Frank Martin uncrosses his arms and takes a puff on the cigar. He lets the smoke carry out of his mouth. Then he raises his chin toward the hills and says, “Jack London used to have a big place on the other side of this valley. Right over there, behind that green hill you’re looking at. But alchohol killed him. Let that be a lesson. He was a better man than any of us. But he couldn’t handle the stuff, either.” He look. at what’s left of his cigar. It’s gone out. He tosses it into the bucket. “You guys wanna read something while you’re here, read that book of his The Call of the Wild. You know the one I’m talking about? We have it inside, if you want to read something. It’s about this animal that’s half dog and half wolf. They don’t write books like that anymore. But we could have helped Jack London, if we had been here in those days. And if he’d let us. If he’d asked for our help. Hear me? Like we can help you. If. If you ask for it, and if you listen. End of sermon. But don’t forget it. If,” he says again. Then he hitches his pants and tugs his sweater down. “I’m going inside”, he says. “See you at lunch.”