Text Leveling System

The Westing Game

RDQ:	2809	Max Word/Sent	36	Total Words	2577		Diff Words	957
Lex	1030	Ave Word/.Sent	10	Hi Freq occurs	1644	63.8%	Hi freq	371	38.8%
AR	6.5	Long Sentences	17	Low Freq occurs	248	9.6%	Low freq	181	18.9%

The sun sets in the West(just about everyone knows that), but Sunset Towers faced East. Strange!
Sunset Towers faced East and had no Towers. This glittery glassy apartment house stood alone on the Lake Michigan shore five stories high. Five empty stories high.
Then one day (it happened to be the Fourth of July), a most uncommon looking delivery boy rode around town slipping letters under the doors of the chosen tenants to be. The letters were signed Barney Northrup.
The delivery boy was sixty-two years old, and there was no such person as Barney Northrup.
Dear lucky one:
here it is-the apartment you've always dreamed of, at a rent you can afford, in the newest, most luxurious building on Lake Michigan:
Sunset Towers
picture windows in every room.
Uniformed doorman, maid service.
Central air-conditioning, high-speed elevator.
Exclusive neighborhood, near excellent schools.
Etc. etc.
you have to see it to believe it. But these unbelievably elegant apartments will be shown by appointment only. So hurry, there are only a few left! Call me now at for this once in a lifetime offer.
Your servant,
Barney Northrup
PS I am also renting ideal space for:
doctor's office in lobby.
Coffee shop with entrants from parking lot.
Hi-class restaurant on entire top floor.
Six letters were delivered, just six. Six appointments were made, and one by one, family by family, talk, talk, talk, Barney Northrup led the tours around and about Sunset Towers.
Take a look at all that glass. One-way glass, Barney Northrup said. You can see out, nobody can see in.
Looking up, the Wexler's (the first appointment of the day) were blinded by the blast of morning sun that flashed off the face of the building.
See those chandeliers? Crystal! Barney Northrup said, slicking his black mustache and straightening his hand-painted tie in the lobby's mirrored wall. How about this carpeting? Three inches thick!
Gorgeous, Mrs. Wexler replied, clutching her husband's arm as her high heels wobbled in the deep plush pile. She, too, managed and approving glance in the mirror before the elevator door opened.
You're really in luck, Barney Northrup said. There's only one apartment left, but you'll love it. It was meant for you. He flung open the door to 3-D. Now, is that breathtaking, or is that breathtaking?
Mrs. Wexler gasped; it was breathtaking, all right. Two walls of the living room were floor to ceiling glass. Following Barney Northrup's lead, she ooh-ed and ah-ed her joyous way through the entire apartment.
Her trailing husband was less enthusiastic. What's this, a bedroom or a closet? Jake Wexler asked, peering into the last room.
It's a bedroom of course, his wife replied.
It looks like a closet.
Oh, Jake, this apartment is perfect for us, just perfect, graceful Wexler argued in a whining coo. The third bedroom was a trifle small, but it would do just fine for turtle. And think what it means having your office in the lobby, Jake; no more driving to and from work, no more mowing the lawn or shoveling snow.
Let me remind you, Barney Northrup said, the rent here is cheaper than what your old house costs in upkeep.
How would he know that, Jake wondered.
Grace stood before the front window where, beyond the road, beyond the trees, Lake Michigan lay calm and glistening. A lake view! Just wait until those so-called friends of hers with their classy houses see this place. The furniture would have to be re-upholstered; no, she'd buy new furniture-beige velvet. And should have stationary made-blue with a deckle edge, her name and fancy address in swirling type across the top: Grace Windsor Wexler, Sunset Towers on the lake shore.
Not every tenant to be was quite as overjoyed as Grace Windsor Wexler. Arriving in the late afternoon sydelle pulaski looked up and saw only the dim, warped reflections of treetops and drifting clouds in the glass face of Sunset Towers.
You're really in luck, Barney Northrup said for the sixth and last time. There's only one apartment left, but you'll love it. It was meant for you. He flung open the door to a one-bedroom apartment in the rear. Now, is that breathtaking or is that breathtaking?
Not especially, sydelle Pulaski replied as she blinked into the raise of the summer sun setting behind the parking lot. She had waited all these years for a place of her own, and here it was, in an elegant building where rich people lived. But she wanted a lake view.
The front apartments are taken, Barney Northrup said. Besides, the rents to steep for a secretary's salary. Believe me, you get the same luxuries here at the third of the price.
At least the view from the side window was pleasant. Are you sure nobody can see in? Sydelle Pulaski asked.
