"My Mama says your Mama had old man Johnstone over for Christmas dinner. And the widow Ott told my Mama that she'd connected one or two calls between your house and the store every day in the last month. My Mama says that Johnstone is courting your Mama." "Mrs Ott isn't supposed to talk about the calls she connects," I said, as my mind reeled. "It's like a telegraph operator: it's a confidential trust." Mr Adelson had told me that, once when he was telling me stories about his life before he went to sea. "So, is it true?" "No!" I said, surprising myself with my vehemence. "My Mama just didn't want him to be alone at Christmas." Oly swung the axe a few more times. "Well, sure. But what about all the telephone calls?" "That's business. The store is still partly ours. Mama's just looking after our interests." "If you say so," he said. I shoved him hard. I drew a line in the snow with my toe. "I _do_ say so. Step across the line if you say otherwise!" Oly got to his feet and looked at me. "I don't want to fight with you, James. I was just tellin' you what my Mama said." "Well, your Mama ought to mind her own business," I said, baiting him. That did it. He stepped over and popped me one, right in the nose. Oly and I had been chums since we could walk, and we'd had a few fights in our days but this time it was different. I was so _angry_ at him, at my Mama, at my Pa, at New Jerusalem, and we just kept on swinging at each other until Mr Adelson came out to ring the bell and separated us. My nose was sore and I was limping, and I'd torn Oly's jacket and bent his fingers back, so he cradled his hand in the crook of his arm. "Boys!" Mr Adelson said. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be friends." His language shocked me, but I was still plenty angry. "He's no friend of mine!" I said. "That's fine with me," Oly said and glared at me. The other kids were milling around, and Mr Adelson gave us both a look that could melt steel, then rang the bell. # I could hardly concentrate in class that day. My Mama getting married? A new Pa? It couldn't be true. But in my mind, I kept seeing my Mama and that Johnstone kissing under the mistletoe, and him sitting in my Pa's chair, drinking his whiskey. Oly's desk was next to mine, and he kept shooting me dirty looks. Finally, I leaned over and whispered, "Cut it out, you idiot." Oly said, "You're the idiot. I think you got your brains scrambled in France, James." "I'll scramble your brains!" "Gentlemen," said Mr Adelson. "Do you have something you'd like to share with the class?" "No sir," we said together, and exchanged glares. "James, perhaps you'd like to come up to the front and finish the lesson?" "Sir?" I said, looking at the blackboard. He'd been going through quadratics, an elaborate first-principles proof. "I believe you know this already, don't you? Come up to the front and finish the lesson."