The boy nodded. "Oh yeah. I see what you mean."
"How did you get started?" Mrs. Keitelbein asked him.
Ragle said, "I don’t know. I saw it in the paper and I sent in an entry. That was close to three years ago. I just drifted into it. My entries won right from the start."
"Mine didn’t," Walter said. "I never won once; I entered around fifteen times."
Mrs. Keitelbein said, "Mr Gumm, before you go I have something I want to give you. You wait here." She hurried off into a side room. "For helping."
He thought, Probably a cookie or two.
But when she returned she had a brightly-colored decal. "For your car," she said, holding it out to him. "It goes on the back window. A CD sticker; you dip it in warm water, and then the paper slides off and you slide the emblem on the car window." She beamed at him.
"I don’t currently have a car," he said.
Her face showed dismay. "Oh," she said.
With a braying, but good-natured, laugh, Walter said, "Hey, maybe he could paste it onto the back of his coat."
"I’m so sorry," Mrs. Keitelbein said, in confusion. "Well, thank you anyhow; I wish I could reward you, but I can’t think how. I’ll try to make the classes as interesting as I can; how’s that?"
"Swell," he said. Picking up his coat he moved toward the hall. "I have to be going," he said. "I’ll see you Tuesday, then. At two."
In a corner of the room, on a window seat, somebody had built a model of some sort. Ragle stopped to inspect it.
"We’ll be using that," Mrs. Keitelbein said.
"What is it?" he said. It appeared to be a representation of a military fort: a hollow square in which tiny soldiers could be viewed at their duties. The colors were greenish brown and gray. Touching the miniature gun-barrel that stuck up from the top of it, he discovered that it was carved wood. "Quite real," he said.
Walter said, "We built a bunch of those. The earlier classes, I mean. CD classes last year, when we lived in Cleveland. Mom brought them along; I guess nobody else wanted them." He laughed his braying laugh again. It was more nervous than unkind.
"That’s a replica of Mormon fort," Mrs. Keitelbein said.
"I’ll be darned," Ragle said. "I’m interested in this. You know, I was in World War Two; I was over in the Pacific."
"I dimly remember reading that about you," Mrs. Keitelbein said. "You being such a celebrity... every once in a while I come across a little article about you in one of the magazines. Don’t you hold some sort of record as the longest contest winner of any of the newspaper or TV contests?"
"I suppose so," he said.
Walter said, "Did you see heavy fighting in the Pacific?"
"No," he said candidly. "Another fellow and I were stuck on a hunk of dirt with a few palm trees and a corrugated-iron shack and a radio transmitter and weather-measuring instruments. He measured the weather and I transmitted the information to a Navy installation a couple hundred miles to the south of us. That took about an hour a day. The rest of the day I lay around trying to figure out the weather. I used to try to predict what it would be like. That wasn’t our job; all we did was send them the readings and they did the predicting. But I got pretty
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