from the tent had been attached to the Winkles' survival rope, and the: entire tent and everything in it (Homer's copy of Great Expectations, too) were swept downstream in the pounding flow and charge of logs. The Ramses Paper Company wouldn't recover Billy and Grant's bodies for three days; they found them nearly four miles away.
Homer Wells was fairly calm. He looked upstream, waiting for more of anything; upstream was cle;arly the direction whatever might come next would come from. After a while, he relaxed; he examined the Winkles' safari vehicle, which looked naked without the tent and the kitchen equipment. He found some fishing gear, but he didn't dare to fish; it meant standing too close to the stream. He found some guns, but he had no idea how they worked (he felt comforted that the guns were there, however). He chose the biggest, most dangerous-looking one—a twelve-gauge, doubles-barrel shotgun—and dragged it around with him.
He was quite hungry by midafternoori, but before it was dark he heard a logging truck coming nearer and nearer; he knew it was a full one because of the straining sound of the gears. It was also a piece of luck (on the order of his not knowing how to swim, and therefore not joining the Winkles in their sport) that the truck was going Homer's way.
'Saint Cloud's,' he told the baffled driver, who was impressed with the shotgun.
It was a Ramses Paper Company truck, and Dr. Larch was at first furious to see it pull up to the hospital entrance. 'Unless this is an absolute emergency,' he told the smitten Nurse Edna, 'I will not do a stitch of work on anyone from that company!' Larch was actually disappointed {54} to see Homer Wells, and alarmed to see the shotgun. Homer had the bewildered expression on his face of the many patients Larch had observed emerging from the spell of ether.
'You didn't give the Winkles much of a chance, Homer,' Dr. Larch said gravely. Then Homer explained why he'd come back so soon.
'You mean the Winkles are gone?' Dr. Larch asked.
'Swept away,' said Homer Wells. 'Whoosh!'
That was when Wilbur Larch gave up on finding Homer Wells a home. That was when Dr. Larch said that Homer could stay at St. Cloud's for as long as Homer felt he belonged there. That was when St. Larch said, 'Well, then, Homer, I expect you to be of use.'
For Homer Wells, this was easy. Of use, he felt, was all that an orphan was born to be. {55}
----
2. The Lord's Work
A child of Maine, Wilbur Larch was born in Portland in 186 the son of a sullen, tidy woman who was; among the staff of cooks and housekeepers for a man named Neal Dow, the mayor of Portland and the so-called father of the Maine law that introduced Prohibition to that state. Neal Dow once ran for the presidency as the candidate of the Prohibition Party, but he won barely ten thousand votes—proving that the general voter was wiser than Wilbur Larch's mother, who worshiped her employer and saw herself more as his co-worker for temperance reform than as his servant (which she was).
Interestingly, Wilbur Larch's father was a drunk— no small feat in the Portland of Mayor Dow's day. It was permitted to advertise beer in the shop windows—Scotch ale and bitter beer, which Wilbur Larch's father consumed copiously; it was necessary, he claimed, to drink these weak brews by the bucketful in order to get a buzz on. To young Wilbur, his father never looked drunk—he never staggered or fell or lay in a stupor, he never shouted or slurred his speech. Rather, he had about him the appearance of one perpetually surprised, of one given to frequent and sudden revelations that would stop him in his tracks or in midsentence, as if something had just come to him (or had just escaped him) that had preoccupied him for days.
He shook his head a lot, and all his life dispensed this misinformation: that the nineteen-thousarid-ton ship the Great Eastern, which was built in Portland, was destined {56} to sail the North Atlantic between Europe and
Homer Wells was fairly calm. He looked upstream, waiting for more of anything; upstream was cle;arly the direction whatever might come next would come from. After a while, he relaxed; he examined the Winkles' safari vehicle, which looked naked without the tent and the kitchen equipment. He found some fishing gear, but he didn't dare to fish; it meant standing too close to the stream. He found some guns, but he had no idea how they worked (he felt comforted that the guns were there, however). He chose the biggest, most dangerous-looking one—a twelve-gauge, doubles-barrel shotgun—and dragged it around with him.
He was quite hungry by midafternoori, but before it was dark he heard a logging truck coming nearer and nearer; he knew it was a full one because of the straining sound of the gears. It was also a piece of luck (on the order of his not knowing how to swim, and therefore not joining the Winkles in their sport) that the truck was going Homer's way.
'Saint Cloud's,' he told the baffled driver, who was impressed with the shotgun.
It was a Ramses Paper Company truck, and Dr. Larch was at first furious to see it pull up to the hospital entrance. 'Unless this is an absolute emergency,' he told the smitten Nurse Edna, 'I will not do a stitch of work on anyone from that company!' Larch was actually disappointed {54} to see Homer Wells, and alarmed to see the shotgun. Homer had the bewildered expression on his face of the many patients Larch had observed emerging from the spell of ether.
'You didn't give the Winkles much of a chance, Homer,' Dr. Larch said gravely. Then Homer explained why he'd come back so soon.
'You mean the Winkles are gone?' Dr. Larch asked.
'Swept away,' said Homer Wells. 'Whoosh!'
That was when Wilbur Larch gave up on finding Homer Wells a home. That was when Dr. Larch said that Homer could stay at St. Cloud's for as long as Homer felt he belonged there. That was when St. Larch said, 'Well, then, Homer, I expect you to be of use.'
For Homer Wells, this was easy. Of use, he felt, was all that an orphan was born to be. {55}
----
2. The Lord's Work
A child of Maine, Wilbur Larch was born in Portland in 186 the son of a sullen, tidy woman who was; among the staff of cooks and housekeepers for a man named Neal Dow, the mayor of Portland and the so-called father of the Maine law that introduced Prohibition to that state. Neal Dow once ran for the presidency as the candidate of the Prohibition Party, but he won barely ten thousand votes—proving that the general voter was wiser than Wilbur Larch's mother, who worshiped her employer and saw herself more as his co-worker for temperance reform than as his servant (which she was).
Interestingly, Wilbur Larch's father was a drunk— no small feat in the Portland of Mayor Dow's day. It was permitted to advertise beer in the shop windows—Scotch ale and bitter beer, which Wilbur Larch's father consumed copiously; it was necessary, he claimed, to drink these weak brews by the bucketful in order to get a buzz on. To young Wilbur, his father never looked drunk—he never staggered or fell or lay in a stupor, he never shouted or slurred his speech. Rather, he had about him the appearance of one perpetually surprised, of one given to frequent and sudden revelations that would stop him in his tracks or in midsentence, as if something had just come to him (or had just escaped him) that had preoccupied him for days.
He shook his head a lot, and all his life dispensed this misinformation: that the nineteen-thousarid-ton ship the Great Eastern, which was built in Portland, was destined {56} to sail the North Atlantic between Europe and
Similar Books
