Date: Tue, 2 Sep 2008 20:47:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Arbour <markarbour2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chronicles of an Academic Predator - Chapter 15

CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR

Published First at :  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/arbourtales/

	Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:

1. It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men.  In some cases,
these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.

2. It is set in the early 1960s, an era before the Civil Rights Act of 1964
when segregation and discrimination were the norm.  African Americans were
referred to as Negroes or Coloreds, although the "N" word was offensive
then as it is now.  I have retained the language of the era because it
reminds me how far we have come on race relations.

3. Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound.  A good rule
of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1962 is probably similar to $10 in 2008.
So just add a zero at the end of any number.

4. Some authors are good enough to create a mood through their words.  I
need help, so I'll be posted recommended musical selections throughout the
story.



CHAPTER 15


July 8, 1962

	The sun hit my eyes and I swore for the hundredth time that I had
to buy curtains.  I was still lying on my side, but Jeff was laying behind
me, flat on his back, still gently snoring.  I missed the contact, and the
warmth.  Warmth may seem like a weird thing to say, since it is July and
hotter than hell, but I like it cold, especially when I sleep, so I crank
the air conditioner.  I rolled over and stared at him.

	He had the arm closest to me draped back over his head.  I smiled
when I thought about how often I'd seen Andre sleep the same way.  It put
his armpit right in my face, his odor wafting towards my nose.  One of the
first things I noticed about Jeff is that he has pretty pungent body odor.
Maybe he doesn't use deodorant, I don't know, but it's a pretty strong,
unpleasant smell.  I found, though, that I was getting used to it, and that
compared to when I first met him, I really only noticed it when I was this
close to him.

	I felt a strong urge to move over and snuggle up to him, and lay my
head on his chest.  I thought about that, and wondered if he'd think that
was queer.  In the end I decided that if he could spoon up against me and
stab me in the ass with his dick, I could snuggle up to him on his back.  I
moved into him, feeling his chest underneath my cheek.  His arm moved down
and stroked my back gently.  I put my good arm over his chest and hugged
him.

	"Is this alright?"  I asked him.

	"Yep," he said.

	I lay there, wondering what it was about this guy.  Here he was,
cuddling up with another guy in a way that most guys would consider totally
queer, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all.  In fact, he seems to
thrive on it.  Could he be a fag?  I'd seen him watch attractive women walk
by, they clearly got his attention.  I never noticed if he did that with
the guys because I was usually too busy staring at them.  I smirked at
myself.  Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but there didn't seem to be
anything sexual about the way he held me, or even now, when I basically
wrapped myself around him.  If it was any other guy, I'd probably try to
move my leg up to "accidentally" brush against his hopefully rock hard
cock.  I didn't even bother with him, because even if I did he'd just brush
it off as no big deal.

	I could understand why he seemed so uninhibited.  I don't think
he'd have a problem parading around without clothes; it certainly didn't
bother him when I walked into the bathroom and he was stark naked.  I guess
growing up in a small house with 5 brothers and one bathroom has that
effect on a guy.  Not only that, but he was as into sports as anyone, so as
he said, he probably spent tons of time in the locker room.  But why did
the physical contact not bother him?  I thought about him as a big teddy
bear.  Maybe he was a pack animal?  Maybe living in that house, sharing a
bed with brothers, caused him to adopt the same habits that a dog would in
a pack.  At night, they'd all cuddle up for warmth. Nothing sexual about
it.

	I thought back to my historical studies, and how medieval peasants
used to sleep in one room piled on one bed, just like dogs.  There, though,
it could be sexual, if the parents wanted to fuck, but then everyone else
just pretty much had to ignore it.  Was I being inherently snobby,
attributing his physical intimacy to his "peasant" upbringing?  I felt his
hand brush across my back again and sighed, relaxing into him.  I was just
over-analyzing this.  Why question his motives?  Why not just enjoy it?
His stomach growled loudly and I laughed.  I got out of bed and headed to
the bathroom, looking back at him still in bed.  "Come on, let's get
going."  He nodded and started getting ready.

