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We did. It was a good service. The horizon was clear as the sun rose, although before the last minister had finished his remarks it had clouded over. Each one of the three speakers made reference to the certainty of the sunrise, of the coming of spring, of the blossoming of the red-bud, of the wild cherry trees, and of other promises of spring that had been fulfilled or would soon be fulfilled. I was waiting for some reference of hope relative to merkles. There was none.
At the poet-sunrise service breakfast, half way down Red Oak Mountain, I managed to turn the talk to merkles. Tom Massie responded immediately. I had never looked upon Tom as a merkle expert. I had never seen him wearing the right kind of cap. I knew that he was a fairly good tennis player, especially in mixed doubles, if he had a good partner. He dressed well. I assumed that he was a good horseman, but had never associated him with merkles. I may have been wrong. At the mention of the word merkle, Tom became animated. He told of his successes in finding merkles, reporting that he had once collected half a trash-bag of merkles. As he reported his achievements, he turned occasionally to his son for vertification. The son said nothing, but seemed to endorse what his father had said. I thought of asking Tom’s wife for a supporting statement, but for two reasons did not do so. First, because as a general rule, I
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