Liberty by Kirby Larson

Author:Kirby Larson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

Mo disappeared into the office, gently closing the door behind her. But that was no buffer for the words bellowed from within. “I’m a busy man! This isn’t a kindergarten.”

Fish tugged at the tie Mo had made him wear. He couldn’t breathe.

The hollering continued, including a few choice bits that Fish would’ve gotten his mouth washed out for using. He edged away from the door, toward the exit.

A gaunt man glanced up from the papers scattered across his desk. “His bark is worse than his bite,” he reassured Fish. Then he chuckled. “Generally.”

Fish couldn’t make out what Mo was saying, but from the lull in the volume, he knew she was saying something. This wasn’t the first time he was grateful for his bulldog of a sister. Nothing much stopped her. Not even the hospital rules, back when he was on the polio ward. “He doesn’t have a mother,” she’d told the duty nurse who tried to enforce the parents-only visitation rule. “If he did, she’d be here. Now let me in.” After that, no one said a word when Mo showed up to see Fish.

The blustering commenced again.

Mo might be able to tangle with a nun and win, but it was sounding like Mr. Higgins was getting the better of her. “I should probably go,” Fish said aloud, to no one in particular.

“Take a load off.” The gaunt man scooted back from his own desk and found Fish a chair. “I’ve got my money on your sis.”

Before Fish could take advantage of the offered chair, the office door swung open and Mo stepped out. Bright spots of pink dotted her cheeks, but, otherwise, you wouldn’t have a clue that she wasn’t cool as a cucumber.

“Mr. Elliott,” she said to Fish. “Mr. Higgins will see you now.” Fish stood frozen in the center of the reception area. Mo made a little jerk with her head, signaling Fish to get a move on. He wiped one sweaty hand on his pants, and gripped a pad and pencil with the other.

“Don’t worry,” called the man. “He’s had his shots!”

Fish took a deep breath and step-clomped through the doorway, into the office of Mr. Andrew Jackson Higgins. One of the most powerful men in America. A man who was such good friends with the president that FDR was planning to visit the factory in the fall.

The founder of Higgins Industries planted himself smack in the center of the room. He was taller than Pop; heftier, too. The crease in his trousers was sharp enough to slice bread and there wasn’t a wrinkle in his white shirt. Fish had never seen such a fancy tie. And that tie clip had to be real gold.

Fish stuck out his hand as his father had taught him. “Hello, sir.” His mouth was so cottony, it sounded like he had a lisp. He licked his lips. Swallowed. “I’m Michael Elliott. But most people call me Fish.”

Mr. Higgins’s hand was as big as an armadillo and twice as rough. “Good to meet you, Fish.

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