Contents       '    "   3

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»

CHAPTER  1

The Return Home 3

CHAPTER 2

TAe Tin Can Swindle 19

CHAPTER 3

rAc Tug o/ H^ar 35

»

CHAPTER 4           ...

Tom Hooks a Fish Name4 Sweyn 57

CHAPTER 5

Alkali Flats 74

CHAPTER 6

The Runaway 92

CHAPTER 7

The Magnetic Stick 106

•   CHAPTER 8

The Good Raft Explorer 117

CHAPTER 9 •

- The Wreck of the Explorer 134

CHAPTER 10

The Trial of The Great Brain 150

The Great Brain'

Reforms

CHAPTER ONE

i

^

f { The Return Home '   < 1

? /                                   -    '

- i

y »'         MY BROTHER TOM and eldest brother Sweyn ar-
rived home for summer vacation on Sunday, June 5, 1898.
I remember the date very well because, just two weeks
later, the entire town of Park City was 4estro"yed by the
worst fire in the history of Utah. My brothers had been
attending the Catholic Academy for Boys in Salt Lake
City. We only had a one-room schoolhouse in Adenville
where Mr. Standish taught the first through the sixth
grades. I had just finished the fourth, grade and wouldn't
be going away to the academy for two years.

Tom kept looking around when he got off the train at
the depot, as if he expected Mayor Whitlock with a wel-

coming committee and the town band to meet him. But
for my money he was lucky the mayor wasn't there with
an unwelcoming committee. And, if the town band had
been there, they would have been playing a funeral march
and not "Hail The Conquering Hero."

I know this sounds like a cruel thing to say about my
own brother. But Tom was different "from any other kid in
town because he had a great brain and a money-loving
heart. And, when you put them together, you get the
youngest confidence man who ever lived. Tom was so
smart, that he'd skipped the fifth grade, so he was only
twelve when he came home from the academy. But he had
begun his career as a swindler at the age of eight. There
wasn't a kid in town he hadn't swindled, including me. I
guess that was why the only kids at the depot to meet him
were me and our five-year-old foster brother, Frankie.
Tom. had also made fools out of a lot of adults in town with
his great brain. I think that is why the only grownups to
meet him were Papa, Mamma, my Uncle Mark, and Aunt
Cathie. Aunt Bertha had remained at home to start pre-
paring supper. She really wasn't our aunt. She had come

to live with us after her husband died and was like one of
the family. .

After-Ehe hugs, kisses, and handshakes were over,
Uncle Mark patted Tom on the shoulder. "It has been
mighty dull around here while you've been gone," he said.

, Uncle- Mark should know. He was the town marshal
and a deputy sheriff. He had spent a lot of time in the past
telling people'why fee couldn't arrest Tom, The Great

Brain always made sure he didn't break any laws when
pulling off one of his swindles.




\

' '\

Papa stared steadily at Tom. "And you had better
see to it that things stay that way, T.D.," he said.

Papa called all of us boys except Frankie by our ini-
tials. All male Fitzgeralds in our family had the same
middle name of Dennis because it was a tradition. But for
my money, Papa telling Tom to keep things dull was like
telling a fellow standing in a rain storm not to get wet,

We left the depot and started walking up Main Street
which, as in most Utah towns, was lined on both sides with
trees planted by early Mormon pioneers. Adenville had a
population of about two thousand Mormons, four'hun-
dred Protestants, and only about a hundred Catholics.
We didn't have a Catholic church. Protestants and Catho-
lics went to the Community Church. Papa ofteja said that
any church was better than no church at all. The only yme
we Catholics saw a priest was for one week out of'the year
when a Jesuit missionary priest came f6 town. «     ^

Adenville was one of the few towns our size that had
»

electric lights and telephones. There were wooden side-
walks in front of the places of business. East of the railroad
tracks were a couple of saloons, the Sheepmen's rtotel,
the livery stable, a rooming house, and a couple of stores.
Biit most of the places of business and-the residential dis-
trict were west of the railroad tracks.

»

We walked up a block, out of the business district,
to our house. Uncle Mark and Aunt Cathie left us when
we reached the gate of our white picket ^ehce. "Every time
our house needed a new coat of painr, Papa .would spend
days deciding what color to use. I don't know why because
Mamma always had the house painted white with green
trim. We had a big front porch 'running the width of the

house, and Aunt Bertha was waiting there to meet us. She
was a big woman in her sixties with hands and feet as big
as a man's. She kissed Tom and Sweyn on the cheeks.

"Supper will be ready by the time you boys wash up,"
she said.

Tom patted his stomach. "Can't be too soon for me,"
he said.

"Or me," Sweyn said.

All I can say is that the food at the academy must
have been pretty bad. My brothers ate as if they were
- starvmg. They each had three helpings of fried chicken,

'*•

mashed potatoes with cream gravy, and peas with carrots.

And they each topped this off with three pieces of black-
berrypie. ^

^Everything was nice and dull, just the way Papa
wanted It, p-s we all sat in the parlor after supper. Papa sat
in hiyocking chair smoking his after-dinner cigar. Mamma       ^   >
sat'in i*er maple rocker with the light from the chandelier      { te,    '
shining on her golden hair. I was the spitting image of      <   ,•
Papa with dark curly hair and dark eyes. Sweyn was a    ^Jk ^ •
blona like Mamma and named after our Danish maternal       T

*^-

grandfather. He was fourteen at the time. Tom didn't
look like Papa or "Mamma unless you sort of put them to-
gether. He "was the only one in the family who had freck-
les. He and Sweyn were sitting on the sofa with Aunt
Bertha. Frankie and I were sitting on the oriental rug in
front of (He stone fireplace. Frankie had the biggest dark
eyes and black hair' that looked like wet coal. His parents

and brother had been killed in a landslide in Red Rock

*

Canyon. When Uncle Mark couldn't locate any relatives,
Papa and Mamma adopted Frankie.

fc- 6




Tom and Sweyn talked about life at the academy for
awhile. Then J guess Tom figured things had been nice

and dull long enough and it was time to get Papa all riled
up'.

"When do you want me to start working with you at
the Advocate?" he asked Papa.

Our father was editor and publisher of the Adenville

Weekly Advocate, the only newspaper in town. He also
did all the printing in Adenville.

"S. D. did a very good job last summer," Papa said.
"I see no reason to change that."

„ " "But you let him work with you after his first year at

the academy," Tom protested. "What is fair for him is
fair for me!"

"You can help out when we have a big printing job,"
P^pa .said.- "Meanwhile you will have your share of the

v-

chores to do around the house."                             'j,

Tom got a sour look on his face. "Sweyn didn't have    (^

to do any'"more chores after going to the academy," he   ^ f
said stubbornly.                                         /-,

- "You will help J. D. with the chores during summer  ^(rf1,

vacations," -Papa said firmly, "until Frankie is old enough
to do them. And that is final."

Tom knew there was no appealing one of Papa's de-
cisions. And I, knew his great brain was already at work
on how to bamboozle me into doing his share of the chores,

as he had several times in the past. But I was determined
not to let it happen again.

The next morning after breakfast Tom and I walked
from the back porch down the path leading to the combi-
nation coal-and-woodshed. 'We had a big backyard with a

8

vegetable garden on one side of the path and a playground
on the other. The chicken coop was next to the coal-and-
woodshed. Behind these buildings were our corral, our big
barn, and our icehouse. There was an alley leading from
the corral to the street.

Tom helped me fill up the woodboxes and coal buck-
ets in the kitchen, parlor, and bathroom. Then we fed
and watered our team of horses, our milk cow, Sweyn's
mustang Dusty, and the chickens. When we finished, we
sat on the top rail of the corral fence with Frankie.

Tom put his arm around my shoulders. "It is going to
be tough on your pocketbook, J. D.." he said, "losing a
dime a week during summer vacation."        .     "

Papa gave us each an allowance of ten cents a week
for doing the chores. For doing all the chores wnile Tom
was at the academy, he had been paying me twenty^ cents.
Now I would have to split with Tom again. I know a dime
doesn't sound like much but back in those day's it wakild
buy what it costs fifty cents to buy today.       •

,,          "You're right," I said.

"Tell you what I'm going to do," he said. "I'm going
nf it so you get fifteen cents each week instead of just a

f,     ui'.'ue."

I knew there had to be a catch in it. "Why?^ I asked.
"Out of the goodness of my heart," he said. "I'm go-
ing to let you do all the chores and all it will cost you is
five cents a week."                            *

I knew from past experience that if I refused he would
put his great brain to work on a plan to make. me do all
the chores anyway. I sure as heck wasn't going to be stupid
enough to let that happen. Five cents a week was better
than nothing.

"It's a deal, "I said.

"Before we shake on it," Tom said, "Mamma and
Papa are going to want to know why you are doing all the
chores. This is what we will tell them. You volunteered to

do all -the chores because you need the extra money. Now
shake on it."

We shook hands to seal the bargain,

Frankie stared at me with his big dark eyes. "How

. come you are paying Tom five cents a week for letting you
.do all the chores?" he asked.

^'Because that is the deal we made," I said.

"It's not fair," Frankie said. "You should get the
whole twenty cents for doing all the chores- I'll bet when
I tell Mamma and Papa they will say I'm right."

Tom stared bug-eyed at Frankie. "What have we got
here?" "he. demanded. "A little snitcher in the family?

Dorigt you .know, Frankie, that brothers never snitch on
each other?"

"I'm not your real brother," Frankie said, smiling.

"All right," Tom said. "What do you want not to
tell?"

"Instead of John giving you a nickel a week," Frank'

said, "he should ^ive it to me. I at least help him do the
chores."   •

"How about splitting it?" Tom asked. "You get the
nickel one week and I get it the next?"

"Nope," Frankie said, as he climbed down from the
railing..       <'

I thinic that was the first time in Tom's life that he
hadn't been able to outsmart a kid. He looked as stunned
as a boy who has just been told the school term has been
increased from nine months to twelve months each year.
.-i   i"

"Come back here," he yelled at Frankie, who was go-
ing toward the house. "You win. J. D. will give you the
nickel each week."

Frankie stopped and turned around to look at me.
"I'll help for my nickel," he said.

Tom watched Frankie run toward the house. "He is
too little to help with the chores," he said.

