“Good enough, son. Go along to your classes now.” When Duff had gone, Mr. Wheeler turned to me with a half smile. “Frankly, Jerry McCabe has been a bit of a bully around here. It’s time he was taken down a peg, although I’m not sure he deserved that much punishment. Anyway, I’m amazed that your son was able to do it.”

“I am too,” I said. I thought I detected a note of admiration in Mr. Wheeler’s voice. He was a mousy little man who may have been dreaming for years of taking care of bullies like Jerry McCabe.

“I’d’ve done the same thing when I was Duff’s age,” Jack said when I got home. “I wouldn’t take any guff from the jock types either.”

I had my doubts about that. I had known my husband to take plenty of guff from waiters, clerks and cab drivers. If Duff had gumption, I decided, it came from my side of the family and not Jack’s.

That same day there was another call from the secretary. Mr. Wheeler had forgotten to mention that if Duff was going to continue to be absent from classes because of the illness of his father, the school would need a letter to that effect. I was noncommittal, saying only that I would get in touch with Mr. Wheeler again.

But Duff wasn’t at all evasive about it that evening. He explained that he had been busy with his research on the Caine family, working with material in the Cainesville Public Library. He hadn’t told the truth to his teachers because he wanted to keep the work a secret until he was further along. If professional historians got wind of what he was doing, one of them might try to steal the idea.

We weren’t satisfied, but we accepted it after he promised not to cut classes again. I suppose the fact that he already had enough credits to graduate caused us to treat the matter rather lightly. Also, I’m afraid that both Jack and I were inclined to think of Cainesville High as an inferior place, not really up to the intellectual capacities of our son.

A few days later we received another call about Duff’s activities. This time it was from the Ashland County sheriff’s office. Our car had been wrecked and Duff was in jail, charged with several offenses, including reckless driving and assaulting policemen. He was unhurt and could be released on payment of five hundred dollars bond—an outrageously small sum, the deputy intimated, but the limit, considering that Duff was a minor.

Stephanie was in the room when the call came, and she suggested that her father would be willing to drive me to Ashland, if he was available. I accepted, since I had no other choice. Mr. Weber was at home and he agreed to leave immediately to pick me up.