Red makes contact with Quin

Red tried calling Quin at his office at the college immediately after the Society had adjourned, but Quin was not in. He left a message there and at Quin’s apartment. Quin did not get the message until he got home from practice. Quin walked through the door and saw the light flashing on his machine. He hit the button and a very pleasant female voice said, “You have one new message.” There was a beep and then Red’s gravelly old voice came over the machine, “Quin this is your Granddad, Red Wilson.” (Red had a very peculiar habit of identifying himself by his full name even when calling his relatives or friends, even inspite of the fact that as far as he or anyone else knew he was the only ‘Red’ in town). Quin smiled when he heard his grandfather’s voice. The message continued, “Quin I have something very important to talk to you about. I need you to call me as soon as possible.” He then left a number even though Quin had known the number since he was a very young boy and the number had never changed. 

Quin dialed Red’s number quickly hoping that nothing was wrong. Red answered gruffly on the first ring. “Hello this Red,” he growled on the other end of the line. 

“Hey granddad this is Quin, I just got your message, sorry it’s so late,” Quin paused for a moment caught between a desire to impress his granddad, and the desire to find out what was so important that he needed to call right away. He went with the desire to impress, “I got hung up late at ball practice.” 

It worked like magic. “What do you mean you were at ball practice?”

“Yeah I’m helping out a little with the pitchers. You remember Jack Preston, gramps he was my catcher when we won state?”

“I sure as hell do. That kid hustled and had the balls to sit back there and catch the bullets that you threw in there.”

“Yeah, gramps that’s the one. Well he is the coach at the college and he asked me if I could help out a little with his pitchers and their deliveries. So I’m just helping a little.”  

“Well he sure picked the right man, if anyone could coach a pitcher that would be you.”

“Well I don’t know about that gramps, but I wasn’t calling about that.  Your message said you had something important to talk to me about.”

Red had momentarily forgotten about the commission in his gladness that Quin was coaching pitching. “Oh yeah I’ve got some very exciting news myself and something important to ask you, but I don’t want to do it over the phone. Can you meet me for a breakfast or lunch at the Caboose?”

Still eager to impress Quin lied about his workload, “Sure gramps, I have a bunch of prep work to do for my classes, and I have to get ready for practice, but I could meet you for an early breakfast before class.”

Red paused not wanting to take his grandson away from all the important work that he had to do with his classes and coaching. Still, he had a duty to the society who had voted unanimously to commission Quin to write the history. He accepted the invitation to breakfast.