"No, he isn't," I said. "Frankie was born and raised
on a farm. He has been helping me with the chores ever
since coming to live with us. He waters the livestock, and
waters and feeds the chickens, and helps carry in kindling
wood."

"In other words," Tom said, "he has been doing
about one fourth of the chores."

"About," I said.

"And I suppose," Tom said, "that you've t)eenJ>aymg
him one fourth of the allowance each week for helping."

"Of course not," I said. "He volunteered \o hel^ for
nothing."

Tom shook his head. "I am ashamed of you, J. D.,"
he said, "taking advantage of that poor little boy. By
rights you owe Frankie a nickel a week for helping with
the chores since Papa and Mamma adopted him. And that

*                9

would amount to about a dollar and a half. Oh well, when
I tell Papa about it I'm sure he'll make you give Frankie
the dollar and a half."

"But he volunteered," I protested, "And besides you
just told Frankie that brothers don't snitct) on each other.
I happen to be your flesh-and-blood brother.", .

"I don't consider this snitching at all," Tom said.
"You took advantage of our little foster brother and should
be punished for it."

I knew by the time The Great Brain got through tell-
ing about it that it would sound as if I had been beating
Frankie with a horsewhip to make him help me with the

chores.

*

"Please don't tell," I pleaded.

Tom thought about it for a moment. "I had to give
up a nickel a week to Frankie not to tell," he said. "And I
think you should be punished for taking advantage of a
little boy. Suppose you give me a nickel a week not to tell
' and we'll consider that your punishment."

"It's a deal," I said gratefully. A nickel a week to
Tom during the summer vacation would only come to
about sixty-five cents. That was a lot better than having
to give Frankie a dollar and a half, besides any punish-
ment ?apa would hand down.

^

. 'I went with Tbm and Frankie to Smith's vacant lot
after"lunch-.1 Mr. Smith let us use the lot as a playground
in exchange for keeping it clear of weeds. Most of the fel-
lows were there getting ready for a game of baseball. They
all acted as* if they were glad to see Tom as they shook
hands and said hello, although none of them had been at
the depot to meet him. I guess they were both glad and
sorry to know he was back in town. Tom had always been
a leader and something exciting was always happening
when he 4 was around. And like Uncle Mark had said,
things had been mighty dull with Tom away. I guess that's
why they were glad to have him back. But there wasn't a
kid there who hadn't been swindled at one time or an-
other by The Great Brain and that's why they were sorry
he was back in town. Tom had whipped every kid there

his age or older at one time or another. And tor my money,
there is nothing like trying to be friends with a boy you

know can whip you.

Tom insisted they show him any new baseball equip- -
ment they had received while he was at the academy. Basil
Kokovinis showed Tom his new Spalding League Model
bat. Jimmie Peterson, who was my age, showed Tom the
new baseball he'd gotten for his birthday. Danny Forester
had a new infielder's glove he had received for Christmas.
Danny was Tom's age and had something the matter with
his left eye. The eyelid was always half closed unless Danny
became excited. Then it would flip open. It was open as'
he proudly showed off his new glove. The rest of us had'
the same mitts and gloves as the year before.

Danny and Tom were team captains and chose up
sides. Tom made me the catcher on his team because, if I
do say so myself, I was a pretty darn good catcher. After
both teams had been selected, Frankie pulled on Tom's

pants leg.

"Why can't I play?" he asked.
"Because you're too little," Tom said, "You ivatch."
"When will I be old enough to play?" Frankie asked.
"Next year," Tom said. "I'll organize a couple of

teams for kids your age."

Danny's team got to bat first. I knew right away that
Tom hadn't been able to play any baseball at the academy.
, He was so wild that he was giving up bases-on balls as if
he had money bet on Danny's team. His curve l?all wasn't
breaking. We played our usual five innings and boy, oh,
boy, did we get skunked, eighteen to four. Then it was
time for the kids to go home to do the evening chores.

Tom held Frankie by the hand as we walked toward
home. "That is a beaut of a baseball Jimmie has," he
said.

"It should be," I said. "It's a genuine Spalding Dou-
ble-seam baseball from Sears Roebuck."

"I've got a bat just like Basil's," Tom said. "But that
is some infielder's glove Danny has. With its velvet-tanned
buckskin and felt lining, it makes this old glove of mine
look sick."

I knew from the conniving look on his face that he
was going to put his great brain to work on how to get
.that baseball and glove.

».   "'Those Jesuit priests at the academy sure as heck
didn't make a Christian out of you," I said.

Tom stopped, "And just what do you mean by that?"
he demanded.

"Jus^ what I said," I came right back at him. "I
know your great brain is working like sixty on how to
swindle Ju-nmie out of his baseball and Danny out of his
glove. And that, for my money, proves those priests didn't
make a Christian out of you."

"Did ^ou hear that, Frankie?" Tom asked.

"I heard,',' Frankie said.

Toitt shook his head sadly. "Can you imagine my
own brother saying I'm not a Christian?" he asked. "And
if I don't put a stop to it, he will blab it all over town.
Well, thp-e is only one way to put a stop to that, Frankie.
And that is to tell Papa and Mamma that J. D. is going
around telling people that I'm not a Christian."

"I didn't mean it exactly that way," I protested.

"You wouldn't have said it if you didn't believe it,"
Tom said. "Good Lord, J. D., do you realize what it is

going to do to Papa and Mamma when you start telling
people that I'm not a Christian? The adults in Adenville
will put two and two together. They will start believing
that Papa and Mamma must also be heathens and infidels.
Our family will be disgraced. We will have to move to
another town."

"I'm not going to tell anybody that you aren't a
Christian," I pleaded.

"I'm going to make sure you don't," Tom said, "by
telling Papa and Mamma all about it. Maybe if they take
away your allowance for about six months and give you
the silent treatment for a month, that will teach you not
to run around town telling lies about me."              ,

"Please don't tell," I begged. I knew by the time Tom
got through he would make it sound as if I was going
around town knocking on doors and shouting, "My brother
is a heathen and infidel!" And I would be lucky if I only
lost my allowance for six months and Papa and Mamma
didn't speak to me for a month.

"You must be punished for saying such a terrible
thing about? your own brother," Tom said-

"Then you punish me," I cried.          *
- "I might consider it," Tom said, "if I thought it would
stop you from ever saying I wasn't a Christian agaso."

"It will," I promised. "Just name the punishment."

"The punishment must be severe enough to teach
you a lesson," Tom said, "I've got it. Give me your basket-
ball and backstop."                      '

I was the most popular kid in town because I owned
the only basketball and backstop. I had received them for
Christmas, and Papa had nailed the backstop on the alley
side of our woodshed. Kids came from all over town to

take turns playing. I didn't really know why Tom wanted
the basketball and backstop. I could only guess that he
couldn't stand for any kid in town to own something he
didn't, including his own brother.

"You can have them," I said gratefully. "And thanks
for not telling."

Frankie had a puzzled look on his face. "Why are
you thanking Tom for taking your basketball and back-
stop away from you?" he asked.

"It's worth it," I said. "It would break Papa's and
Mamma's hearts if they knew I'd said my own brother
•vvasn't a Christian."

'   Tom pointed at Frankie. "You had better give him
something for not telling, too," he said.

. "I'm surrounded by connivers," I cried, feeling like
a tiny mouse cornered by two big tomcats. "All right,
Frankie, name your price for not telling."

Frankie looked at Tom. "What do you think I should
ask for?"

"At least a quarter," Tom said, grinning.

Frankie thought for a moment. "Nope," he said. "I
want his jackknife."

They had me over a barrel. What could I do? I gave
Frankie the jackknife.

"You are nothing but a couple of blackmailers," I
complained bitterly.

Sometime^ a fellow can get so plumb disgusted with
himself that, he wishes he'd never been born. The Great
Brain had only been home about twenty-four hours and
already he had cost me my basketball, my backstop, my
jackknife, and ten cents a week allowance. They had muz-

ifi

zles for dogs to stop them from barking and biting people.
Why in the heck didn't somebody invent a muzzle for fools
like me, who didn't have sense enough to keep their big
mouths shut?

That evening after supper Sweyn went to sit on the
front porch of the Vinson home with his girl, Marie.
Sweyn had disgraced Tom and me after his first year at the
academy by going with a girl. In those days boys under
sixteen played with boys and girls played with girls. And
any boy under sixteen who went with a girl was considered
a sissie. The fellows had really given Tom and me a bad'
time about it. At the rate Sweyn was going, he would be
married before he was sixteen and having kids brfore he
was old enough to shave.

Tom left to see Parley Benson about something soon
after. I started playing checkers with Frankie but he didn't
have his mind on the game. Finally he got up aad walked
over and put his hand on Papa's knee.

"What is a blackmailer, Papa?" he asked.

Papa looked surprised and put aside a magazine he
was reading. "Where did you pick up a word like that?"
he asked.                                     *,

I thought for sure Frankie was going to spill the
beans but he didn't.

"I heard a boy say it," he said. "What does it mean?"

"A blackmailer," Papa said, "is one of the most low-
down crooks there is. He finds out a secret about some-
body and threatens to tell other people about it if the
person doesn't pay him to be silent."

"Thanks, Papa," Frankie said.

We played checkers until bedtime. When we went
up to our bedroom, Frankie took the jackknife from his
pocket and handed it to me.

"I'm sorry I took it," he said. "I didn't know what a
blackmailer was until Papa told me. But Tom must know
and that makes him, the most lowdown crook there is."

"Tom has been blackmailing me since I can remem-
ber," I said. "But it doesn't bother him a bit. He doesn't
consider it blackmail. He says he is just using his great
brain to outsmart people."

, "Then maybe you're right," Frankie said, "and Tom
isn't a Christian after all. When he came home for the
Christmas vacation, I liked him a lot. I even liked him
more than I did you. But now I don't think I like him any-
more. But I love you, John."

I'm not a fellow for getting mushy but I couldn't help
hugging'him. But for all Tom's faults, he was my brother.

' "You must not only like Tom," I said, "but also love
him because no matter what he does, he is your foster
brother."

"I'll try," Frankie said, "but I wish he was more like
you."

And somehow that made the loss of my basketball
and backstop and ten cents a week a little easier to bear.

