Events & Discoveries

"We Indians and Africans," an elderly Negro said, looking through the Venetian blinds at the rain, "believe in rain. It is a good omen." And everyone went downstairs and piled into cars to go to camp.

"No," Rademacher said, "I haven't seen Floyd since we fought. But I saw enough of him that night."

Greenwood Lake was under snow, fast turning to slush in the rain. Levene's car got stuck on the icy mountain road which leads to the camp, and he stood outside ruefully examining the scenery as they turned the car around before descending and approaching by another route.

When they got to camp, Patterson had finished working out and was smearing Vaseline on the faces of four 10-year-olds he is teaching to box. Mc-Daniel took Floyd outside to teach him to shoot. Patterson stood in the rain in green sunglasses, shooting with a BB gun at Alka-Seltzer tablets, Life-savers and aspirins that Lucky tossed in the air. After a while he began to hit them. "There's a trick to it," said Floyd. "Your eye."

"It's a shame you lost, Mr. Rademacher," said one of the 10-year-olds.

"Well," said Pete gently, "somebody has to lose, doesn't he?"

"Maybe Floyd will buy us air rifles," said the boy. "He bought us $20 coats last year, didn't he?"

Harry Levene beamed and beamed and had his picture taken with everybody. Then he sat down for a meal of fried chicken, bear and elk steaks.

"I loathe bear," said an English companion of Levene's.

"At first appearance," Levene said, "you know, Patterson looks a smallish fellow. But I felt his arm and it was like feeling a bit of steel," and he looked down at his long, lustrous, black city shoes and at the ankle-high slush he would have to wade through to get to the car to take him back to the city.