“Floating?”
“Yessir—to sea.”
“So your mother’s gone and your father’s floating. Archimedes is adrift. You go to school?”
“Yessir”
“What reader?”
“No reader. Sixth grade.”
“I see. What school?”
“School Twenty-six. Say, it’s hot. I can’t stand here all day. I’ve got to sell my papers.”
The man pulled out a purse.
“I’ll take the lot,” he said. Then kindly: “My boy, I would like to have you go with me.”