IS

CHAPTER TWO

The Tin Can Swindle

THE NEXT MORNING Tom went up to his loft
in the barn. Papa and Mr. Jamison, the carpenter, had
built the loft by nailing boards across the .beam rafters at
one end of the barn. They had also built a wall ladder to
get up to the loft. It was originally intended for Sweyri,
Tom, and me. But The Great Brain, in his usual style, had
taken sole possession of it. He had removed the, -wooden
wall ladder and made a rope ladder instead. That way he
could climb up and pull the rope ladder after him, so no-
body else could get up to the loft. He had an accumula-
tion of stuff up there, ranging from a beer barrel he used
as a table to the skull of an Indian that Uncle Mark had

found in Skeleton Cave. Torn always went up to his loft
when he wanted to put his great brain to work on some
scheme.

I was pretty sure he was working on how to swindle
Jimmie out of his baseball and Danny out of his glove.
Tom came down from the loft just as Frankie and I were
finishing the morning chores. He had a gunnysack with
him as he came out of the barn.

"Follow him, Frankie, and see where he goes," I said.
Frankie followed Tom up the alley. I sat on the rail-
ing of our corral fence. Frankie returned in a little while
and climbed up beside me.

"Tom is looking in people's trash barrels and taking
out tin cans and putting them in the sack," Frankie told
me.

I figured Tom's great brain had blown a fuse. I was
convinced of it when he returned and started washing the
labels off the cans in the corral water trough.

"What in the heck are you going to do with those
tin cans?" I asked.

"Yeah, what?" Frankie said.

"I'm going to use them for an experiment in hypno-
tism," Tom said. "Are the kids coming over to play bas-
ketball today?" '

"We played baseball yesterday," I said. "That means
we'll play basketball today."

"You can use my basketball and backstop," Tom said.
"Aren't you going to play?" I asked.
"No, J. D.." he said. "I'll be busy learning how to
hypnotize people."

Tom picked up his seven shining-clean cans and went
into the barn. Frankie and I crept to the wall and peeked

20

through a knothole. Tom had the seven cans lined up on
a bale of hay. He was kneeling down beside it as if he were
praying. Then he picked up a can and waved it back and
forth in front of his face. I was now positive that Tom's
great brain had cracked. I ran to the kitchen where
Mamma and Aunt Bertha were kneading dough to make

bread.

"Tom has gone crazy!" I shouted. "He's got seven
tin cans lined up on the bale of hay in the barn and is
waving them back and forth. He says it's an experiment

in hypnotism."

"Nonsense," Mamma said. "Your brother is just pull-
ing your leg."

Well, if Mamma didn't think a fellow who knelt down
as if praying and waved tin cans in front of his face was
insane, why should I?

Right after lunch Tom went into the barn again.
Howard Kay, Jimmie Peterson, Seth Smith. Basil Koko-
vinis. Parley Benson, and Danny Forester arrived to play

basketball.

Parley pushed the coonskin cap he always wore ro the

back of his head. "There are only seven, of us," he said.
"We need another player. Where is Tom?"

"In the barn trying to hypnotize some tin cans," I

said.

"Nobody can hypnotize a tin can," Parley said.

"That is sure as heck what it looks like to me," I said.

"I've got to see this," Parley said-

1 followed Parley and the other kids into the barn.
Tom was again kneeling before the bale of hay with the
seven shining tin cans on it.




tf.

"What are you doing?" Parley asked.

Tom looked up "I'm learning how to hypnotize peo-
ple," he said. "This is the first lesson in the book. Kneel
down on the opposite side of the bale of hay and I'll show
you how it is done."

Parley knelt down.

"We're going to take turns picking up the tin cans,"
Tom said. "I'm going to hypnotize you and make you pick
up the last can."

"You don't have to hypnotize anybody to do that,"
Parley said. "There are seven tin cans. Whoever picks up
the first one has to pick up the !ast one, if you take turns
one at a time."

' "That would be true," Tom said, "it you could only
pick up one at a time But you can pick up one or two

cans at a time and so can I. And that means I would have

;

to hypnotize you to make you pick up the last can."

"Sounds like a lot of bunk to me," Parley said.
"And my Pa told me one time that you can't hypnotize
anybody unless they let you."

"If you think I can't hypnotize you," Tom said, "put
your money where your mouth is. I'll bet a nickel I can
make you pick up the last can. And I'll bet every kid here
I can hypnotize him and make him pick up the last can."

"It's a bet," Parley said.

Tom picked up a can and began waving it back and
forth. "Keep your eyes on the can," he chanted: "Keep
your eyes on the can. Now count backwards from ten to

one.

"Ten," Parley said as his eyes followed the can, "nine,
eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

"You are now hypnotized. Parley Benson," Tom
chanted, "and under my power. You will do what I tell
you to do until I snap my fingers and bring you out of it.
You will pick up the last can. I'll go first."

"Oh, no you won't," Parley said, and he sure didn't
look hypnotized to me. "I'll go first."

"Go ahead," Tom said. "But you are in my power
and I command you to pick up two cans."

Parley was grinning as he picked up just one can. Tom
then removed one can, leaving five.

. "I command you to pick up two cans," Tom chanted.

Parley picked up just one, leaving four. Tom picked
up one can leaving three-

"Pick up just one can," Tom ordered.

Parley picked up two cans, leaving Tom stuck with
the last can. Tom had a long face as he gave Parley a
nickel.

"It does say in the book that some people can't be
hypnotized," he said. "Seth, you try it."

"I'm betting a nickel too," Seth said as he knelt down.
Tom went through the same ritual with Seth that he
had with Parley. Seth went first and removed two cans
from the bale of hay, leaving five. Tom took two, leaving
three. Seth took'two cans, leaving Tom stuck with the last

can.

"It's just my luck," Tom said, "that I picked two peo-
ple who can't be hypnotized." He gave Seth a nickel and
then looked up at Basil. "You're next."

"I'm betting a nickel too," Basil said as he knelt
down.

Tom went through the ritual. Basil took one can.
Tom took one. Basil took one, leaving four. Tom took one.

"You are under my power, Basil Kokovinis," Tom
chanted. "Take just one can."

Parley touched Basil on the shoulder. "Don't do it,"
he said. "If you take one, then he'll take one and you'll be
stuck with the last can."

Basil removed two cans, leaving Tom stuck with the
last can. Tom gave him a nickel.

I was beginning to feel sorry for Tom. I knew forking
over those nickels was breaking his money-loving heart.
And I was sure whoever sold him that book on hypnotism
had swindled him,

"Maybe you, Parley, and Seth are all fellows who
can't be hypnotized." Tom said. "Howard, you're next."

"Phooey on your hypnotism," Howard said, as he knelt
down. "And I'm betting a dime you can't hypnotize me."

"But the other fellows only bet a nickel," Tom pro-
tested.

"You just said you'd bet us all," Howard said. "You
didn't say how much. I'm betting a dime."     -*

Again Tom went through the ritual. And again he
ended up with the last can and had to pay Howard a dime.
Then he stood up.

"No more bets," Tom said. "I've already lost twenty-
five cents and that is enough. I have to study the book on
hypnotism some more. I must be doing something wrong."

"You can't quit now," Danny said. "You promised
to bet all of us and there is still me and Jimmie and John

and Frankie."

"I don't believe my own brother and foster brother
would want to take advantage of me," Tom said. "But I'll
tell you what I'll do with you and jimmie. If you let me
go first, I'll bet. Maybe that is what I'm doing wrong."

"No you don't," Danny said. "You let the other kids
go first and that means Jimmie and I go first."

"All right," Tom said, looking mighty angry. "But if
you and Jimmie want to bet, you have to bet a dollar.
Howard made me bet him a dime instead of a nickel. So
I'm going to make you and Jimmie bet a dollar."

"You know darn well that Jimmie and I ain't got a
dollar," Danny protested. "That's just your way of trying
to weasel out of betting us."

"Then bet something that is worth a dollar," Tom
said, "or forget the whole thing,"

"This is one time we've all got you where we want
you," Danny said, his left eyelid flipping open. "And it is
going to cost you plenty to make up for all the times you
swindled me. I'll bet anything I own that you can't hyp-
notize me and make me take the last can."

Tom thought about it for a moment. "Tell you what
I'll do," he said. "That infielder's glove of yours cost about
two dollars and a quarter from Sears Roebuck. How
about betting your glove against what it cost?"

I guess that after seeing Tom couldn't hypnotize four
other kids, Danny was pretty sure he couldn't be hypno-
tized.

"You said that thinking I wouldn't bet my glove," he
said. "Well, you're wrong. It's a bet."

"That leaves Jimmie," Tom said. "I won't bet you
unless Junmie bets too. That baseball of his cost a dollar
and ten cents. He is going to have to bet his baseball
against my dollar and ten cents or I won't bet you, Danny."

"Boy, oh, boy," Danny said, "you are sure trying hard

to get out of betting. But Jimmie will take the bet, won't
you, Jimmie?"

Jimmie shook his head. "Gosh," he said, "I don't
know if I should."

"Good," Tom said, smiling. "Then all bets are off."

Danny patted Jimmie on the shoulder. "Can't you
see that Tom doesn't want to bet because he knows he is
going to lose?" he asked. "The Great Brain knows darn
well he can't hypnotize anybody. And the fellow who
goes first has to win."

"All right," Jimmie said. "I'll bet."

Tom looked very disappointed. "Are you sure you
want to bet, Jimmie?" he asked.

"I'm sure," Jimmie answered.

Tom looked like a fellow who just lost the ball game
as he knelt down with Danny next to the bale of hay. He
went through the same ritual, waving the can an4 making
Danny count backwards from ten.

"You are now hypnotized, Danny Forester," Tom
chanted. "You are under my power. I order you to make
sure you take the last can."

Danny removed two cans. Tom took one, leaving
four. Danny stared at the four cans and finally took one.
Then Tom took two. leaving Danny stuck with the last
can. Tom snapped his fingers.

"I did it!" he shouted. "I hypnotized you and made
you take the last can."

Danny's left eyelid was wide open as he stared at Tom.
"I don't feel hypnotized," he said.

"I brought you out of your hypnosis when I snapped
my fingers," Tom said. "Come on, Jimmie, you're next."

"I changed my mind," Jimmie said.

"You can't change your mind," Tom said, "unless
you want to be known as a welcher. And I don't know any

27

kid in town who will have anything to do with a welcher."

I guess Jimmie didn't want to be known as a welcher.
He knelt down by the bale of hay. Tom went through
the ritual.