Absolutely, Barney Northrup said, following her suspicious stare to the mansion of the Northcliffe. That's just the old westing house up there; it hasn't been lived in for fifteen years.
Well, I'll have to think it over.
I have 20 people begging for this apartment, Barney Northrup said, lying through his buckteeth. Take it or leave it.
I'll take it.
Whoever, whatever else he was, Barney Northrup was a good salesman. In one day he had rented all of Sunset Towers to the people whose names were already printed on the mailboxes in an alcove off the lobby:
office Dr. Wexler
lobby theodorakis coffee shop.
F. Baumbach
Theodorakis
S. Pulaski
Wexler.
Hoo
J. J. Ford
Shin Hoo's Restaurant.
who were these people, these specially selected tenants? They were mothers and fathers and children. A dressmaker, a secretary, and inventor, a doctor, a judge. And, oh yes, one was a bookie, one was a burglar, one was a bomber, and one was a mistake. Barney Northrup had rented one of the apartments to the wrong person.
On September first the chosen ones (and the mistake) moved in. A wire fence had been erected along the north side of the building: on it assigned warned: no trespassing-property of the westing estate.
A newly paved driveway curved sharply and doubled back on itself rather than breach the city County line. Sunset Towers stood at the far edge of town.
On September second Shin Hoo's restaurant, specializing in authentic Chinese cuisine, held its grand opening. Only three people came. It was, indeed, an exclusive neighborhood; to exclusive for Mr. Hoo. However, the less expensive coffee shop that opened on the parking lot was kept busy serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner to tenants ordering up and to workers from nearby westing town.
Sunset Towers was a quiet, well-run building, and parentheses except for the grumbling Mr. Hoo) the people who lived there seemed content. Neighbor greeted neighbor with good morning or good evening or a friendly smile, and grappled with small problems behind closed doors.
The big problems were yet to come.
Now it was the end of October. The cold, raw wind whipped dead leaves about the ankles of the four people grouped into Sunset Towers driveway, but not one of them shivered. Not yet.
The stocky, broad shouldered man in the door man's uniform, standing with feet spread, fists on hips, with Sandy mcsouthers. The to slim, trim high school seniors, shielding their eyes against the stinging chill, were Theo Theodorakis and Doug Hoo. The small, wiry man pointing to the house on the hill was Otis Amber, the sixty-two year old delivery boy.
They faced north, gaping like statues cast in the moment of discovery, until turtle Wexler, her kite tail of a braid flying behind her, raced her bicycle into the driveway. Look! Look, there's smoke-there's smoke coming from the chimney of the westing house.
The others had seen it. What did she think they were looking at anyway?
Turtle leaned on the handlebars, panting for breath.(Sunset Towers was near excellent schools, as Barney Northrup had promised, but the junior high was four miles away.) Do you think-do you think old man westing's up there?
Naw, Otis Amber, the old delivery boy, answered. Nobody's seen him for years. Supposed to be living on a private island in the South seas, he is; but most folks say he's dead. Long gone dead. They say his corpse is still up there in that big old house. They say his body is sprawled out on a fancy oriental rug, and his flesh is rotting off those mean bones, and maggots are creeping in his eye sockets and crawling out his nose holes. The delivery boy added a high-pitched he he he to the gruesome details.
Now someone shivered. It was turtle.
Serves him right, Sandy said. At other times a cheery fellow, the doorman often complained bitterly about having been fired from his job of twenty years at the westing paper mill. But somebody must be up there. Somebody alive, that is. He pushed back the gold braided cap And squinted at the house through his steel framed glasses as if expecting the curling smoke to write the answer in the autumn air. Maybe it's those kids again. No, it couldn't be.
What kids? The three kids wanted to know.
Why, those two unfortunate fellas from westingtown.
What unfortunate fellas? The three heads twisted from the doorman to the delivery boy. Doug Hoo ducked turtle's whizzing braid. Touch her precious pigtail, even by accident, and she'll kick you in the shins, the brat. He couldn't chance an injury to his legs, not with the big meet coming. The track star began to jog in place.
Horrible, it was horrible, Otis Amber said with the shudder that sent the loose straps of his leather aviator's helmet swinging about his long, thin face. Come to think of it, it happened exactly one year ago tonight. On Halloween.
What happened? Theo Theodorakis asked impatiently. He was late for work in the coffee shop.
Tell them, Otis, Sandy urged.
