"I know," Ginny said quietly. "I saw it when he brought it home this afternoon." Her blue eyes misted. "He was awfully proud."
"The worst comment he's ever had was a 'very good,'" Lester said heedlessly. "If only he'd get a 'poor' once in a while—or even a 'rotten.' But that's too much to hope for."
"Maybe it's not really as bad as it seems," Ginny said hopefully. "He said himself that he's weak in spelling."
"Not weak enough for comfort," Lester said. "That little head of his is just crammed with brains. Sometimes I look at it and all I can think of is a stuffed bell pepper!" Suddenly his grey eyes came alight with inspiration. "Maybe if we cut down on his food—They say in those ads that if a child is properly undernourished he begins to get sluggish and...."
"Lester!" Ginny said, thoroughly shocked. "Of all things!"
For a moment they were silent, not quite looking at each other.
"Where did he go?" Ginny asked finally.
"Into his room," Lester sighed. "To study, no doubt."
Ginny nodded and moved toward the entrance to the hall. "I'd better see if he's all right," she said. "You really shouldn't have yelled at him."
Lester watched broodingly as she left the room. For a moment his gaze remained darkly fixed, then moved back and down to the toes of his shoes. He sighed again, and the lines of worry, as though of sheer exhaustion, relaxed.