"You are now hypnotized, Jimmie Peterson," Tom
chanted, "and under my power. I order you to make sure
you take the last can."

Jimmie's hand was shaking as he removed one can.
Tom took two, leaving four. Jimmie's hand was shaking
even more as he took two cans. Tom then removed one
can, leaving Jimmie stuck with the last can. Then he
snapped his fingers-

"It just goes to prove," Tom said, "that some people
can be hypnotized and some can't, just like it says in the
book. Bring the baseball over any time tomorrow, Jimmie.
And the same thing goes for the infielder's glove, Danny."

I sure couldn't help feeling sorry for Jimmie because
he alid Howard Kay were my two best friends. He looked
as if he was^oing to cry.

"Let's play basketball," I said.

We played basketball until it was time for everybody
to go home and do the evening chores. Tom carefully
examined the basketball.

"This basketball cost two dollars and twenty cents,"
he said. "Playing on the ground instead of a hard wood
floor is wearing it out."

Danny gave Tom a nasty look. "What skin is that off
your nose?" he asked. "It is John's ball."

"No, it isn't," Tom said- "I made a deal with him for
the basketball and backstop yesterday. You fellows sure
as heck can't expect me to buy a new basketball every
time one wears out. It is going to cost a penny a day for

98

each kid who wants to play from now on. That way I'll
have enough money to buy a new ball when this one

wears out."

Basil shook his head. "I don't charge kids to use my

new baseball bat," he said.

Jimmie nodded. "And I didn't charge to use my new

baseball," he said.

"That's different," Tom said. "Whoever heard of a
baseball bat wearing out? And you can use the baseball I
won for nothing. But it is a penny a day to play basketball

from now on."

The kids all grumbled about it. But I knew they
would all pay because basketball was so much fun and
such an exciting game. And I knew right then that The
Great Brain was going to make me pay too.

That evening after supper Sweyn left to see his girl
and Tom left the house also. Now that The Great Brain
was twelve years old, he was allowed to remain outside
the house until eight o'clock. I was in the parlor with
Frankie and Papa while Mamma and Aunt Bertha were
doing the supper dishes.

I only had a little brain but I didn't believe Tom
could really hypnotize anybody. I figured it he could he'd
be hypnotizing kids all over town and getting everything
he wanted. I got the checkerboard and put seven checkers

on it. I walked over to Papa.

"Tom showed me a trick today," I said, "but I can't
figure out how he did it. The idea of the trick is to make
the other player take the last checker. A player can take
one checker or two checkers at a time."

I put the checkerboard on Papa's knees. He studied

the checkers for a moment, and Frankie came over to
watch.

"It is a simple mathematical problem that T. D.
probably learned in advanced arithmetic at the academy,"
Papa said. "Whoever goes first must lose."

"How do you figure that?" I asked.

"All the person going second has to do is to leave
just tour checkers," Papa explained. "You go first and
I'll show you."

I removed one checker. Papa removed two.
"There are now four checkers left," Papa said. "No
matter if you take one or two I can make you take the last
checker. If you take one then I take two and you get the
last checker. If you take two then I take one and you get
the last cHecker."

"I understand that part," I said. "But Tom also made
it so he always got the last checker."

'"'That is easy," Papa said as he lined up the seven
checkers orrthe board. "You go first."

I removed one checker.

"Now all I have to do is to take the same number of
checkers as you do," Papa said, "so I'll take one. There are
five left. If you take one I take one leaving three. Then
all you have to do is to take two and I get the last
checker."

"What if I take two the first time?" I asked.

"That would leave five," Papa said. "Then I would
take two leaving three. And all you have to do is to take
two and I get the last checker."

"Thanks a lot, Papa," I said. "T. D. sure had me
buffaioed on this trick."

I walked over and sat down on the floor with Frankie.

We played checkers until bedtime. Frankie didn't say
what was on his mind until we reached our bedroom.

"Tom cheated Jimmie and Danny," he said.

"He doesn't call it cheating," I said- "According to
Tom, he is simply using his great brain to get something
he wants."

"I'm all mixed up," Frankie said. "I don't know who
is right and who is wrong."

"You'll find out tomorrow," I said. "Danny's father
will complain to Papa and Jimmie's mother to Mamma-
It will then be up to The Great -Brain to convince Papa
and Mamma that he didn't cheat anybody."

When Papa came home for lunch the next day I knew
Mr. Forester had complained from the way Papa kept
looking at Tom during the meal. And I figured Mrs.
Peterson must have complained too from the way Mamma
kept staring at Tom. But Papa didn't say anything until
we had finished eating.

"Well, T. D.," he said as he put his napkin in his
silver napkin ring, "I see you are at it again. Mr. Forester
stopped in at the Advocate office this morning. He told
me that you had cheated his son Danny out of a baseball
glove."

Mamma held up her hand. "Before you answer that,
Tom Dennis," she said, "Mrs. Peterson phoned me this
morning to complain that you had cheated her son Jimmie
out of a new baseball."

Tom didn't appear worried at all. "Did Mr. Forester
demand that you make me return the infielder's glove to
Danny?" he asked Papa.

"Well, no, he didn't," Papa said.

Then Tom looked across the table at Mamma. "Did
Mrs. Peterson insist that you make me give Jimmie back
the baseball?" he asked.

"No, she didn't," Mamma answered. "But she was
certainly upset about it."

"I think that proves I didn't cheat Danny or Jimmie,"
Tom said- "If I had cheated, they would have demanded
that I return the glove and the baseball. And if Danny
had won the two dollars and a quarter from me, you can
bet his father wouldn't have mentioned it to you, Papa.
And the same with Jimmie."

After that brilliant defense there was nothing Papa
could do but nod his head. "You do have a point," he

said.

"Point or no point," Mamma said, "Mrs. Peterson
works very hard to support herself and her son. And a
dollar-and-ten-cent baseball to her is the equivalent of a
bicycle to your father and me."

"All the more reason why she should be thanking you
instead of complaining," Tom said.

"And just how do you arrive at that conclusion?"
Mamma asked.

"Assume Jimmie had won the dollar and ten cents
from me," Tom said. "He would say to himself, look at
all this money I won betting. This would make him want
to bet some more, and he would get the gambling fever,
which is worse than drink. Jimmie would grow up to be
a gambling man, taking money from his poor mother to
gamble away in the saloons. The same goes for Danny.
So you see. if it weren't for me both Jimmie and Danny
would have become gamblers, bringing sorrow, heartache,
and disgrace to their families."

It is a rare occasion when a boy can dumbfound his
parents so they just sit with open mouths and staring
eyes. Aunt Bertha was the only one not struck dumb by
Tom's brilliant logic.

"I do declare," she said, "if that boy was caught with
his hand in the cookie jar, he would convince us he was
putting a cookie back."

Tom excused himself from the table. Frankie and I
joined him on the back-porch steps, Tom looked plumb
disgusted.

'T just don't understand what made Papa and Mamma
so upset," he said. "You would think they would be used-
to parents complaining about my great brain by this
time."

"I know how you did it," I said. "I didn't snitch. I
told Papa that it was a puzzle you showed me and used
checkers instead of tin cans. Papa said it was a mathemati-
cal problem you must have learned in class at the acad-
emy."

"He was wrong about that," Tom said. "I learned
the trick from a kid named Jerry Moran at the academy."

"Why did you go through all that rigmarole with
the tin cans and pretending you could hypnotize people?"
I asked.

"Jerry showed me the trick with seven pennies," Tom
said. "But if I'd used pennies and offered to bet I could
make the kids take the last one, they would have known
it was a trick right away. Those kids weren't betting I
couldn't make them take the last can. They were betting
I couldn't hypnotize them."

"It was still a swindle," I said.

"Wrong," Tom said. "When Parley, Seth, Basil, and

Howard bet me, they were all positive they had a sure
thing. And they won twenty-five cents from me. Do you
think they swindled me out of my quarter?"

"Well, no," I had to admit.

"And when Danny and Jimmie bet," Tom said, "they
were positive they had a sure thing and couldn't lose. If
they had won the three dollars and thirty-five cents from
me, would you say they had swindled me?"

"Of course not," I answered.

"Then how can you say I swindled them because I
was positive that I had a sure thing?" Tom demanded.

I thought about it for a moment. "I guess you didn't

^

swindle them after all," I had to admit.

"I accept your apology," Tom said.

Frankie smiled at Tom. "Then you didn't cheat," he
said as if the idea pleased him.

Tom ruffled Frankie's hair with his fingers. "You
can^t be guilty of cheating somebody," he said, "if that
person is trying to cheat you."

Well, all I can say is that The Great Brain could talk
himself out of anything. If he was caught stealing a horse,
he would claim he was nearsighted and thought it was
his lost milk cow. And for my money, he would get away
with it.

\

CHAPTER THREE

The Tug of War

TOM DIDN'T MAKE AS MUCH money as I
thought he would charging the kids to play basketball
because soon we were able to go swimming. The first thing
every kid looked forward to when summer vacation began
was the day he could go swimming in the river. We sel-
dom got any cold weather in Adenville during the winter
because the town was located in southwestern Utah. But
it did snow in the mountains west of Adenville. Until
after that snow melted, the water in the river was too cold
for swimming. So it was a great day for all the boys in
town when we saw all the snow in the mountains was gone.

Tom and I were late getting to the swimming hole

/

that afternoon because of Frankie. He wanted 10 go swim-
ming with us and take along his playmate, Eddie Huddle.

"You are too little to go swimming," Tom said.

Frankie began to cry. "You always say I'm too little,"
he cried. "Too little to play baseball. Too little to play
basketball. Now I'm too little to go swimming."

"Stop bawling," Tom said. "If Mamma says you can
go, we will take you with us."

Mamma surprised us by saying Frankie could go if
we would watch out for him. She hadn't let me go until I
was seven years old. Then Eddie Huddle began to bawl.

"I wanna go swimmin* too," he cried. "If Frankie
goes I ain't got nobody to play with."

Frankie put his arm around Eddie's shoulders, "If
Eddie can't go," he said to Tom and me, "I won't go.
And if I don't go after Mamma telling you to take me,
it means you can't go."