	This was our fun day, our day to explore the city, so after
breakfast we headed downtown, only instead of driving we took the El.  I
wanted to familiarize myself with it, although it was pretty easy to use.
Jeff was totally intrigued by the whole thing.  I told him that lots of big
cities had systems like this, especially in Europe.  I don't think he
believed me when I told him that the Paris Metro Trains actually ran on
rubber tires instead of metal wheels.  I took him to the Field Museum, we
wandered around Grant Park, we strolled up the Magnificent Mile....I'd done
this kind of thing with other people.  I'd taken Stefan around to see some
of the same stuff (remembering him briefly irritated me) but he'd grown up
in Paris.  What made if fun with Jeff is that it was all new and wondrous
to him.  He was like a kid in a candy shop.

	I took him by Marshall Fields, and that really blew his mind.
Aside from the trademark Frango Mints that you're supposed to buy, I took
him over to the men's section to get him some new clothes. Shopping again.
What's with that?  Anyway, I fought him tooth and nail to get some nice
clothes, and in the end I got tired of the battle and just wrote down his
sizes.  If I wanted to spend money on him, by God I was going to do it.

	We dropped our packages off at the condo and took the car up to
campus.  It was funny, because I'd just taken him around one of the most
vibrant, thriving cities in the world, but the thing that excited him the
most was the campus of Northwestern University.  I showed him where my
building was, and took him in to see my office, still empty and dormant.
Then I showed him the library and student center.  Finally we ended up at
the stadium and the athletic department.

	"Wow.  This is amazing.  This is big time.  Look how big this
stadium is.  Man, what I'd give to play in a place like this."  The dream
shone in his eyes.

	"Jeff, I think, having spent time with you and gotten to know you,
that you have the world at your feet.  All you have to do is work hard and
your natural talents will shine through."  I guess I was trying to sound
inspirational, but to me I just sounded lame.

	He looked down at me.  "You really think so?"

	"Absolutely."

July 9, 1962

	I woke up early, again, practically draped across Jeff.  I guess I
was so short and skinny that my weight was like a fly to him, but I
wondered how much moving around I had done to get there.  One thing's for
sure, I sure didn't have to dream up any jack-off fantasies, not while I
spent my nights rubbing up against that body.  The neatest thing about his
body was that "beefiness" that I had noticed the first time I'd seen him
naked.  When I put my head on his chest, or draped my arm across his
stomach, I didn't feel rock-hard muscles.  Instead, I felt a soft layer of
skin and fat.  The muscles were there, they were just shielded by his soft
outer layer.  Damn, I loved his body.

	I got up and jumped in the shower.  Jeff had volunteered to stick
around the condo so he could be here when the furniture was delivered.
That would probably tie him up for the next few days, since most of it was
being delivered separately.  That freed me up to head over to campus and
settle in.  I was just about to blow my morning load when I heard him come
strolling in to pee.  The shower has a glass door, so I turned away from
him.  I don't think I'll ever be able to adopt his nonchalant attitude
about nudity, even when I'm not in the middle of whacking off.

	I calmed down my erection and got out of the shower to dry off.  I
noticed him eying my body but didn't think anything about it.  I was just a
short, skinny little freak.  Certainly nothing to pay attention to.

	"Why don't we get some breakfast and then you can drop me off on
campus?  That way you'll have the car if you want to go somewhere."  I
wouldn't need a car on campus.  He nodded.  "Think you can come pick me up
around five?"  He nodded again.

	"I might try to do some of that painting you want," he said while
we were eating breakfast.  How he could talk and shovel food in his mouth
at the same time was truly an amazing skill.

	"Jeff, you don't have to do that.  I didn't bring you here to be a
laborer."  I really didn't want to impose on him.  I liked his company and
I wanted him to enjoy his time in Chicago.

	"I want to.  Give me something to do."  He said that while downing
two pieces of sausage.  I felt that there was something else he needed, but
he didn't know how to ask me.  I searched my brain.  Duh.  If he was going
to paint, he'd need to buy stuff.  I had so many other things to deal with
in my life, but fortunately money wasn't one of them.  Unfortunately,
though, it made me oblivious to it as an issue.

	"Hey, that's great, but only do it if you want to."  I'd gotten
paint swatches yesterday and gone around marking the colors I wanted to
paint on the walls.  I'd done it for the painters I planned to hire, but
he'd be able to figure it out.  I took out my wallet.  "Here's $150.  That
ought to cover it, don't you think?"

	He looked at me funny.  "I could buy paint for your whole building
with that."

	I smiled back.  "Yeah, but I want you to buy good paint.  And I
figured you'd need $75 of it just to buy lunch."

