Christopher Gebauer: He shook his umbrella. "Young Master Jones," he said. "Please inform your mother that I would very much like to speak with her." I closed the door. I went back to the kitchen. "Did you tell him to go away?" said my mother.

I think this is what she said. She had a bunch of bobby pins in her mouth and she was sticking them around Emily's head and Emily was hollering and spitting out Ace Robotroid Sugar Stars at every poke, so it was hard to understand what my mother was saying.

"He wants to talk to you," I said. "He's not going to ... " A sudden wail from Charlie who held up her other yellow sock, which Ned had thrown up on. Ned is our dachshund and dachshunds throw up a lot.

"Carter, go get some milk," said my mother. "Charlie stop crying. Annie, it doesn't help to make faces at Charlie. Emily, if you move your head again, I'm going to bobby pin your bangs to your eyebrows."

I went back to the front and opened the door. The guy was still standing on the stoep, but the Australian tropical thunderstorm was starting to get in under the umbrella.

"Listen" I said, "my mom's going crazy in there. I have to go to the deli and get milk so we can eat breakfast and Charlie's crying because Ned threw up on her other yellow sock and Annie's being a pain in the glutes and Emily's bangs are about to get pinned to her eyebrows and I haven't even packed my backpack yet and that takes a while, you know, and we have to leave soon since we have to walk to school because the fuel pump on the jeep isn't working and we only have one umbrella, so just go away."

The guy leaned down. "Young Master Jones," he said. "If you were able to sprint between wickets with the speed of your run on sentences, you would be welcome in any test match in the world. For now though, go back inside. In your room, gather what is needed for your backpack. When you have completed that task, find your mother and do whatever is necessary to ensure that she is no longer," he paused, "going crazy."

He angled the umbrella a little to keep off the Australian tropical thunderstorm. "While you are doing whatever is necessary, I will purchase the milk."

I looked at the guy. He was wet up to his knees now. "Do you always talk like that?" I said. "If you are inquiring whether I always speak the Queen's English, the answer is of course, yes." "I mean the way you say everything, like you want it to smell good."

The guy shook the rain off his umbrella. I sort of think he meant to shake it all over me. "Young Master Jones." "And that, Young Master Jones, no one talks like that." "Obviously, some do." "And that, obviously. It takes you a whole minute to say it. Obviously."

The guy leaned down. "I'm going to purchase the milk now," he said. "You shall pack your backpack. Do it properly. Then attend to your mother."

He turned to go.

"Are you trying to convert me or something?" I said. "Yes," he said, without turning back. "Now to your appointed tasks."

So I went upstairs and packed the new notebooks and old pens and old pencils and my father's old science calculator in my backpack and I put the green marble in my front pocket. All this did take a while, you know, and then I went down to the kitchen where my mother was braiding Annie's hair and Charlie was sniffing with her arms crossed and Emily was finishing her dry Ace Robotroid Sugar Stars.

My mother said, "Where's the milk?" And then the doorbell rang again. "I'll get it," I said. Guess who it was? His pants were wet most of the way up when he handed me a bag. "I have procured the milk," he said. "Obviously," I said. "Is it one percent?" "Certainly not, and mockery is the lowest form of discourse."

He handed me another bag. "What's this?" I said. "The package is for Miss Charlotte," he said. "Tell her we are most fortunate that American delicatessens are, though parsimonious in their selection of food items ...