of this new thing, which pleased him so much more than he could ever have believed, this business of being a father.
The infant squirmed against him, made some unidentifiable sounds, and looked him square in the eye. There was something about the boy that impressed his father. He looked at things straight on, seemed to study them. He didn't say much. He wasn't a crier or a bawler, he seemed never to get into accidents or do stupid things like putting his hand in a fire or grabbing the hot teakettle. He never awoke in the night, but when they went in, early, he was always awake already, and watchful.
'You are something, little partner,' he said to his son.
The boy was ten months old, but he still had the warmth of a freshly baked loaf of bread to his father's nose.
The boy wanted to play a game. He reached out and touched his father's nose and his father jerked his head back and made a sound like a horse, and the boy's face knit in laughter. He loved this game. He loved his daddy holding him.
'Ain't you a pistol! Ain't you a little pistol, buster! You are your old daddy's number-one boy, yes, you are.'
He had an idea for the boy. No one would ever raise a hand against him, and no one would ever tell him he was no good, he was nothing, he was second-rate. He'd already talked to Sam about it. This boy would go to college. No Marine Corps for him, no life of war, of getting shot at, scurrying through the bush. He would have a good life. He would be a lawyer or some such, and have a life he loved. He'd face none of the things his poor old dad had just survived. No sir. That wasn't for boys. No boy should have to go through that.
'Da?' said the boy.
'There you go, little guy! That's it! You know who I am. I am your old damned daddy, that's me.'
The boy's teething mouth lit up in a smile. He reached out to touch his father's nose again, and the game recommenced.
But then Earl noticed the presence of two small boys standing just off the porch as if they'd just come sneaking out of the treeline to the left and were pleased with their stealth.
'Well, howdy,' he called.
One was a slight youth, blond and beautiful; the other was bigger and duller, with the sad, slack face of someone vacant in the mental department.
'Howdy, sir,' said the smaller, sharper boy.
'What you-all doing way out here?'
'We come out on our bikes. We's goin' 'splorin!'
'You find anything?'
'We's looking for treasure.'
'Ain't no treasure out here.'
'We gonna find treasure someday.'
'Well, maybe so.'
'You a police?'
'Why, yes I am. I am in the State Police. I haven't put my uniform on yet. You boys look thirsty. You want some lemonade?'
'Lemon,' said the big boy.
'Lemonade/' corrected the smaller one. 'Bub ain't too smart.'
'Not smart,' said Bub.
'Well sir, this here's my baby boy.'
'He's a cute one,' said the boy.
'Whafre your names, fellas?'
'I'm Jimmy Pye. This here's my cousin Bub.'
'Bub,' said Bub.
'Okay, you all stay there. I'm going to go in and pour you two nice glasses of lemonade, you hear?'
'Yes sir.'
Earl walked into the house and set his son into his playpen, where the boy just watched.
He opened the refrigerator and got out a pitcher of lemonade that Junie always kept and poured out two tall glasses.
But when he returned to the porch, the boys were gone, having moved on in their quest for treasure.