	He snaughed.  "I'm a growing boy."  I just rolled my eyes.

Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=miLKRdmyNh4
"Don't Know Much About History" by Sam Cooke

	He dropped me off near my building.  It was only 9AM, so I had
plenty of time to get organized.  I strolled into "my" building, walked up
"my" stairs, excited to get to "my" office.  When I got to the departmental
offices, the receptionist, her name was Annie, stopped me.  "Dr. Crampton,
Dr. Peterson would like to see you when he gets in.  He should be here in
about 20 minutes."

	"Thanks Annie," I said, throwing her one of my best smiles.  I
learned a long time ago that the staff was the key to getting things done
and they deserved to be treated with respect and appreciated.

	I headed to my office and unlocked the door, only to find it
occupied by someone else.  I just stood there, stunned.  What was this guy
doing in my office?

	"Hi there," he said, holding out his hand.  "I'm Dave Adams; it's
my second year here.  From the look on your face, you must be JP Crampton?"
I shook his hand and nodded.

	"They've done some office rearranging, so I ended up here, and
they're putting you somewhere else.  Don't know where, though.  I think
Peterson hoped he'd get in before you did to avoid any awkwardness."  Adams
seemed like a pleasant enough guy, and since I was the junior man on the
totem pole, it made sense that I'd be dislocated.

	"Guess I was just a little bit faster than him today," I said,
throwing him the same smile that I just gave Annie.  "Nice to meet you
Dave."

	"Kind of a crappy way to meet someone, squatting in their former
office.  Don't hold it against me.  It was Jensen's fault."  His expression
turned from painful to irritate when he mentioned this "Jensen" person.

	"No problem Dave.  I wanted a bigger window anyway."

	"Well Dr. Crampton, I think we can accommodate that."  I turned to
see Dr. Peterson standing behind me.  Adams snickered at me while I
prepared to do damage control for my impertinent comment.

	Peterson held up his hand.  "I see you've met Dr. Adams.  My other
young bright, shining star.  If he ever finishes his latest paper that is."

	"Quality takes time sir," Adams chirped.  Peterson turned his
attention to me.

	"I've got good news and bad news.  Good news is that you've got
windows.  Bad news is they're not very nice ones."  Adams shook his head
and was about to say something, but Peterson cut him dead with a look.

	Peterson led me down the hallway to the very end.  There were two
desks right outside the door, perfect for a secretary and a teacher's
assistant.  So far this was great.  Then he opened the door and led me into
my new office.  Then I realized what Adams was going to warn me about.  The
place looked like a hurricane whipped through it.

	"I'll try to find you something better before the weather changes.
The problem is that the windows leak prodigiously, so when it rains, or
snows, or the wind blows, or it gets hot, this office gets trashed.  So
please, think of it as only temporary.  I sincerely apologize for this.
Not a great way to start out in a new position."  Peterson seemed clearly
embarrassed.  "When things get bad, you may have to grab one of the desks
outside."

	I studied the office, looking beyond the problems.  It was big and
square, about 15X15, with windows on two sides.  One set faced south; in
fact I could see my condo not too far away.  The other set faced Evanston.
The floors, standard university vinyl tile, were all yellow and peeling,
while the walls showed significant signs of water damage.  Peterson was
studying me closely.

	"Dr. Peterson, I think I could turn this into a really nice office.
I'd be willing to do it at my own expense, provided you promise me that,
during the five years of my contract, you won't move me."  He thought about
that.

	"That's highly irregular."  He was stalling while he thought about
it.

	"I realize that, but it's going to cost some money to set this
place right, and I don't want to put a lot of sweat and dollars into it
only to be moved again.  Surely that's understandable?"

	He smiled at me.  "It is.  OK Dr. Crampton, you've got a deal.
I'll put it in writing just in case lightening strikes me on the way home.
Good luck with your rehab."  As he was leaving, he turned to me.  "Nothing
too crazy, OK?  I don't want it to look like some artist's loft in
Greenwich Village."  I smiled back.  "Yes sir."

	I found myself standing there alone in my new office, such as it
was.  I had a penchant for decorating (doesn't every fag?), and this would
be a labor of love.  The reason I wanted a guarantee that this place would
be mine for the duration is that I knew when I was done, it would be
incredible.  The office was empty except for a small table with a phone.  I
grabbed a chair from outside and got to work.

