“You just finished eating,” Mom answered. “Not for two hours, at least.”
“Then let’s play ball.”
“Whew! Why don’t we hitch you up to a power plant? You know, Davey,” she said, “these people have just had their dinner, and they couldn’t run from one base to another if they tried. Better wait a little while.”
Not at all cast down, Davey retired to the pier and shot off firecrackers. He would light them, and then toss them into the water. Sometimes the water would put them out, but almost always he would hear a dull plop, and see a small geyser rise up at the scene of the explosion.
The Landrys were down at the lake front, watching a sailboat race, and Davey called out to them.
“Where’s Buick, Mrs. Landry? I haven’t seen him all day.”
Mrs. Landry shook her head and smiled. “Poor Buick,” she said. “He’s having a bad time of it. He’s on the floor in the farthest corner of my clothes closet with an overcoat over his head.”
“What’s the matter with him?” asked David in alarm. “Is he sick?”
“No,” said Mrs. Landry. “He’s scared to death of firecrackers.”