Chapter 23 Section VI

On the eve of the day Victor was due to arrive, Pnin went into a sporting goods store in Wendale Avenue and asked for a football.It's a little out of season to buy it this season, but the clerk still took it out for him. "No, no," said Pnin, "I don't want an egg or a torpedo or anything like that. I want a ball like a regular football. Round!" With his wrist and palm he drew a miniature globe.He often made the gesture in class when he spoke of the "harmonious wholeness" that Pushkin's poetry presents. The clerk raised a finger and silently brought a football.

"Well, that's what I'm going to buy," said Pnin with solemn satisfaction. He took the item wrapped in kraft paper and glued with cellophane, and went into another bookstore to buy a copy. "Eden, Eden, Eden," the tall, dark shopkeeper repeated quickly, rubbing her forehead with her hands. "Let me see, you don't want a book about that English statesman, do you?" "I mean," said Pnin, "a famous work by that famous American writer, Jack London." "London, London, London," said the woman, pressing her hands to her temples.

Her husband, a Mr. Tweed, fond of poetry on current issues, pipe in hand, came to the rescue.After a bit of searching, he found an old copy of "Son of the Wolf" in the dusty heirlooms of his modest shop. "I'm afraid," said he, "the only book in the shop is this author." "Strange thing!" said Pnin. "Fames come and go! I remember that in Russia, everyone—children, adults, doctors, lawyers—everyone read his books over and over again. It's not his best book, but it is. , all right, all right, I'll just buy it." Back at his boarding house that year, Professor Pnin put the ball and books on the desk in the guest room upstairs.He raised his head and carefully observed the two gifts.The paper wrapped the ball in a bad shape and was very unsightly, so he peeled off the wrapping paper.This way the nice leather is exposed.The room is clean and comfortable.Middle school students will love that picture on the wall of a professor's top hat being knocked off by a snowball.The beds had just been made by the maid; old Bill Shepard, the landlady, had come up from downstairs to solemnly replace the lamp with a new bulb.Through the open window a warm, damp draft was blowing in, and one could hear the gurgling of a small river below.It is going to rain.Pnin closed the window.

In his room on the same floor he found a note, a brief telegram from Victor on the telephone saying he would be fully twenty-four hours late.