Into the Firestorm Read Online Free PDF

the buildings, but the sun didn’t press down on you. People had made this city. It was lively and noisy and full.
    Whatever happened, he didn’t want to go back to the fields.

P ARIS OF THE P ACIFIC

    Just when Nick was ready to give up waiting in front of the stationery store, a man turned the corner. He strode jauntily down the street, wearing a sharp gray suit, a round derby hat, and shiny black shoes. He was whistling merrily, tipping his hat at people he passed. By his side trotted the most beautiful golden dog Nick had ever seen.
    As the pair strode by, Nick couldn’t help smiling. The man threw a quick, quizzical glance at him, raising his eyebrows into little sideways question marks. Then, still whistling, he stopped in front of the stationery store. He drew out a key from his pocket with a flourish and put it in the lock in one quick motion.
    Nick didn’t move. He kept smiling. He could feel his palms getting sweaty.
    The man stopped whistling and turned around. “Hullo. Scat, kid! I’m sorry, but I’ve nothing to eat. This isn’t a grocery or a charity kitchen, you know. We sell paper and pens, not pumpkins and porridge.”
    Nick flushed. At that moment the golden dog trotted over and planted himself on Nick’s shoes. His feathery tail whisked back and forth on the sidewalk with a soft, swishing sound. The dog stared up at Nick with friendly brown eyes. He whined a little, deep in his throat. Then he opened his mouth and smiled right at Nick.
    Nick grinned and scratched the dog’s head. “I think he likes me.”
    “Humph,” said the dog’s owner.
    Nick looked more closely at the man. He had dark brown eyes, set wide apart. They gave him a surprised look even when his eyebrows weren’t raised.
Maybe that’s why he whistles,
Nick thought.
He looks like someone who has a hard time being serious.
    The man swung the door open. “Nice try, but I’m not impressed. This dog likes everyone, don’t you, Shake? And why not? You’re the friendliest dog in San Francisco. I believe you’d trot home with every customer if I let you. Come on.”
    Nick moved forward.
    “Not you. I was speaking to Shake here. As I explained just seconds ago, I don’t have any food for beggars.”
    Nick took a breath. “Don’t give me food. Give me a job.”
    “A job? Good heavens. What kind of a job? I don’t need a helper!” The man seemed genuinely startled.
    Nick could feel his heart beating hard. “But you do.”
    The man’s mouth fell open. His eyes grew wider than ever. “I do?”
    “Yes, sir. You do. You need me, sir. I’ve been standing here for at least fifteen minutes, waiting.” Nick spoke quickly, the words tumbling out. “Why, suppose I was a rich gentleman in need of a new pen or a journal for my business. Or a clerk from that big building down over on Sansome Street. Or what if I was a lady who wanted a beautiful inkwell? What then?”
    “What then?” the man repeated, striding across the floor to the counter.
    “Well, you’d have lost a customer then, wouldn’t you?” Nick said, stepping through the doorway. He took off his hat and felt his hair spill out onto his forehead. “Please, sir. Why don’t you try me out for just a few days? I’m a hard worker. I can sweep and clean up. I can do the deliveries while you make important sales.”
    Nick crumpled his cap in his hands. He wasn’t sure if the man was even listening, but at least he hadn’t thrown him out—yet.
    “I like drawing and paper and writing. My penmanship is good. Real good. Even Miss Reedy said so, back in Texas. She had an inkwell, too, like those shiny ones in your window. Maybe I could help demonstrate your pens and your ink.” Nick searched his mind for something, anything, to say. “Why, I’d even like to learn how to write fancy. What is it called? Oh, calli…calli…”
    “Calligraphy?” suggested the man, a slight grin turning the corner of one side of his mouth.
    “Yes, that’s it. Calli…calligraphy.”