' What could Tom and I do? We walked to the black-
smith shop owned by Eddie's father. Mr. Huddle said
we could take Eddie if we kept a careful eye on him-

There were about fifty kids at the swimming hole.
.We all went- swimming naked because nobody owned a
bathing suit then. I had learned how to swim when Sweyn
tossed me into the deepest part of the swimming hole from
the diving board. But Frankie and Eddie were too young
for this. Tom and I showed them how to pretend they
were swimming by mud crawling. They could walk on
their hands in the shallow water and, by kicking their
legs, keep their bodies afloat. Tom and I took turns
watching them. I knew from the fun the two kids were
having that we would be stuck taking them swimming all
summer.

ft

After swimming in the river began, the next thing we
all looked forward to was the Fourth of July. Nobody in
Adenville ever locked their barns until one week before
the Fourth. Then suddenly the barns of everybody who was
going to enter a float in the Fourth-of-July parade became
forbidden territory. This was because people were secretly
working on their floats. No one got to see the floats until
the morning of the parade.

The first prize was a blue ribbon with the words
"First Prize" printed on it. The second prize was a red
ribbon and third prize a white ribbon. I doubt if these
ribbons cost more than twenty-five cents each. But the
way people worked on floats, you would have thought the
ribbons were worth a fortune. Mamma had won one blue
ribbon, two red ribbons, and two white ribbons over the
years. This Fourth of July she was determined that she
was going to win first prize.

And this Fourth of July Tom had made up his mind
that the Gentile kids were going to win the tug of war.
I'd better explain that back in those days anybody who
wasn't a Mormon was called a Gentiie in Utah. Every
Fourth, ten Mormon kids and ten Gentile kids between
the ages of eleven and twelve were chosen for the tug of
war. The kids themselves selected the biggest and strong-
est boys for their teams. A rope was stretched across Aden
Irrigation Canal, which was about three feet deep and
ten feet wide and ran down one side of the town park. The
teams lined up on each side of the canal. Then the tug of
war began to see which team could pull the other into
the canal.

The Gentile kids had been getting dunked in the
canal ever since I could remember. It didn't take a great

brain to figure out why. The Mormon kids outnumbered
the Gentile kids in town by about four to one. This gave
them a four-to-one advantage in picking the biggest and
strongest kids for their team. That is why I thought Tom
had suddenly came down with brain fever when he said
he was going to put his great brain to work on how to win
the tug of war. I knew even his great brain couldn't make
ten Gentile kids each grow ten pounds heavier and stronger
in a week.

Mamma had a beaut of an idea for a float. She told
us about it one night after supper.

"My entry is going to be entitled "The Ringing of
the Liberty Bell," she said, looking mighty pleased.

Papa nodded. "An excellent idea," he said. "But you
would need some sort of a belfry to hang the bell on.
And I doubt if there is room enough in our buggy."

"Mark is going to let us borrow his wagon," Mamma
said-."We'll move the buggy out of the barn and the
wagon into it tomorrow."

"That problem is solved," Papa said, "but what are
you going to use for a bell? We can't use the town hall
bell because it is used to summon the volunteer fire de-
'partment in case of fire. And I doubt if Reverend Hoi-
comb would want us to take the bell from the Community
Church."

"You are forgetting the schoolhouse bell," Mamma
said.

"Right," Papa said. "I'm sure I can get Calvin Whit-
lock and the other two members of the school board to
let us borrow the bell."

"No," Mamma said, to our surprise. "Mrs. Granger
is a member of the school board and enters a float every

38

year. I don't want her to know about my idea. She might
want to copy it and take the bell for her own float- You
will just have to get the bell without permission from
anybody. And wait until the evening of July third to do
it."

"Another excellent idea," Papa said.

Well, all I can say is that it just goes to prove there
is no figuring grownups. If Sweyn and Tom and I had
told Papa and Mamma that we were going to steal the
schoolhouse bell, they would have had a fit about it. Just
for saying it we would have lost our allowances for six
months. But there sat Papa and Mamma smiling proudly,
as if stealing a schoolhouse bell wasn't any crime at all.
Their consciences weren't bothering them a bit. Try and
figure that one out because I can't.

Uncle Mark's wagon was moved into our barn the
next day. Papa bought some lumber, Tom, Sweyn, and I
helped him build a belfry on the bed of the wagon. The
next day Mamma and Aunt Bertha began decorating the
wagon. They wove red, white, and blue bunting between
the spokes of the wheels and draped it around the body
of the wagon and the seat. After the wagon was decorated,
Mamma and Aunt Bertha began making the costumes my
brothers and I would wear.

On the evening of July third Papa was nervous. In-
stead of smoking just one after-dinner cigar, he smoked
two. Mamma kept looking out the bay window in the
parlor. Finally she spoke.

"It is dark now; time to go get the bell," she said as
if Papa went out stealing schoolhouse bells every night of
the week.

.S9

1      Papa cleared his throat. "I've decided to take Sweyn
and Tom with me," he said. "I might need some help."
"Can I go, too?" I asked.

Papa must have wanted all the company he could get
when he went out stealing bells. He said I could go with
them. We left by the back door and went to the toolshed
fora wrench. Papa motioned for us to follow him into the
barn. He sat down on a bale of hay and began patting my
dog Brownie and Frankie's pup Prince on their heads.

"How much do you think that bell weighs?" he asked-
"About twenty pounds," Tom said.

"I've been thinking," Papa said. "If I'm caught re-
moving (he bell from the schoolhouse, it will make me
the laughingstock of everybody in town. I'll be the butt of
jokes for years to come. Now you boys don't want to see
chat happen to your father, do you?"

What could we say after that dramatic appeal? We
all said we wouldn't want that to happen. And I knew

right then -why Papa wanted company when it came to

stealing the bell.

"Thank you, boys," Papa said. "I'll just sit here and
keep the dogs company while you go get the bell."

"If we get the bell for you, what do we get?" Tom
asked.

"My undying thanks," Papa said.

"And if we let Mamma think you helped to get the
bell?" Tom asked.

"I see what you mean," Papa said. "In addition to

my undying thanks, you will each receive fifty cents."
"You've got yourself a deal. Papa," Tom said.
Tom got Sweyn's lariat and a gunnysack. He put the

lariat and wrench in the sack. He acted as scout, leading

40

Sweyn and me down alleys and through vacant lots to the
schoolhouse. Tom tried the door. It was locked.

"Now why would anybody be stupid enough to lock
the door of a schoolhouse in the summertime?" he asked.
"No kid in his right mind would enter a schoolhouse un-
less he had to."

»

"One of the windows isn't locked,'' I said, "unless they
fixed it. Mr. Standish complained because he couldn't
shut it last winter when it got a little cold."

I showed Tom and Sweyn the window, which was
open about two inches. Tom pushed it up.

"You stay here, J. D.," he said, "and keep a sharp
lookout."

I watched my two brothers climb through the win-
dow with the gunnysack. I kept a sharp lookout but didn't
know what for. All I saw was a stray dog.

I knew exactly what my two brothers would have to
do to get the bell. In the hallway where the kids hung
their coats and caps during school, there was a ladder
nailed to the wall that led to the belfry trap door. Once
they got into the belfry, Tom would have to tie the clapper
of the bell with a piece of twine he'd brought along so
the bell wouldn't ring. Then they would have to loosen
the L) bolt holding the bell. Once they got the bell on
the floor of the belfry, they could tie one end of the lariat
to it and lower it down into the hallway.

It seemed to me they were taking a long time but they
finally came to the window. They had the bell, wrench,
and lariat in the gunnysack. Tom climbed out the window
and Sweyn handed him the gunnysack.

"You scout, J. D.," Tom said. "S. D. and I will carry
the gunnysack."

I scouted and got us back to the barn without any-
body seeing us. Papa had lit the kerosene lantern we kept
in the barn and was sitting on a bale of hay, patting the
heads of Brownie and Prince. He got up and helped my
two brothers hang the bell on the homemade belfry on
the wagon while I held the lantern. Then Papa stood back
and admired the float-

"Don't forget, boys," he said. "Mum's the word to

your mother." Papa wanted to make sure he got credit for
stealing the bell-

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Tom asked, grin-
ning.

Papa took out his purse and gave each of us half a
dollar. It made me wonder how many things Papa had
done that Mamma didn't know anything about.

Tom touched my arm. "Leave the dogs in the barn,"
he whispered-

1 didn't know why he wanted me to leave the dogs in

the barn, but I did. It was past my bedtime when we
entered the house.

"The bell is on the float," Papa told Mamma and

Aunt Bertha, looking as proud as if he had done it all by
himself.

I'm telling you. Papa was really something some-
times. But I didn't mind him taking all the credit. I was

fifty cents richer than when I left the house. I went up-
stairs with Tom.

"Keep your clothes on," Tom said. "We're going out.
That's why I told you to leave the dogs in the barn. We

don't want them following us. And be quiet so you don't
wake up Frankie."

"Where are we going?" I whispered.
42

"To fix it so those Mormon kids lose the tug of war
tomorrow," he said.

"Do you mean your great brain figured out a plan
to dunk those Mormon kids in the canal?" I asked.

"I'll not only dunk them," Tom said, "but empty
their pocketbooks at the same time."

He removed the screen from our bedroom window,
and we shinnied down the elm tree by the window- I fol-
lowed him to the woodshed. He picked up a partly filled
gunnysack and the ax and a shovel.

"What's in the sack?" I asked.

"Wooden stakes," he answered. "And stop asking ques-
tions. We have work to do."

Just then the whistle at the powerhouse blew, signal-
ing that it was nine o'clock and curfew time. No kid un-
der sixteen was allowed on the streets after nine o'clock
unless accompanied by an adult. This meant Tom and I
had to be careful. I followed him down alleys on a round-
about way to the town park. The park was one block
square with a bandstand in the middle and picnic tables
set under trees. It was bounded on one side by the Aden
Irrigation Canal. Tom and I cut through the park to the
bridge over the canal. We crossed the bridge and walked
about fifteen feet below it to where the tug of war was
always held. Tom dumped out the stakes from the gunny-
sack. They had sharp points on one end and were about
two inches thick and eight inches long.

Tom picked up one of the stakes and drew two lines
in the dirt about a foot apart, straight out from the canal
for about twenty-five feet.

"This is the path my team will use for the tug of
war," he said. "Take the shovel and scoop out the dirt

down about three inches. I'm going to drive stakes in the
ground about six inches apart, all along the path my team
will use. We will be able to brace our heels against the
stakes and it would take a team of mules to pull us across
the canal. We will just hold the Mormon team until they
get good and tired. Then, using the stakes as anchors to
brace the heels of our shoes against, we will pull them
across the canal."

