dry floor while his right leg held stiff.
The rubber tip squeaked again on every second step, echoing in the quiet barn.
“Howard needs the official escort line printed on the gymnasium bulletin board by four o’clock,” I said.
Duane stopped and turned his head slowly toward me.
“Then go tell Howard my name is spelled with two E’s in Ostrem,” he said.
“Travis is still down in the seed shed,” I said. “He has not come up to the house since noon.”
Duane rested both hands on the top of his hickory cane and looked toward the open barn door where the sunlight cut across the sill.
“A man who stays in his seed shed during daylight hours has thoughts he cannot sweep out with a corn broom,” Duane said.
He reached down and picked up his black dress shoe from the newspaper.
“Come on inside to the kitchen,”
