Grandpa went to the sink and plunged his face into the wash basin, making a sound like a seal. He came up bellowing: "Skipper's a progger!"
"What's that?" Maureen and Paul wanted to know.
Grandpa scruffed his beard, thinking. "It's a old, old Chincoteague word, and it means ... wa-al, it jes' means someone as is smart enough to grab a livin' when things is dire bad." And he cupped his hands around his mouth and boomed, "Welcome home, ye old Progger!"
[Chapter 17]
SAWDUST AND SADNESS
Saturday. News briefs from around the world were coming over the radio like flak:
"India agrees to a conference with Pakistan.... African leaders at the United Nations are exploring the Common Market.... Russia accuses the United States of war-mongering.... Jordan and Israel again at loggerheads over the River Jordan.... England's Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip return in triumph from Australia and New Zealand."
The newscaster paused and took a breath as if all this were far away and only a prelude to the real news. His tone became neighborly now and concerned.