"Won't they see the stakes?" I asked.

"No," he said, "because I'll cover them up with about
an inch of dirt."

"Then why do you want me to dig down three inches?"
I asked.

"So the dirt will be loose to dig the heels of our shoes
into," Tom said. "The stakes will still have to be driven
about six inches into solid ground so they will hold."

I began scooping out the dirt with the shovel be-
tween the lines Tom had drawn. He came right behind
me, hammering the stakes into the ground with the blunt
end of the ax. When we had finished we covered up the
stakes with dirt so they couldn't be seen.

•    I was much too excited about the float contest the
next morning to think about the tug of war. We braided
red, white, and blue ribbons into the manes of our horses,
after hitching them to the wagon. We fastened lassies to
the harnesses and small American flags to the hames of
the harnesses. Mamma used a black crayon to put an imi-
tation crack on the bell. Then we went into the house to
put on our costumes. Sweyn would drive the team dressed
in a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume Mamma and
Aunt Bertha had made. My costume was the kind of

44

clothing a boy wore in 1776 and Tom's the kind of cloth-
ing an old man wore then. To make Tom look like an old
man. Mamma had made a white wig and beard out of
cotton. At last we were ready to take the float to the camp-
ground.

I could hear kids shooting off firecrackers all over
town as we left our barn. Sweyn was driving the team and
Tom and I were in our places on the float. Uncle Mark
was in charge of lining up the floats at the campground.
He was riding his stallion, Lightning, and wearing a white
Stetson hat, a bright red shirt, white buckskin pants, and
a red, white, and blue scarf around his neck. He directed
Sweyn to our place in the line of floats.

There were about twenty floats entered. Right in
front of us was Seth Smith's mother's float, depicting Wash-
ington crossing the Delaware. She must have been sewing
for weeks. Mr. Smith was wearing a uniform and hat like
photographs I'd seen of General George Washington. His
brother and a couple of other relatives were dressed like
soldiers in the Continental Army. Mr. Smith and his
brother had built a pretty good imitation of a boat on
the bed of their wagon. Behind us was Mrs. Winters'
float, showing Betsy Ross making the first American flag.

Uncle Mark, acting as grand marshal, signaled that
the parade was about to begin. He rode at the head of it,
carrying a large American flag. Behind him on foot was
the town band playing "Columbia the Gem of the Ocean."
They were wearing white flannel trousers, white shirts,
and straw hats with red, white, and blue ribbons on them.
Main Street was a glorious sight with all the buildings
decorated with red, white, and blue bunting and American
flags. Men, women, and children lined both sides of the

street waving small flags and brightly colored balloons.

The judges' stand was a platform that had been built
in front of the Adenville bank. The three judges were
Mayor Whitlock, Judge Potter, and Bishop Aden of The
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which was
the full name of the Mormon church. Bishop Aden was
the founder of Adenville, for whom the town was named.

Uncle Mark stopped the parade as each float reached
the judges' stand. When it was Mrs. Smith's turn, I just
knew she was going to win first prize. The applause from
the judges and spectators for Washington crossing the
Delaware was so loud, I could hardly hear the band.
"Ready, J. D.?" Tom asked.

I nodded my head. A moment later Sweyn stopped
our team in front of the judges' stand.

"Ring, Grandpa, ring!" I shouted, just the way
Mamma had coached me. "Oh, ring for liberty!"

Tom began pulling the rope that rang the school-
house bell. And it sounded to me as if our float got as much
applause as Mrs, Smith's float.

The parade continued down Main Street, passing our
home, and on to West Tenth Street, where it broke up.
The prizes wouldn't be awarded until that afternoon. It
was time to take the float home. Papa was waiting in the

corral for us. He, Mamma, and Aunt Bertha had watched
the parade from our front porch.

We unhitched the team from the wagon and hitched
it to our buggy. Then Tom, Sweyn, and I went into the
house to take off our costumes and put on our everyday
cloches. Everybody got all dressed up for the parade, but
after it was over all the boys and girls changed to their
everyday clothing so they could enter the contests.

We all began loading up the buggy for the picnic.
First came the washtub with a cake of ice in it and a
watermelon and bottles of homemade root beer. Then
came baskets, pots, and pans containing food. The ice-
cream freezer was last, after being repacked with salt and
ice.

There wasn't room in the buggy for all of us to ride.
Papa took Mamma and Aunt Bertha with him. Tom,
Sweyn, Frankie, and I walked to the park after getting our
firecrackers and sparklers from the house. There were
buggies and wagons with teams of horses parked on both
sides of the streets. Papa found a place to leave our buggy
while Mamma found a picnic table under a tree for us.
We all helped unload the food. Like all Adenville families
we would spend the rest of the day in the park.

Every picnic table was piled high with about the same
things we had on our table. There were" bowls filled with
fried chicken and potato salad. There were plates with
green onions, radishes, pickles, olives, and hard-boiled
eggs. There was a big smoked ham and bread-and-butter
sandwiches. And, for dessert, we had an apple and berry
pie, chocolate cake, ice cream, and watermelon.

I ate until I thought I would burst and so did every-
body else in the park. Then the picnic tables were cov-
ered with tablecloths to protect the food from flies, and
we all crowded around the bandstand. The band played
a fanfare. Then Mayor Whitlock held up his hands for
silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the moment you
have all been anxiously waiting tor has arrived. But first,
the judges wish to compliment the persons responsible
for so many fine floats this year. They made the decision

of the judges very difficult. After due deliberation, how-
ever, the judges have awarded first prize to Mrs. Smith for
her float showing Washington crossing the Delaware."

The crowd applauded as Mrs. Smith went up to the
bandstand to get her blue ribbon. Again Mayor Whitlock
held up his hands for silence.

"The judges have awarded Mrs. Fitzgerald second
prize for her float depicting the ringing of the liberty bell,"
he announced.

I could see Mamma was happy as she went to get her
red ribbon. Not as happy as she would have been to win
first prize, but happy. But it just goes to prove that the
more a kid tries to figure out how the minds of grownups
work, the more confused he becomes. Mayor Whitlock
must have known that the bell on Mamma's float was the
schoolhouse bell. And as chairman of the school board he
certainly knew the bell had been taken without his per-
mission. But instead of having Mamma arrested for steal-
ing the bell, there was Mayor Whitlock awarding her
second prize. Boy, oh, boy, you can bet if some kids had
stolen the bell the Mayor would have had them arrested.

Mrs. Carter was awarded third prize for her float de-
picting the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
It was then time for the contests for kids to begin, with
Reverend Holcomb and Bishop Aden acting as judges and
Uncle Mark as starter. Grownups who didn't want to
watch the contests could listen to the band concert.

First came the spoon-and-egg races for kids five to six
years old. Each kid was given a spoon with a raw egg in it.
He or she had to hold the spoon by the handle. The first
one to reach the finish line without dropping the egg won.
"Don't run," I whispered to Frankie. "The kids who

48

try to run wilt drop their eggs. You just walk."

It was good advice but a couple of other kids had the
same idea and one of them won the race. The egg-and-
spoon races then continued for different age groups. How-
ard Kay won the race for my age group.

Then came the potato-sack races. Each kid put his
feet and legs in a potato sack and, holding the sack around
his waist, jumped toward the finish line. Frankie lost be-
cause he fell down. I might as well have fallen down. I
came in sixth for my age group- I began to wonder why
Tom wasn't there. He had won the potato-sack race for
three straight years. And this year the prize was a har-
monica. All prizes for the races were donated by the mer-
chants in town, but they were usually only worth about
a nickel or dime at the most. The harmonica was worth at
least a quarter, I became so curious that 1 went looking
for Tom. Maybe he didn't know the prize^was a harmonica.

I found him talking to some Mormon kids. He was
making bets with them on the tug of war and writing down
the amount and the names in a notebook. I told him
about the harmonica prize.

"I'm not entering any contests this year," he said-
"I've got a lot of kids to see before the tug of war."

I returned to the contests. I surprised myself by win-
ning the foot race for kids my age. The prize was a box of
Cracker Jacks which I gave to Frankie. When the con-
tests were over, it was time to eat again. Everybody re-
turned to their picnic tables. After eating Tom took me
to one side.

"Hold on to this," he said, handing me the notebook.
"It has all the bets I made in it. I don't want to get it wet
in case we lose."

"How can you lose with those stakes in the ground?"
I asked.

"I forgot something," Tom said. "Mayor Whitlock
always tosses a coin to see which team gets which side of
the canal. I've got to put my great brain to work on how
to make sure my team gets the right side."

It was now time for the kids to shoot off their fire-
crackers and sparklers and play games while the grownups
listened to the band concert. This went on until it was
time for the tug of war which was the last event of the
day. A fanfare from the band notified everybody that the
time had arrived. Mayor Whitlock was on the bandstand.

"Will the captains for the two teams come up here/'
he said.

Tom and Seth Smith went to the bandstand. The
mayor removed a coin from his pocket.

"Excuse me, Mr. Whitlock," Tom said. "As you
know, it is easier to get a good footing in the dirt on the
other side of the canal than it is on the grass on this side.
Don't you think it would be more fair to let the team that
lost last year have the other side, instead of tossing a coin?"

Mr. Whitlock nodded. "I think that is a good idea,"
he said. "Is that all right with you, Seth?"

"It doesn't make any difference to my team," Seth

said confidently. "We will win no matter which side we

get/-
Tom's great brain had done it again. He got the side

where the stakes were for his team- He and Seth were
given the rope for the tug of war. Tom held one end of it
and crossed the bridge over the canal. He and Seth held
the rope tight so it wouldn't get wet in the canal as they
walked down to where the tug of war would take place.

50

Seth made Tubby Ralston his anchor man, tying his end
of the rope around the Eat boy's waist. Tom made Basil
his anchor man. The other nine members of each team
got in place and took a tight grip on the rope.

"All right, boys!" Uncle Mark shouted as he removed
his Colt .45 from its holster and pointed it upwards. "Get
ready! Get set! Go!" And he fired a shot into the air.

