Tunes for Bears to Dance To
Robert Cormier
Language: English
Pages: 45
ISBN: 0440219035
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Money's tight and Henry is lucky to have the job at Mr. Hairston's grocery store. His parents are both lost in despair following the death of Henry's older brother, and Henry is glad for the opportunity to feel like he's helping. Saving to buy a marker for Eddie's grave, Henry tries to ignore Mr. Hairston's commentary about the customers.
But Henry is shocked when he is told he's being laid off. That is, unless he agrees to do one thing, one terrible thing.
Ragtime in Simla (Joe Sandilands, Book 2)
features suddenly soft, not sour as usual. The grocer opened a drawer in the counter and drew out a sheet of paper. He placed it flat on the counter and motioned for Henry to approach and look at it. The paper showed a black-and-white drawing of a stone monument, the name EDWARD CASSAVANT at the bottom in fancy letters. Above the name were a baseball bat and ball embedded in the stone, the bat upright as Henry had envisioned, and the ball, stitchings visible and scarred a bit like a real ball,
He was convinced that he would not find a hammer suitable for the job, and thus would have no chance to do what Mr. Hairston wanted him to do. He avoided looking at the old man’s village. Everyone was too busy to pay any attention to him and he wandered through the center unnoticed, invisible. He spotted a wooden mallet leaning against the wall near the door to the storeroom. like a croquet mallet but bigger and heavier, as big as a sledgehammer but made of wood. Henry glanced away, not wanting
man was doing inside the place or what his black bag contained. Mr. Hairston merely grunted when Henry reported to the store without his crutches, ready for work, that afternoon, Henry had scrubbed his face and combed his hair. His leg still felt strong despite his long run home that morning. “Potatoes to put up,” Mr. Hairston called over the shoulder of a customer, and Henry made his way down to the cellar, where a bin of potatoes awaited him. He always tried to hurry the job because the
when he spotted the old man. He spoke a few words to him in a language Henry did not understand, then explained, looking down at Henry, “I was worried about him because he was late. You can usually set your clock by him.” Scrutinizing Henry from his lofty height: “So, you came back …good.” The giant led them into the store. It was not a place of deep dark secrets after all but a big room where a dozen people busied themselves at benches, heads bent in concentration, fingers flying everywhere.
go to a place that sells them,” Mr. Hairston said, laughing that piglike laugh that was without mirth or amusement “Where do you find such a place?” Henry asked, refusing to be discouraged. Mr. Hairston sighed, his shoulders lifting and falling in resignation, and turned to the boy again. “You buy a monument like anything else. You shop around. There’s a place near Oak Lawn Cemetery that sells them. A man named Barstow owns it. Makes a good living at it, I guess. Must be a big markup—all you