Little Klein by Anne Ylvisaker Page A

to eat better, too.”
    “He’s our youngest, Stanley. Why rush things?” Mother Klein countered.
    “Matthew, Mark, and Luke aren’t going to be around here forever,” Stanley said. “Fact, when I left Chicago, Mr. Huppert said they’re looking for fresh young men in St. Paul, and I told him my Matthew was a smart one with only a year left in school.”
    Now it was Matthew who couldn’t contain himself. “Really? What would I sell?” He remembered himself and looked back down at the table.
    “Don’t you bring Matthew into it,” retorted Mother Klein. “You can go ahead with Little Klein’s exercising and whatnot on one condition, Stanley. The dog stays.”
    Everyone looked at Stanley, who looked at the floor, at the sink, at the window, and at the ceiling for a very long moment.
    “No dogs. That’s the rule,” he said, but Mother Klein only raised her eyebrows while the boys waited expectantly.
    “You know I don’t like dogs,” he continued. “I’m allergic,” he tried. Still Mother Klein stood silent. The clock ticked like hand claps, endless spaces between the beats; a shuffled foot was sandpaper; coughs echoed as in a canyon. Even Stanley was no match. There was nothing louder than Mother Klein’s quiet.
    “Go find your dog,” he said at last, then muttered, “Maybe I’ll have to get back to work sooner than I thought.”
    Little Klein followed his brothers to Widow Flom’s house for the reunion with LeRoy. LeRoy, while glad to see his boys, was distracted. He had a new love and her name was strawberry pie. He had his snout deep in a slice of heaven when they burst through the door. But a few minutes of rough and tumble worked LeRoy back to his frisky self, and after the boys had eaten the rest of the pie, the whole outfit ambled back home.
    Little Klein lagged behind a ways. He watched his legs as they took turns striding in front of him. He bent one forearm, then the other, trying to show a biceps muscle. He had his brothers to protect him. How much toughening did he need? What were they going to do to him?
    Stanley was waiting for them by the laundry line in the backyard. The yard was nothing like he’d keep it if he lived here full time. What had gotten into Esther? Used to be a fellow could count on a nice plot of green divided by a neat concrete path to his driveway and his garage. Look at this unconventional mess: his lawn broken into ribs of flowers and a muddy patch where the doghouse stood. If it weren’t for space around the laundry line, he’d have no room to roam about. LeRoy broke away and ran right up to Stanley, sniffing him in an exceedingly impolite manner.
    “LeRoy!” cried Little Klein, and pulled the dog away, holding him around the neck.
    “Settle that dog down, now. You’ve got work to do. I’m setting up an exercise routine for you, and with your brothers’ help, you’re going to carry it on after I leave.” He swatted irritably at LeRoy who came sniffing on up to him.
    “Task number one: pull-ups. I’ll demonstrate.”
    Stanley grasped the T end of the laundry line, bent his legs so he was dangling with straight arms, and pulled himself up until his chin was above the bar.
    “There,” he said, red faced and puffing as he dropped to a crouch. “That’s a pull-up. Hey, enough with the licking! Someone hold the dog. All right then, who’s next?”
    Matthew called first, but it was immediately clear that the Bigs would bend the laundry poles clear out of the ground, so it was Little Klein’s turn. It looked easy enough, and if his dad could pull his big self up, Little Klein imagined how easy it would be to raise his small self. He gave LeRoy’s ears a quick scratch, then stepped out.
    Luke lifted him to the bar, then let go. Little Klein lost his grip and fell to the ground. LeRoy was all over him, licking his face and whimpering.
    “Get the dog out of the way,” Stanley insisted. Mark held LeRoy back. Luke lifted Little Klein again and let