I watched the fellows on Tom's team dig their heels

\
into the dirt. The Mormon team pulled them toward the

canal a few inches, until the heels of the Gentile boys hit
the stakes in the ground. Then Tom's team just stiffened
their bodies and leaned back. Those Mormon kids puffed
and heaved and grunted and groaned but they couldn't
budge the Gentile team one inch. Tom just let them
struggle until sweat was pouring off-them and they were
so tired their tongues were hanging out.

Then Tom shouted, "Now, men!" -

The Gentile team began backing up, using the stakes
in the ground to brace their feet. Slowly but surely they
pulled the Mormon team toward the canal. Seth, as cap-
tain of the team, was the first to be pulled into the canal.
And then the rest of those Mormon kids were dunked.

The Mormon team was the most downhearted bunch
of kids I'd ever seen as they climbed out of the canal. The
Gentile team was proud and happy as they danced around
on the other side. But I knew the dancing was a part of
Tom's plan. His team were using their feet to cover up the
stakes with dirt.

Everybody went home after the tug of war. There
were still two big events to come after supper. The fire-
works display would begin on the courthouse lawn when
it got dark, to be followed by a dance in the social hall of




the Mormon tabernacle. I guess every Mormon kid in town
had bet on the 'tug of war. Tom totaled up the bets in the
notebook when we got home- He had taken those Mor-
mon kids for five dollars and fifteen cents. I was kicking
myself that I was such a dumb-dumb, I didn't have sense
enough to make a few bets myself.

After it got dark we all went to watch the fireworks.
Uncle Mark was in charge of the display, which always
lasted about an hour. It had always been the best part of
the Fourth of July for me. Imagine my surprise when
Tom pulled me aside just before the fireworks,

"I'll need your help for about half an hour," he said.

"If you think I'm going to miss the fireworks," I said,
"you're crazy."

"You'll only miss half of it," he said, "and besides,
I'll pay you a quarter. We've got to get those stakes out
of the ground and this is the time to do it. Everybody in
town is here. Now just sort of walk with me as if we were
looking for a better spot to watch at the rear of the crowd."

I wasn't about to pass up a chance to make twenty-
five cents, so I went with Tom. We got away from the
crowd without being noticed. Then we ran home and got
a gunnysack, a shovel, and the ax. When we arrived on the
bank of the canal, I scooped the dirt away from the stakes
with the shovel. Tom used the blunt end of the ax to
knock the stakes loose and then put them in the gunny-
sack. After removing all the stakes, we smoothed out the'
dirt.

"Now jump around on the ground," Tom said.

"Why?" I asked.

"We've got to leave footprints just in case somebody
does come snooping around," he said.

tU

I understood as I remembered how the Gentile team
were dancing around after winning. We made footprints
and then went home. Tom mixed the stakes in with the
chopped kindling wood in the woodshed. We got back to
the courthouse before the loudest, most brilliant, and best
of the fireworks were shot into the air. After the display
was over. Papa and Mamma and Sweyn and his girl went
to the dance in the Mormon tabernacle. Aunt Bertha,
Frankie, Tom, and I went home.

Seth Smith and the nine other Mormon kids on the
tug of war team came down the alley the next morning,
just as Frankie and I were finishing our chores. Tom was
sitting on the railing of the corral fence. He jumped to
the ground and stared at the shovel Seth was carrying.
Then he pulled the notebook from his pocket.

"I was just going to start making the rounds to col-
lect the bets I won," he said.

"You aren't going to collect any bets," Seth said,
"until we find out something."

"Like what?" Tom asked, looking innocent.

"Like how you beat us in the tug of war," Seth said.
*T think you planted rocks and bricks in the ground on
your side for your team to brace their feet against."

"I give you my word of honor," Tom said, "that we
didn't put any rocks or bricks in the ground to brace our
feet against. But if it will make you feel better, we will
go take a look."

Eddie Huddle arrived to play with Frankie. I went
with Tom and the Mormon kids to the canal. Seth dug
up the ground every place a Gentile kid could have put
his feet during the tug of war.

•r
^                           tiP*

"Are you satisfied?" Tom asked.

Seth nodded his head.

"Then apologize for what you said," Tom ordered,
"or you and I are going to have a fight right now."

Seth knew darn well he couldn't whip Tom. "Well,
gee whiz," he said, "you can't blame me for being suspi-
cious. You and I are about the only two the same size. All
the other kids on my team were bigger and stronger than
the kids on your team. We should have won easy."

"Do you call that an apology?" Tom demanded.

"All right," Seth said. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"That's better," Tom said. "And now that you've
apologized, I'll tell you why your team lost. Every year the
Mormon team has been winning the tug of war. This built
up a lot of false confidence in your team. They were so
sure they would win, some of them didn't even try. It stands
to reason that with a heavier and stronger team you should
have won, if every kid did his best. But some of them just
lay down on the job, letting the others do the work." Tom
took his notebook from his pocket. "I'll start collecting bets
now and begin with you, Seth."

But The Great Brain didn't get to collect any bets
right away. That little speech of his started the ten Mor-
mon kids arguing with each other. They were accusing each
other of lying down on the job. Words soon led to blows
and in a few minutes there were five separate fist fights go-
ing on at the same time.

Tom stood watching with an amused smile on his
face. "Enjoy it, J. D.," he said. "This makes up for all the
times. Mormon kids have dunked Gentile kids in the
canal."

56

CHAPTER FOUR

Tom Hooks a Fish Named Sweyn

SWEYN HAD RECEIVED a fly rod and reel with a
dozen fly hooks for Christmas. And now that it was fishing
season, boy, oh, boy, did he think he was something. He
took an old hat and put his fly hooks on it to make him
look like a real fisherman. He placed a wooden hoop from a
barrel on our front lawn and practiced casting inside the
hoop. He went fishing in the river and caught plenty of
suckers, but he had to throw them back. Mamma wouldn't
cook them because she said they weren't fit to eat. Once in
a while Sweyn did catch a rainbow or German brown trout
in the river. But the only really good fishing around Aden-
viile was in the creeks and streams in the mountains.

57

I couldn't blame Sweyn for being proud of his fishing
gear. He was the only boy in town who had a fly rod and
reel. The rest of us kids had to use just a pole with a line
and hook. But I did blame Sweyn for being too darn selfish
with his fishing gear. He wouldn't let Tom or me touch it,
let alone practice casting.

Papa told us we would be leaving on our annual fish-
ing and camping trip the week after the Fourth of July,
Right away Sweyn began bragging that he would catch
twice as many fish as Tom and me put together.

"You know, J. D.," Tom said to me the day before we
were to leave, as We sat on the back porch steps, "when a
fellow gets so selfish he won't let his own brothers touch his
rod and reel, it is time to teach him a lesson."

I knew right then that Tom was going to put his great

brain to work on a plan to stop Sweyn from being so selfish
and a braggart.

That evening Tom was studying the pages advertising
fishing gear in the Sears Roebuck catalog. Finally, he put it
aside.

"Why do people pay so much money for fishing rods and
reels?" he asked Papa.

Papa laid aside the. magazine he had been reading.
"The answer is obvious," he said. "To enable them to catch
more fish. With a fly rod and reel, you can cast a line sev-
eral times farther than you can with just a pole. This en-
ables you to fish in waters you can't reach with a pole-
With a fly rod you can also fish in rapids, where it is rather
difficult to fish with a pole. And your chances of losing a
fish you've hooked are slight. With a rod and reel you can
let out line and play the fish and keep him hooked."

58

"In other words," Tom said, "S. D. should catch a lot
more fish than I do on our trip."

"Considerably more," Papa answered.

"Will he catch a bigger fish?" Tom asked.

"It stands to reason that if he catches five or six
times more fish than you do," Papa said, "he will catch a
bigger fish than you do."

Tom shook his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if I
catch a bigger trout than he does," he said.

Sweyn grinned. "Wouldn't want to bet on it, would
you?" he asked.

"I just might," Tom said,

Then Papa said, "You would be very foolish if you
did."

Frankie and I had to go to bed at eight o'clock. I was
asleep when Tom and Sweyn came into the room at nine.
Tom woke me up.

"Need you as a witness, J. D.," Tom said. Then he
turned to Sweyn. "Now, big brother, put your money
where your mouth is. Papa said the odds were five or six to
one that you will catch a bigger fish on this trip than I will.
Just give me odds of two to one and I'll make you a bet."

"You've got it," Sweyn said. "How much do you want
to bet?"

"That Bristol steel fly rod of yours cost three dollars
and ninety cents in the Sears Roebuck catalog," Tom said.
"The Penell reel costs two dollars and fifty cents and a
dozen hooks cost a dollar. That comes to seven dollars and
forty cents- I'll bet three dollars and seventy cents against
them that I catch a bigger trout on this trip than you do."

"That would make up for some of the cash you've won

59

from me in the past," Sweyn said. "But^how do I know you
won't borrow Dad's rod and reel?"

"J. D. is a witness," Tom said, "that I will use just a
pole, line, and hook and worms for bait."

"Are we betting how long the fish is or by the weight?"
Sweyn asked.

"By the weight," Tom answered. "We will take that
old kitchen scale of Mamma's that she used to use for meas-
uring flour with us."

"You've got yourself a bet," Sweyn said confidently.
"Shake on it," Tom said. "J. D. is a witness."

They shook hands to seal the bargain and then Sweyn
went to his room.

"Boy, oh, boy," I said, "this is one time your great
brain is going to cost you plenty. Papa said you'd be a fool
to bet you would catch a bigger fish."

Tom grinned. "There is more than one way to hook a
big fish," he said mysteriously.

We left the next morning. Tom and I rode in the
buggy with Papa. Sweyn rode his mustang. Dusty. Frankie
bawled because he was too young to go with us, but he
stopped after Papa promised to take him next year.

The summer before Papa had got us lost on our camp-
ing and fishing trip. Mamma had to send Uncle Mark to
find us. This year Papa decided to play it safe. We went to
Beaver Canyon, where we'd gone fishing several times in
the past. Beaver Creek, which ran down the canyon, was
just the right size for trout fishing. I( was larger than a
stream but not big enough to be called a river. We didn't
stop at the main campground but kept on going two miles
up the canyon to a smaller campground.

