Danny quickly crossed the street, but the older boy was closing in. In a panic, he ran up some steps and pounded on a door. Then he realized it was where Joy’s grandfather lived.
     The door opened. Danny gasped as he saw, in the doorway, the old man from his dream!
  The old man smiled at Danny, then down at Carl waiting below. “I’m Socrates,” he said. “I guess you’re Danny.”
  “How—how did you know my name?” Danny stammered.
  Instead of answering, Socrates handed Danny a bushel basket. “I’m going to pick a few apples in the front yard. I could use some help.”
  Glancing back toward Carl, Danny decided to follow the old man into the safety of his yard.
  Socrates climbed a ladder and started to pick the crisp red apples, tossing them one by one to Danny, who put them into the basket.
  “Uh, Mr. Socrates . . .” Danny began.
  “Not ‘mister,’” the old man interrupted. “Just Socrates. And you can call me ‘Soc.’”