	Around noon, Dave Adams popped his head in.  "Hey, I was going to
get some lunch and I thought I'd see if you wanted to join me.  Least I can
do, since you ended up in the birdcage."

	"Sounds good," I said.  "Birdcage?"

	"Yeah, we call it the birdcage because it's all light and airy, and
the walls and windows keep out the weather about as well as the wires on a
birdcage."  I laughed at that.

	"I think with a little renovation it will be a great office.  In
fact, I know it will."  We chatted as we walked.

	"Yeah, well don't make it too nice.  Soon as you get it spiffed up,
Jensen will decide he wants it and you'll end up back in the ghetto with
the rest of us."

	"I'm not worried about that."  He looked at me questioningly.
"Peterson promised I could stay there if I fixed it up.  I even got it in
writing."  Adams whistled at that.  "This should be interesting," he
quipped.

	"So who's this Jensen guy you keep talking about?"  With that, I
opened the floodgates on Adam's vast database.  The guy must be a very busy
gossip, because he seemed to know everything about everyone.

	"Dr. Robert Jensen or Bob Jensen if he only moderately hates you.
He's been here for years, one of those grizzled old guys who got tenure a
long time ago.  He uses the University's seniority rules to demand all
kinds of crap.  You study French history?"  I nodded.  "Well, he's like
those guys at Versailles that spend all their time arguing over who gets to
hand the King his shirt."

	"So how did he end up re-arranging the offices?"  I'd seen guys
like Jensen before.  Old, cranky, marking the years until retirement.

	"I was supposed to move down next to Peterson.  He gives me crap,
but I've gotten a lot of grant support, and got two awards on my latest
paper.  It was going to be a reward for my success.  But Jensen pulls out
the old rules that dictate offices are awarded based on seniority, and
Peterson's hands are tied."

	That really sucked.  "So where were you last year?"

	"The birdcage."  I looked at him, appreciating how pissed he must
be, and how good he was at hiding it.  Just like me.  "So Peterson went to
bat for me and got me a raise.  I've got a wife with a kid on the way, so
that was more important than office real estate.  That's the thing with
Peterson; he looks out for us rookies."

	"Rookies?"  This place was so much different than Princeton.

	"Yeah, the new kid in town.  Guess that's you now.  You think
Jensen was a dick about the offices, just wait until your first faculty
meeting.  He'll try to rake you over the coals.  His biggest asset is that
he's a mean son of a bitch."  I took it all in, all that he was willing to
share.  I instinctively liked this guy, even though he was a little free
with his information.  I made a mental note not to tell him too much.

	"So you find a place to live yet?  Housing's pretty expensive close
to campus."  Here we go.  Enter JP Crampton, the rich kid.

	"Yeah, I have a place not too far from here."  I should have known
that he would keep digging.

	"Oh yeah?  Where is it?"  Fuck.

	I told him where the building was.  "Wow, that's a really nice
building.  Brand new too.  How'd you swing that?  I need to ask for another
raise?"  I'd always been taught that money was a base subject, something
polite people didn't talk about.  That didn't faze Adams.

	"It was a present from my parents."  Maybe that would do it.

	"Wow, they must be loaded."  OK, now we were just getting crass.

	"My father is pretty successful.  He runs a construction company.
Just as well, I'll need the money to fix up the birdcage."  He laughed and
nodded, and I used the opportunity to change the subject.

	When I got back to my office, I decided to use those family
connections to help me out.  I called my dad and told him about the office,
and that I needed someone to help renovate it, and that I had very little
time.  That was at 1pm.  By 3pm, one of his friends in the construction
business, a contractor, was sitting there planning the resurrection of the
birdcage.

	The contractor delayed me so I was about half an hour late meeting
Jeff.  If it was Andre or even Stefan, I would have gotten an earful.  Jeff
just took it all in stride.  When I apologized for being late, he just said
"no problem."  I made him park the car and took him in to see my new
office.

	"Wow, this place needs some work."  He looked around, noticing all
the flaws but not the potential.

	"Yeah, but they start working on it tomorrow, so in a week it will
be like new."  He looked at me dubiously.  About that time Peterson came
walking up.  I introduced him to Jeff and he eyed him up and down.  Was
Peterson checking him out?  It sure looked like it.  Peterson was in his
50's, still pretty handsome in a bookish kind of way.  He's also married
and has three kids.  Go figure.

