Charlie stares at the huge slab of dough and at the knife that Gimpy has pushed into his hand.
And once again panic comes over him. What did he do first? How did he hold his hand?
His fingers? Which way did he roll the ball?... A thousand confusing ideas burst into his mind at the same time and he stands there smiling.
He wants to do it, to make Frank and Gimpy happy and have them like him, and to get the bright good-luck piece that Gimpy has promised him.
He turns the smooth, heavy piece of dough around and around on the table, but he cannot bring himself to start.
He cannot cut into it because he knows he will fail and he is afraid.
"He forgot already," said Frank. "It don't stick." He wants it to stick.
He frowns and tries to remember: first you start to cut off a piece.
Then you roll it out into a ball. But how does it get to be a roll like the ones in the tray?
That's something else. Give him time and he'll remember. As soon as the fuzziness passes away he'll remember.
Just another few seconds and he'll have it. He wants to hold on to what he's learned—for a little while.
He wants it so much. "Okay, Charlie," sighs Gimpy, taking the cutter out of his hand.
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