The delivery boy stroked his gray stubble on his pointed chin. Seems it all started with a bet; somebody but them a dollar they couldn't stay in that spooky house five minutes. One measly buck ! The poor kids hardly got through those French doors on this side of the westing house when they came tearing out like a was being chased by a ghost. Chased by a ghost-or worse.
Or worse? Turtle forgot her throbbing toothache. Theo theodorakis and Doug Hoo, older and more worldly wise, exchanged winks but stayed to hear the rest of the story.
One fella ran out crazy like, screaming his head off. He never stopped screaming 'til he hit the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. The other fella hasn't said that two word since. Something about purple.
Sandy helped him out. Purple waves.
Otis Amber nodded sadly. Yep, that poor fella still sits in the state asylum saying, purple waves, purple waves over and over again, and his scared eyes keep staring at his hands. You see, when he came running out of the westing house his hands were dripping with warm, red blood.
Now all three shivered.
Poor kid, the doorman said. All that pain and suffering for a dollar bet.
Make it two dollars for each minute I stay in there, and you're on, turtle said.
Someone was spying on the group in the driveway.
From the front window of apartment, fifteen year old Chris theodorakis watched his brother Theo shake hands (it must be a bet) with a skinny, one pigtailed girl and rush into the lobby. The family coffee shop would be busy now; his brother should have been working the counter half an hour ago. Chris checked the wall clock. Two more hours before Theo would bring up his dinner. Then he would tell him about the limper.
Early that afternoon Chris had followed the flight of a purple Martin across the field of brambles, through the Oaks, up to the red Maple on the Hill. The bird flew off, but something else caught his eye. Someone (he could not tell if the person was a man or a woman) came out of the shadows on the lawn, unlocked the French doors, and disappeared into the westing house. Someone with a limp. Minutes later smoke began to rise from the chimney.
Once again Chris turned toward the side window and scanned the house on Cliff. The French doors were closed; heavy drapes hung full against the seventeen Windows he had counted so many times.
They didn't need drapes on the special glass windows here in Sunset Towers. He could see out, but nobody could see in. Then why did he sometimes feel that someone was watching him? Who could be watching him? God? If God was watching, but why was he like this?
The binoculars felt the boys lap. His head jerked, his body coiled, lashed by violent spasms. Relax, Theo will come soon. Relax, soon the geese will be flying south in a V. Canada goose. Relax. Relax and watch the wind tangled smoke and blow it toward a westing town.
Upstairs in 3-D Angela Wexler stood on hassock as still and blank faced pretty as a store window dummy. Her pale blue eyes stared unblinkingly at the lake.
Turn, dear, said Flora Baumbach, the dressmaker, who lived and worked in a smaller apartment on the second floor.
Angela pivoted in a slow quarter turn. Oh!
Startled by the small cry, Flora Baumbach dropped the pin from her pudgy fingers and almost swallowed the three in her mouth.
Please be careful, Mrs. Baumbach; my Angela has very delicate skin. Gracie Windsor Wexler was supervising the fitting of her daughter's wedding dress of the beige velvet couch. Above her hung the two dozen framed flower prints she had selected and arranged with the greatest of taste and care. She could have been an interior decorator, a good one, too, if it wasn't for the pressing demands of so on and so forth.
Mrs. Baumbach didn't prick me, mother, Angela said evenly. I was just surprised to see smoke coming from the westing house chimney.
Crawling with slow caution on her hands and knees, Flora Baumbach paused in the search for the dropped pin To peer up through her straight gray bangs.
Mrs. Wexler set her coffee cup on the driftwood coffee table and craned her neck for a better view. We must have new neighbors; I'll have to drive up there with a housewarming gift; they may need some decorating advice.
Hey, look! There's smoke coming from the westing house! Again turtle was late with the news.
Oh, it's you. Mrs. Wexler always seems rise to see her other daughter, so unlike golden haired Angel faced Angela.
Flora Baumbach, about to rise with the found pin, quickly sank down again to protect her sore shin in the shag carpeting. She had pulled turtle braid in the lobby yesterday.
Otis Amber says that old man westing's stinking corpse is riding on an Oriental rug.
My, oh my, Flora Baumbach exclaimed, and Mrs. Wexler clicked her tongue in an irritated tsk.
Turtle decided not to go on with the horror story. Not that her mother cared if she got killed or ended up a raving lunatic. Mrs. Baumbach, could you have my witch costume? I need it for tonight.

