The Ninth Wave Read Online Free Page A

took out a thick book.

"Now don't be angry, Mike," she said. "I brought this from the school

library just in case you raised the question. You never take what

I say. This is a copy of "Who's Who." It's a list of all the famous

people in the United States. Just name me one person, any person and if

he's famous he'll be in this book." She paused and added with triumph,

"And you'll see that most of them have gone to college."

"What if he isn't in the book?" Mike asked. "How do I know they've got

all the really famous people in there?"

He bent forward, took the cigar out of his mouth. The little trickles

of sweat ran down his chest, gathered around his waist, ran down between

his legs.

"If they're famous they have to be in this book," Miss Bell said and

laughed. "That is the definition of being famous . . . being in this

book. If you aren't in the book you aren't famous."

"Yeah, says who?" he said, but his voice faltered. He stared at the book

in her hand.

"It's just so, Mike," Miss Bell said and now she was speaking in the voice

with which she talked in the classroom: even, confident, assured. "This is

the book where they gather the names of famous men. They are experts at it."

"O.K., O.K.," Mike said. He took the cigar out of his mouth, threw it

toward the wastebasket in the corner. It fell in neatly and in a moment

a tendril of blue smoke came straight up out of the wastebasket. Mike

leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes. "O.K. What does it say

about John Cromwell?"

He could hear her flick through the pages, run them through her smooth

expert fingers with a hissing noise. Her fingernail scratched down a

page. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Here it is, John Cromwell," she said. "Read it." She laid the book on

his chest. He opened his eyes and picked it up. Her finger was under a

name. He read slowly.

CROMWELL, John W., lawyer, b. San Francisco,

1895. Stanford University, Stanford Law School.

m. Susan Donner; s. John Jr.; Timothy; d. Maria;

Assemblyman, 1928-32 Sixth District; Congressman

1932-35, Ninth District; Phi Beta Kappa, Sigma

Kappa Alpha, Beta Sigma Chi, Bohemian Club, Pacific

Union Club. Articles various law journals.

"Torts and the Common Law," "Hobbes and Natural

Law." 2323 Hyde St., San Francisco.

"See?" Miss Bell said. "He went to college. Stanford."

"Yeah," Mike said slowly. He ran his eye down the page, read other

brief biographies.

"Why did you pick him?" Miss Bell asked.

"I heard him talk once in Exposition Park," Mike said. "God, could

he talk. He was talking to a Mexican picnic. They were celebrating a

revolution or something. Or the anniversary of a revolution. Something

like that."

"What did he talk about?"

"I don't remember. It doesn't matter. Something about the glorious

revolution." Mike slowly sat up in the bed. "But Jesus he had 'em. Really

had 'em in his hand. I was standing in the crowd and they said he was

the son of a real old rich California family. He looked crummy. His suit

all covered with cigar ashes and he scratched all the time. It made them

laugh. I even laughed. He was comical. He just stared out at the crowd

and let them laugh. But when he talked. By God, they stopped laughing

quick enough."

"Don't say 'God' so often, Mike," Miss Bell whispered. "It's just a

habit. Doesn't sound nice."

"When he started to talk he was like a preacher," Mike went on. "Just

like a preacher, except that he made you feel bad. As if you'd done

something wrong. God, half those Mexicans were crying by the time he

finished. I never forgot him."

"Well, name anyone else, Mike, just anyone at all that is famous in his

field. He'll be in this book and nine times out of ten he will have gone

to college. You just can't get into an important job if you don't have

a college degree. Name another person."

"O.K., O.K.," Mike said. "That's enough. I'll go to college. I don't

know how or on what, but I'll go."

"You will?" she said