Finding Tom Read Online Free PDF

overwhelm me. “I would like to speak to Dr. Emory … please.” I managed to throw in the “please” at the end, which was obviously an afterthought and a testament to my poor manners. There was a brief silence.
    “May I ask who is calling?”
    “My name is Tom. Dr. Emory sent a letter asking me to call him. It’s about my writing.”
    “Dr. Emory is in his study. Would you mind holding while I see if he is available to take a call?”
    “Not at all … thank you.”
    There was the obvious sound of the receiver being put down, a shuffling of feet, and then there was silence. It felt like I waited for hours while I fumbled awkwardly with my hands. I wanted a smoke, but I knew better than to smoke in the house and certainly not in the living room. Mother would be appalled that I’d taken up the habit. She had always referred to it as a sinful and disgusting habit.
    At last, the telephone was picked up, and a lively voice broke through: “Hello, Tom. This is Dr. Emory. How do you do?”
    I swallowed hard, hoping he couldn’t detect my nerves. “I’m doing well, sir. I received your letter in the mail this afternoon and telephoned you straightaway.”
    “Excellent. I had hoped you would call, but one never knows these days. Young people are fickle. Nevertheless, … my wife and I would like to have you over for dinner—but of course, I’ve already said that in my letter. You must forgive me—I tend to ramble sometimes. Just one of my many bad habits, I suppose. My wife is constantly reminding me of them, and according to her, there is quite a long list. Anyway, so what do you say?”
    “Well, sir, it would be a real privilege,” I responded.
    “Splendid!” he exclaimed. “Now according to your mailing address, you live in Greenwood, which is probably about a two-hour train ride from Locklear. I’d recommend you take the train, and I’ll have someone meet you when you arrive at the station. I’m afraid I’ll be rather busy for the next few weeks, but how about we schedule a meeting for a month from this Saturday? That’ll give Margaret plenty of time to prepare. You know how women are. They tend to fuss about such things; all fuss and no work. It is rather an odd sort of thing when you think about it. But I mustn’t give you the wrong idea about Margaret. She is a dear soul, and I’m lucky to have her. I wasn’t the only boy pursuing her back in the day. Oh yes, she had a string of suitors lining up outside her front door. It is indeed a good thing I found my way to the back door and let myself in. It has always been my style to do things rather differently than the rest. Shock and awe, my boy, mixed with a dab of romance and dollop of wittiness. Put all of those ingredients together, throw in a charming smile, and the ladies will swoon. But a smart lad like yourself has probably figured all that out by now. Okay then, back to business. How does a month from Saturday sound?”
    “That sounds excellent,” I said a little more boldly than before. I had envisioned someone stern and almost cold, like a typical professor. But I could tell already that I’d pegged Dr. Emory incorrectly. Little did I know just how far off I was. The conversation wound down to a natural close, and we hung up.
    I felt like I was on the verge of something great. Standing there, I felt a surge of excitement much like a strong wind rushing up over me, and I was momentarily engulfed in a foreign feeling: Joy! Warm and robust, it sprouted up through my toes, wrapping around my spine, and climbing out to the farthest tendrils of my matted hair. I was alive again. Just for a moment. For a second I remembered what it was like before mother died, when I ran through the forest laughing at the brook and the trees and the clouds, marveling as only a child can at the mysterious splendor set before me. I longed to feel that way again. I longed to be free, and in that moment, it was as if something was calling me out of my depressed