 Why did Hilary pour detergent into the fountain?
SCHOENHERR "What would you think," I asked Marjorie over supper, "if I should undertake to lead a junior achievement group this summer?" "Why, Donald," she said, "it could be quite interesting, if I understand what a junior achievement group is. "Mr. McCormack called me to the office today, and told me that some of the children in the lower grades wanted to start one. They need adult guidance of course, and one of the group suggested my name." It is an uneasy privilege then, at least sometimes, to teach my old-fashioned brand of science to these children of a new age. "It has the purpose," I told her, "of teaching the members something about commerce and industry. They manufacture simple compositions like polishing waxes and sell them from door-to-door. Some groups have built up tidy little bank accounts which are available for later educational expenses." Marjorie put back her head and laughed, and I was forced to join her, for we both recognize that my understanding and "feel" for commercial matters—if I may use that expression—is almost nonexistent. Mr. McCormack said we could get Mr. Wells from Commercial Department to help out if he was needed. Mr. McCormack is going to put up fifty dollars to buy any raw materials wanted The question is, could we do it?" We've had to watch such things rather closely for the last ten—no, eleven years. Back in the old Ridgeville, fifty-odd miles to the south, we had our home almost paid for, when the accident occurred. It was in the path of the heaviest fallout, and we couldn't have kept on living there even if the town had stayed. When Ridgeville moved to its present site, so, of course, did we, which meant starting mortgage payments all over again. This was to be our headquarters and factory for the summer—a roomy unused barn belonging to the parents of one of the group members, Tommy Miller.
 He didn't, it was Tommy.
 He didn't, it was Mary.  He didn't, it was Tommy.  He didn't, it was Doris.  He didn't, it was Peter.