	"Dr. Peterson, I hired a contractor to renovate the office.  They
start tomorrow and have promised me they'll be finished by Friday night.
Will that be alright?"  His surprise at my speed in getting things done was
obvious.  "It may be a little noisy here while they're working.  Will that
present a problem?

	"Not at all Dr. Crampton.  I'll alert the staff.  And thanks again
for being so cooperative about all of these changes."  He shook my hand
firmly, shook Jeff's hand firmly too, if maybe for a little longer, then we
left.

	I looked at Jeff as we approached the Corvette.  "I think he was
flirting with you."  Jeff looked at me and said, "So?"

	"Doesn't that bother you?"  Did nothing faze this guy?

	"Nope.  Why should it bother me when someone stops to appreciate
such an amazing work of art?"  I punched him in the shoulder.  His wit, his
humor, almost reminded me of Peter.

	As if I didn't have enough surprises for the day, when I got home I
almost passed out.  Jeff had worked like a banshee.  He had painted the
entire living room and dining room.  Not only that, he'd done a kick-ass
job.  The furniture for those two rooms had been delivered today as well,
all placed out exactly as I planned.  I'd left an empty house with white
walls this morning, and come back to a model home.  I was speechless.

	"I think it turned out pretty well.  I got a few touch ups to do
tomorrow, and I gotta hang up those pictures.  You'll need to show me where
to put them."  He was talking as his eyes surveyed his own handiwork.

	"This is fucking amazing!  You did such a great job!  Holy shit!
How did you get all this done?"  I stood there, admiring my palace.  I
turned to him and grabbed him in a big hug.  I just didn't want to let go.
"Does this mean you like it?"  he joked.  I pulled away from him and looked
him in the eyes.  Then I made a monumental error.  I grabbed him and kissed
him on the lips.  He didn't kiss me back, he just stood there.

	"I'm sorry Jeff, I apologize.  I just got carried away.  I don't
know what I was thinking."  I stammered on.  His reaction, his lack of a
response, told me how far over the line I had stepped.

	He just looked at me.  "Hey, now I usually charge for kisses.  No
more freebies."  Then he started laughing.  I joined him, not genuinely,
but out of relief.  What would it take to upset this guy?  If I sucked his
dick, would he just say thanks, or would he kick my ass?  Or make a joke?
He stirred so many emotions in me, more than I could enumerate, but the
only ones I could quantify at that moment were confusion and frustration.

	I was worried that when we went to bed that night, Jeff would be
shocked by my kiss and would pull away from me, but as soon as he crawled
into bed he moved right up and spooned with me.  It was kind of hot, but
also pretty frustrating for a young queer guy to share a bed and snuggle up
with one of the most amazingly handsome guys around, who just happened to
be totally straight.



	July 11, 1962

Musical Recommendation:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2ybCjf6ras
"Telstar" by The Tornados


	We evolved into a routine after that.  We'd wake up, have
breakfast, and then Jeff would drop me off on campus.  Then around five,
he'd stop by to pick me up.  The contractors had shown up yesterday as
promised and went to work with a passion, creating quite a ruckus.  Today I
told the staff I'd take them all out to lunch to make up for it.  They
seemed shocked that I gave a shit about them.

	I sat at the desk outside my new office, the one that Adams had
occupied most of last year, according to him.  I decided to take a break
and read the paper.  Today there was some pretty exciting news.  AT&T had
just launched Telstar, a satellite that was designed to transmit
communications.  It was supposed to revolutionize international
communications.  I decided that I lived in an exciting time, even if there
was always the chance that the Russians would vaporize us all on a whim.

	I didn't let the Cold War dominate my thoughts, but it was always
there, always in the back of my head.  I think most people were like that.
There were bomb shelter signs around town and on campus, places to run in
the event that nukes were on their way.  I was pretty fatalistic about it.
I figured that if the world was going to be blasted by the combined nuclear
arsenals of the West and the East, I'd rather be incinerated in the
conflagration than stick around and see the remnants left behind.

	I was interrupted from my international ruminations by a very angry
older man standing in front of me.  "What the hell is going on around here?
I can't work with all this noise!"  I eyed him coolly.

	"I don't believe we've met.  I'm JP Crampton."  I held out my hand.
He shook it grudgingly.  "Dr. Jensen.  Now I want this noise stopped
immediately."

