Michael Malone - Weebly

live with your aunt. You're the grouch."
"You started it." His daughter opened the back
door, and light raced through the room like a two-yearold.
"Look! Cheer up, it's a great day outside."
"Be in the high eighties by noon, and muggy."
"You ought to think positive, Cecil. You're what
they call a melancholy personality."
"Hmmm," mumbled her father. "Don't call me
'Cecil,' call me 'Daddy.'"
"Oh, vomit, I'm too old."
"Well, how 'bout Pop, or Dad, or Sir, or Mr.
Hedgerow?"
"I'll call you Papa, like Natasha calls Count
Rostov."
"Fine." Hedgerow sat down at the brunch counter
with his breakfast and bent open his National
Geographic to a photograph of anglers in the River
Tweed. He wished he were with them.
"I'm going."
"Well, don't slam the door, babe."
"Father Fields said Miss Dingley wanted to see me
today."