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MILTON ABERNATHY

Princeton, New Jersey

L ightning flashed in the sky, and rain fell in steady sheets.

Newton pawed at the front door and spun in a circle.

With a groan, Milton stood and pulled his rain jacket from the coat rack in the entry. “Okay, Newton. If you insist.”

Milton had adopted the dog from the local shelter three years ago after his wife died.

Newton was a therapy dog who had been surrendered by a gravely ill owner.

The little fellow had a face that was half black and half white, and something about the dog spoke to Milton.

Newton was primarily border collie but with shorter legs and a snubbed muzzle.

He didn’t know what canine coupling had produced the little mutt, but every breed that contributed to Newton’s DNA seemed to love the rain.

After attaching the leash to Newton’s collar and plucking the umbrella from the stand, the pair headed into the storm.

When he wasn’t working on Project Bloodhound or attending to Newton’s needs, Milton Abernathy was a professor of physics at Princeton.

His red brick colonial home was just a few blocks off Nassau Street, and Milton and Newton walked to work every day.

In the evenings, they enjoyed a long stroll through their quiet neighborhood.

Tonight, however, as his umbrella did little to shield him from the windy storm, they would have to settle for a quick turn around the block.

Newton bounded to the limits of the retractable leash, then returned to Milton’s side when thunder rumbled.

The street was empty—the other dogs no doubt had the good sense to stay inside.

Windows were illuminated, and Milton observed his neighbors.

Mrs. Goodman was watching television. The Vissas were sitting down to dinner.

On the opposite corner, a figure in a trench coat stood beneath a small travel umbrella.

It was an odd sight on this inhospitable night.

Whoever it was just stood looking out at the darkness.

Milton considered calling out, asking if the stranger needed directions or help, but something restrained him.

Newton seemed to want no part of that plan either, as the usually social dog tugged on the leash in the opposite direction.

Canine and human agreed this was not the night to be a good Samaritan. Professor Abernathy trailed Newton as they hurried back home.

Under the covered stoop of the front door, Milton dropped the leash and fished in his pocket for the house keys.

After patting his pants and jacket, he finally remembered he hadn’t locked the house.

Milton was just reaching down to retrieve the leash when he felt the weight of a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Milton spun around, his back bumping the front door. “Oh, good Lord! You startled me.”

“I was in town and thought I’d drop by.”

“That’s a lucky coincidence. I have something to show you. Come inside, and I’ll make coffee.”

The professor opened the front door, unclipped the leash, and ushered his guest inside. At Abernathy’s feet, Newton growled.