	"I'm making some renovations to the birdcage.  They'll be finished
by the end of the week.  Then this infernal din will end."  I'd seen
bullies before.  Maybe Adams let this idiot get to him, but I wasn't going
to.

	"Now you listen to me.  I'm a senior member of the faculty here,
involved in very important research and planning, and I don't need some
newly minted PhD popping in here disturbing me."  He was in my face.  I
didn't move.

	"Well Dr. Jensen, the last time I checked Dr. Peterson was still
the department chair.  I have his explicit permission to disrupt the
department with this "noise" for the remainder of the week.  If you have
issues with that, I suggest you take it up with him."  I looked straight at
him.  He got an evil smile.

	"Well aren't you just a cocky little smart-ass.  I've got your
number Crampton."  And with that he turned on his heels and stormed off.  I
saw a couple of the secretaries giggling over by the mimeograph machine.

	I had a great lunch with the secretaries.  They were really a nice
bunch of ladies, and they appreciated that I'd take the time to try to make
up for the noisy inconvenience.  They all talked about Dr. Jensen, and I
gathered that although he was universally reviled in the department,
everyone had grown to view him and his tirades as a source of amusement.

	When I got back, my contractor was there with a very concerned look
on his face.  "Someone must have called the local unions.  They're bitching
because you hired us instead of one of their members.  They're threatening
to shut us down."  I knew very well who that someone was.

	I walked into my partly renovated office to find a union official.
I smiled to myself, wondering at the corruption that someone would have to
master to be a union official in Chicago.  Still, if my father planned to
make a push for contracts here, he'd need to be in their good graces.  If
only for him, I had to make this guy happy.

	"Hello, I'm Dr. Crampton."  I held out my hand and he shook it.  He
had strong, calloused hands.

	"Nice to meet you Dr. Crampton, I'm Patrick O'Hara from the
Teamsters Local.  Looks like you're using non-union contractors, which is a
direct violation of the university's policy.  I'm going to have to shut you
down."  The guy didn't seem malicious, just doing his job.

	"I'm so sorry Mr. O'Hara, I had no idea the university has such
agreements in place.  I just got into town and these gentlemen are friends
of my father and agreed to do the work for me quickly."  He looked at me
carefully.

	"I understand Dr. Crampton, but rules are rules.  The only way
around it is if I sign off on the work order."  Suddenly I understood.

	"Mr. O'Hara, can you tell me how much, roughly, it cost your union
by not having this job?  I'm thinking that maybe by just compensating the
union, I could make up for my error and still let these gentlemen finish up
this project."  He looked at me with consideration.  Now we were speaking
the same language.  "Of course, I haven't opened a checking account here
yet, so I'd have to pay you in cash."  That meant he could pocket any money
I gave him.  In the real world, we call it a bribe.

	"Hmmm.  Well this is quite a large project.  A big job..." I stood
there patiently, willing him to just get to the bottom line.  "I expect
missing out on this project is going to cost my guys about $150."  This was
highway robbery, extortion at its finest, but I really didn't have a
choice.  Plus, this would really frost Jensen's balls.  That made the final
decision.

	"Well Mr. O'Hara, that's quite a bit of money.  I can see now why
you were so concerned about your members."  I took out my wallet and handed
him $150.  He took the money and signed the work order.  "One more thing
Mr. O'Hara.  My father is Jack Crampton, of Crampton Construction.  Have
you heard of him?"

	"I have, but I hadn't made the connection.  He's got one of the
fastest growing firms in the Midwest.  Supposed to be making a play for
business in Chicago."  This guy was remarkably well informed.

	"Yeah, but I just know him as dad."  I flashed him my best smile
and he chuckled.  "Anyway, he'd be really mad at me for causing you guys'
problems, and for forcing you to come out and waste your time today.  Would
you take this $20 and buy lunch or a beer for your guys?  Tell them I
apologize for not giving them the business?"  His eyes lit up.  He'd spend
the money on them alright, and take credit himself.  No matter.  I'd made a
friend, and maybe helped my dad out too.

	"Thanks Dr. Crampton.  That's very generous of you.  If there's
ever anything I can do for you, just let me know."  We shook hands and he
left.  My contractor walked up after he was gone.  "So we're shut down
huh?"

	"Nope," I said and handed him the signed work order.  "And do me a
favor; try to be extra noisy will you?"