Opening his eyes, Mr. Kemper looked at the pieces of knife blade scattered at the boy's feet and, a little to one side, the broken stick. He smiled and settled back on the bench, listening to the argument. The boys shouted and waved their arms, but that was all. As for their invective, he felt it lacked originality; he tired of it quickly. He got up from the bench and walked toward them. The argument stopped.
They looked at him with cold arrogant eyes. "Hello," he said.
They looked away. "You hear something, man?" said the blond boy.
"Not a thing, Jack, not a thing," the other answered.
The smile on Mr. Kemper's face was his best, his friendliest; it had taken him hours of practice in front of mirrors. "Apes, your fathers were not arrogant when they died screaming on our spears. They were not bold when our hunting cats ripped their bellies." Aloud he said, "You know, I'm a stranger around here and I thought you might be able to help me. Just what is it that's going on at the lion cage at three o'clock today?"
"We ain't heard nothing about no lion's cage, dad. We got our own troubles."
"Yeah, our own troubles. Get lost, dad."
"It sounded very interesting, something about a big hassle in the cages."
The boys lifted their eyebrows and looked sidelong at each other. The blond one said, "I told you to get lost, dad. Take five. You know, depart away from here."
Mr. Kemper said, "Well, thanks anyway," and was still smiling as he left them.