| 商家名称 | 信用等级 | 购买信息 | 订购本书 |
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The Boys of San Joaquin |  |
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The Boys of San Joaquin | |
Twelve-year-old Paolo figures that there must be more where that bill came from, and since his cousin Billy needs to repair a bent wheel on his bike, there's a reason for looking. Soon Paolo, his brother Georgie, and Billy end up in the monsignor's garden behind the Cathedral of San Joaquin, but it's not exactly treasure they find, it's a hand that shoots out of the undergrowth to grab Paolo's neck. The search for the stash leads the boys -- sometimes scared spitless -- on many a byway around Orange Grove City, California, in the summer of 1951. And onto the byway of conscience.
媒体推荐 "The Boys of San Joaquin is my kind of book. Smith is a writer that I'm going to keep an eye on."
-- Gary Paulsen
"With this book, Smith joins Richard Peck and Bruce Clements in the select company of latter-day ya writers who can be mentioned in the same sentence as Mark Twain."-- Washington Post
"[An] offbeat mystery . . . [This] novel weaves themes of conscience, loyalty, and family for a poignant effect."-- Family Fun
"A standout choice for reading aloud or for curling up with to enjoy alone."-- Bulletin
文摘 Chapter Two
"Rufus," i say, gentle. "Rufus, go on wherever you please."
He swings his head around to look at Billy.
Billy gives him a sign that I suppose means, Go on, boy.
Rufus stands up slowly and trots off. Billy and I trail along, hanging back some so as to give Rufus his own notion of where he wants to go. We go down the block and around the corner, Rufus pointing west as if he's heading somewhere in particular. We're sailing toward town, sure enough, crossing the tracks at Peach Avenue, when we see Mr. Laughlin and his bride rolling toward us. Mr. Laughlin is a junk man of sorts. Wears bib overalls and logging boots. He's skinny with thin arms, hard, though, as those hickory handles on axes. He's bald as a chick with a little bit of dandelion fuzz on the top. Mrs. Laughlin always sits in this wagon fashioned from a shipping pallet with little wheels to it. She's as big as a sea manatee, those slow blubbery creatures, and as plain, but pleasant as anyone's mom. She just sits on that pallet, raggedy clothes they've collected spread all around her like a queen's dress.
"Hey, boys," says Mr. Laughlin, stopping.
"Hello," I say.
Billy nods.
Rufus is reading the news of those rags with his nose. Gives the whole pile a once-over to get the headlines, then burrows in on a part that interests him. He's nosing in hard on some gossip he's found, and it tickles Mrs. Laughlin's bad leg. She has a leg that's withered up. From polio, is what I heard.
"Oh, Rufus, you dear," she says kindly.
Mr. Laughlin says, "Paolo, where you going this morning?"
My name is Paolo 'cause my mother got to name me. My folks took turns: Ernie, Hector, Betsy, Margarita, Shawna, me -- Paolo, Alice-Ann and Aurora, who were twins, George, and Maria-Teresina-the-Little-Rose, as she was the last and my mom wanted to be sure to get all her Italian licks in at the end. Try going around looking like you climbed down from the Appalachians with a n
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