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Show 130 "and I never even knew him." "That's all right," I said. "He was your pa." "My mother became a dance-hall girl to make more money-to support me. I cry over her sometimes, too." "I know that. I talk right out loud to ray pa." "I know that, too." "You have your Grandmother Tzipporah somewhere Outside," I said. "I've been thinking about her," Tip said. "I could look her up and see if she is still angry." "I don't think either one of your grandparents will be angry any more," I said. "Don't you have any grandparents to look up when you go Outside?" "Sure," I lied. "Lots of them. But once I have the gold, I won't need to look up anybody." On December 1, 1898, the Perry Davis Painkiller outside our door froze. Caribou and I had rigged up a "sourdough thermometer"- five small pickle bottles of liquid which froze at different temperatures. We secured these in a rack and nailed it to the left of the door. The liquids froze in this order: |