Subjective Criteria

Illustrations: No support

Dialog: Multiple speakers

Dialog: Broken dialogue

Dialog: Unlabeled Speaker

Vocabulary: Many difficult words

Language: Many descriptive words

Sentences: Some Long/Complex

Text structure: Story/Poem

Inferences: Several Implications

Complexity: Several unrelated ideas

Concepts: Abstract/Complex Social

Chapters

Sequence of Events: Chronological

Mature Concepts: With some uncommon experiences

Features

Excessive # of characters

Complex Problem/Solution

Complex plot

Foreshadowing

Difficult names

Topic

Puzzles

Challenges

Money

Problem Solving

Crime

*Feelings, Behaviors

Low Frequency Words

absolutely	advice	alcove	appointment	appointments
approving	assigned	asylum	authentic	aviator's
baumbach	beige	binoculars	bookie	breach
breathtaking	buckteeth	burglar	caution	chandeliers
conditioning	content	corpse	craned	crawling
cuisine	curling	curved	deckle	decorator
delicate	doubled	driftwood	elegant	elevator
enthusiastic	entrants	erected	estate	excellent
exclusive	fella	fellas	fellow	fitting
flung	gaping	glance	glassy	glistening
glittery	gorgeous	graceful	gracie	grappled
gruesome	grumbling	haired	halloween	handlebars
hassock	horror	housewarming	ideal	impatiently
injury	interior	inventor	irritated	joyous
judge	junior	lashed	limper	lobby
lobby's	lunatic	luxuries	luxurious	maggots
mansion	maple	mcsouthers	measly	michigan
mirrored	mowing	mustache	naw	neighbor
neighborhood	neighbors	newly	northcliffe	northrup
northrup's	oriental	otis	overjoyed	parentheses
paused	peer	peering	pigtailed	pivoted
pleasant	plush	precious	prick	private
property	pudgy	pulaski	raving	reflections
restaurant	rotting	salary	salesman	secretary
secretary's	selected	seniors	servant	service
shielding	shins	shouldered	shoveling	shown
shudder	slicking	sockets	spasms	specializing
specially	sprawled	squinted	startled	stationary
statues	stocky	straightening	stubble	supervising
suspicious	swallowed	swirling	tangled	tearing
tenant	tenants	theo	theodorakis	toothache
trespassing	trifle	unbelievably	unblinkingly	uncommon
unfortunate	uniformed	upholstered	upkeep	urged
velvet	violent	warned	warped	westing
westing's	westingtown	wexler	wexler's	whining
whipped	whizzing	windsor	wiry	wobbled
worldly