Вино из одуванчиков

           "Forty-five,that’sinside,notoutside!Forty-nine,fifty,fifty-one!Fifty-two,fifty-three!Fifty-threeplusthirty-nineis—ninety-twodegrees!"

           "Whosays?"

           "Isay!Noteighty-sevendegreesFahrenheit!Butninety-twodegreesSpaulding!"

           "Youandwhoelse?"

           Tomjumpedupandstoodred-faced,staringatthesun."Meandthecicadas,that’swho!Meandthecicadas!You’reout-numbered!Ninety-two,ninety-two,ninety-twodegreesSpaulding,bygosh!"

           Theybothstoodlookingatthemercilessuncloudedskylikeacamerathathasbrokenandstares,shutterwide,atamotionlessandstrickentowndyinginafierysweat.

           Douglasshuthiseyesandsawtwoidiotsunsdancingonthereversesideofthepinklytranslucentlids.

           "One...two...three..."

           Douglasfelthislipsmove.

           "...four...five...six..."

           Thistimethecicadassangevenfaster.

           Fromnoontimetosundown,frommidnighttosunrise,oneman,onehorse,andonewagonwereknowntoalltwenty-sixthousandthreehundredforty-nineinhabitantsofGreenTown,Illinois.

           Inthemiddleoftheday,fornoreasonquicklyapparent,childrenwouldstopstillandsay:

           "HerecomesMr.Jonas!"

           "HerecomesNed!"

           "Herecomesthewagon!"

           Olderfolksmightpeernorthorsouth,eastorwestandseenosignofthemannamedJonas,thehorsenamedNed,orthewagonwhichwasaConestogaofthekindthatbuckedtheprairietidestobeachonthewilderness.