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You must have to sweep dozens of them off the porch every morning just so you can get your paper from the sidewalk.”
    â€œOh, we do,” Stacy said proudly. “We have to use the very biggest brooms. But are you going to throw yourself at him?”
    â€œNo,” Stacy said, although she wondered if just plain asking counted as throwing.
    â€œWould you marry him if he asked you?”
    â€œHe would never ask,” Stacy said.
    â€œWhy not? I could use a mom.”
    â€œOh, Karen, I think your father just needs to get used to being a dad. Being a husband’s even rougher, I’d imagine,” Stacy said, guiding the girl and the dog toward her house. “I have a few clients to visit this morning. Want to go with me?”
    Karen pulled a face.
    â€œClients? Eeeeooow. My dad has clients. Do I have to bring a coloring book?”
    Mugs stood up and shook the compost off his body.
    â€œIf you want to bring a book, you can,” Stacy said. “But my clients don’t expect little girls to be quiet.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œOh, not quiet at all,” Stacy shook her head. “They like girls who shout and sing and like to play in the mud and who get their clothes really, really dirty and don’t mind taking a good, long bubble bath after the meeting is over.”
    Karen pondered this with a fist shoved up under her dimpled jaw.
    â€œThat’s the kind of girl I am.”
    â€œAnd they like dogs who yawn and drool.”
    They both looked at the dog.
    â€œThat’s the kind of dog Mugs is. He yawns and drools…and farts!”
    â€œThen my clients want to see both of you.”
    â€œThey sound like nice clients.”
    â€œOh, they are,” Stacy assured. “They really are.”

Chapter Four
    Deerhorn’s mayor was known to his constituents by a nickname acquired during his reign as Wisconsin’s Featherweight Golden Gloves champion a quarter century ago. The honorable Eugene “Lefty” Pincham had traded the boxing ring for the campaign trail and his renowned left hook for the tools of the political trade.
    He talked. Interrupted. Asked a “just supposing…” question. Offered an anecdote related to him by one of his town’s many citizens. Reminisced about his personal experiences. And put in his two cents’ worth.
    Not that he was hostile to any of the elements of Adam’s presentation—quite the contrary, since, as he had devoured the eclair with a suitably pained look on his face and in two bites, nodding at Adam’s wishes for a happy birthday, Lefty considered himself Adam’s newest best friend.
    It’s just, couldn’t this wall be taller and that wall shorter? Couldn’t Adam put this door there andthat door here? And wouldn’t the whole building look better if the gymnasium was on the west side instead of the east side and the principal’s office was on the first floor instead of the second? And what about a little area for the teachers to give classes outside?
    After all, one of his favorite memories was when his own teacher would take the children outside to listen to her read stories on the grassy knoll.
    Adam took notes, nodded his head and figured Mayor Pincham could show the Brazilian government officials a thing or two about being difficult.
    Lefty’s colleagues on the Village Council weren’t any less expressive. Sitting around a long conference table in the mayor’s office, the six men and women oohed and aaahed over the scale model for the new elementary school, insisted on telling Adam about the original one-room schoolhouse that had served Deerhorn into this century, took apart the scale model into pieces that couldn’t be rejoined and brought out pictures of grandchildren who would be going to the school that Adam would build.
    â€œThey haven’t got enough room for all the kids in the one-room school,” the Village Council president