60

After we'd made camp there was still time to get in
some fishing before supper. Papa and Sweyn went fishing
in the rapids of Beaver Creek. Sweyn caught four rainbow
and two German brown trout. Papa, using his jointed bam-
boo rod and reel and fly hooks, caught three good-sized rain-
bow trout- Tom and I, using our poles and fishing from the
bank of the creek, didn't even get a bite. And boy, oh, boy,
did Sweyn pour salt in our wounds as we ate the trout for
supper.

The next morning Sweyn and Papa again went fly-
fishing in the rapids. Tom went upstream. I started fishing
in a hole just below the rapids. I finally caught a rainbow
trout. But it was only five inches long so I threw it back.
And just as I did I heard Papa yelling.

"Don't let him get away, son!" Papa shouted.

I could see Sweyn had a huge trout on his line and it
was giving him a heck of a fight.

"Don't let him get away!" Papa shouted again as he
ran into the rapids in his hip boots, holding out his net.

"Don't help me!" Sweyn yelled.

I guess he didn't want Tom saying that he didn't
land the big fish himself. But Papa couldn't have helped
anyway. He slipped on a rock and fell into the water.

I grabbed my fishing pole and ran up the creek bank
until I was opposite the rapids. Sweyn was still playing that
big fish. Papa was on his feet, shouting encouragement.
Slowly but surely Sweyn reeled in his line. But he had to
battle that trout every inch of the way until he finally
landed it in his net. He waded through the rapids to the
bank of the creek. Papa sat down on the ground to empty
the water out of his hip boots. Then he took the net and
the huge, German brown trout from Sweyn.

"This has to be the biggest trout ever caught in Beaver

Creek," Papa said. as proud as if he had caught the fish
himself.

I had to agree with Papa. For my money Tom could
kiss his three dollars and seventy cents good-by. We walked
to camp and weighed the big trout. A two-pound trout was
considered a good-sized fish for a mountain creek or stream.
The German brown trout weighed three pounds and two

ounces. Tom didn't return to camp until Papa started pre-
paring our lunch.

"Hail the great fisherman!" Sweyn shouted.
"Didn't even get a bite," Tom said.

Sweyn showed him his German brown trout and made
Tom check the weight.

"You haven't won yet," Tom said stubbornly.
I went with Tom after lunch. It didn't take me long
to discover why he hadn't even gotten a bite. He wasn't
fishing. He was exploring upstream. He picked up a long
pole he'd cut from an aspen tree, and we walked up-
stream until we came to a fishing hole. Tom leaned over
the bank and stuck his pole into the water.

"What in the heck are you trying to do?" I asked, as
curious as all get out.

"I'm trying to find the deepest hole in the creek," he
answered. "The deeper the hole the bigger the fish on the
bottom. But I can tell you one thing, J. D. I believe all the
deep holes upstream are pretty well fished out because
they are closer to the main campground. Tomorrow I'll try
downstream."

We were greeted with more jeers from Sweyn when we
returned to camp for supper without any fish. After eating,

62

Tom said he was going to try some night fishing.

"Fish all day," Sweyn said, "and fish all night. But
you'll never catch a fish as big as my German brown trout."

Tom was gone two hours- The next morning I went
downstream with him. We walked about a mile and found
three deep holes. When the sun hit the water just right,
we could see some big trout on the bottom of two of those
holes. But they sure as heck weren't biting. All we caught
were a couple of little fellows we threw back.

Papa was a man who believed if you caught fish you
had to eat them. We had trout again for lunch.

"I'm getting tired of eating trout," Sweyn said. "I
think I'll go hunting this afternoon."

"See if you can get some quail or rabbits," Papa said.

After we had washed the tin plates, tin cups, and knives
and forks in the creek, Sweyn went hunting. I went down-
stream with Tom. He entered an aspen grove and took out
hisjackknife.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Make about six fishing poles and set them over those
two deep holes we found," he said.

"Won't that be cheating?" I asked.

"I bet Sweyn that I'd catch the biggest fish with a pole,
line, and hook and worm bait," Tom said, smiling. "I
didn't say that I would use just one particular pole."

I helped him cut and trim six fishing poles and tie
lines and hooks to them.

"What if Sweyn or Papa come downstream and see all
these poles you've set?" I asked.

"I'm only going to set them at night," he answered.
"Right now we'll hide them in the bushes."

We hid the poles. Then Tom put his arm around my
shoulders.

"It is up to us," he said solemnly, "to save our brother
from becoming a selfish person and a braggart."

Sweyn had as much luck hunting as he had fishing. He
returned with four quail.

Papa looked at the birds. "We will have roast quail for
supper," he said. "And I'm going to cook them the way
trappers and mountain men cooked them- You boys cut

off the heads and feet and clean the birds but leave the
feathers on."

My brothers and I went down to the creek to do what
Papa asked.

"Boy, oh, boy," I said, "if Papa thinks I'm going to

eat quail with the feathers on them, he has got another
think coming."

Sweyn shook his head. "He always gets some crazy idea

from some book about trappers or mountain men he has
read."

When we returned to camp. Papa stuffed the birds
with Indian meal, pounded crackers, and plenty of salt and
pepper. He let our campfire burn down to red embers.
Then he placed the quail on red-hot coals and used our
shovel to cover them with more hot coals and ashes. I lost
my appetite from the smell of the burning feathers.

"Now, boys," Papa said proudly, "we will just let them
cook for half an hour."

When the half hour was up Papa uncovered the birds.
He got a fork and put one of the quail on a tin plate. He
held the bird with the fork and peeled the skin and burnt
feathers off as if they were paper. He placed one quail on
each of our plates. I got my appetite back in a hurry. That

64

was the tastiest and tenderest and best quail I'd ever eaten
in my life.

"You can do the same thing," Papa told us, "with
partridges, ducks, wild fowl, and fish. We must try it with
some trout."

After the supper dishes were washed, Tom said he
was going to do some night fishing. I went with him. Papa
and Sweyn began playing casino with a deck of cards we'd
brought along. I helped Tom get the six poles- We baited
the hooks with worms and set the poles over the two deep
holes where we'd seen big fish on the bottom. We put good-
sized rocks on the handle end of the poles, in case we caught
anything during the night.

"I'll get up early in the morning," Tom said, "and see
what I've caught. If I don't get a bigger one than S. D. got,
I'll use a fish lantern tomorrow night."

"What is that?" I asked.

"You'll see," he said. "Papa isn't the only one who read
that book about trappers and mountain men."

When I woke up in the morning Tom was gone. Papa
and Sweyn were just starting to get dressed- We came out
of the tent just as Tom arrived. He had four good-sized
trout but none of them anywhere near as big as the one
Sweyn had caught.

"No wonder I couldn't catch any fish before," he said.
"I've been fishing downstream and all the holes are fished
out. But look at these beauties I caught this morning up-
stream."

I knew Tom had caught the trout on the poles we had
set. I also knew why he'd said that he caught the fish up-
stream. He didn't want Sweyn going downstream. After

breakfast Tom got his homemade wooden tackle box and I
got mine. We walked upstream with our poles and tackle
boxes until we came to the first deep hole.

"Darn it," Tom said, looking back. "Sweyn would de-
cide not to fish the rapids today."

Sure enough, Sweyn was following us. He caught up

with us and began casting over the deep hole.

"If you can catch four medium-sized trout with a pole
and worms in this hole," he said, "I'll show you how to

catch some big ones flyfishing."

I thought it strange that Tom didn't open his tackle
box but asked me for some bait, even though I knew he
had a whole can of worms. We baited our hooks and
dropped our lines into the deep pool. Sweyn gave up in
about an hour, after only catching a little six-inch rainbow.

He went back to fishing in the rapids.

Tom opened his tackle box. "Keep a sharp lookout,
J. D.," he said. "Let me know if Sweyn or Papa head this

way."

I was so curious about what Tom was doing that it was

hard for me to keep a sharp lookout. He removed a half-
pint whiskey flask with the label washed off from his tackle
box. It had some kind of liquid in it.

"What's in the flask?" I asked.

"Sweet oil I got from Mamma's kitchen," he an-
swered.

Then he got an empty, clean, pork-and-bean can from

his tackle box. He filled it half full of water from the
stream. I watched wide-eyed as he took something wrapped
in tin foil from the box. He unrolled the tin foil, revealing
something white about the size of a marble.
"What is that?" I asked.

"A piece of phosphorus," he said as he dumped it into
the can of water. "I had to tell Mr. Nicholson at the drug-
store why I wanted it because it is poisonous."

Then he took out his jackknife and opened a blade.
"It has to be cut under water," he said.

"Won't it dissolve?" I asked.

"Not in water," he answered. "But after I cut it into
small .pieces it will dissolve in the sweet oil."

He cut up the piece of phosphorus under water. Then
he poured the water from the can. He used the tip of the
knife blade to put the pieces of phosphorus into the whis-
key flask. Then he put the cork in the bottle good and tight.

"And that, J. D.," he said, "is how trappers and moun-
tain men made fish lanterns."

"I don't see any light coming from it," I said.

"It takes a few hours for the phosphorus to dissolve in
the sweet oil," he explained. "I'm going to circle the camp
and go hide the fish lantern with the poles."

It was lunchtime when Tom returned. During lunch
Sweyn got in a few more digs at Tom. He had caught four
good-sized trout that morning.

"I think you had better confine your fishing to before
breakfast," he said to Tom. "That seems to be the only
time you can catch anything."

"Maybe you are right," Tom said. "I think I'll go
hunting this afternoon."

Papa nodded his head. "Try to get some more quail,"
he said. "They were delicious."

I went hunting with Tom. We didn't get any quail
but we did kill three rabbits. We had fried rabbit, beans,
and sourdough biscuits for supper. After eating Tom said
he was going to go night fishing. I went with him. We

started upstream and then circled the camp to get to
where the poles and fish lantern were hidden. Tom dug up
the whiskey flask from under ground, where he had buried
it. And I'll be a four-legged duck if that flask wasn't shining
as if it had a light inside it.

"How did you do it?" I asked.

"The sweet oil dissolves the phosphorus," he ex-
plained, "forming a thick fluid that throws out light."

"Now that you've got it, what are you going to do
with it?" I asked.

"You'll see," he said.

We walked downstream to the deep pool where we
had seen the big trout on the bottom- Tom removed the
hook from one of the poles. He tied the end of the line
around the neck of the flask. Then he tied a rock to the
fishing line so it would sink in water. He lowered the
fish lantern into the deep hole. It gave me the willies,
seeing that eerie light under water.

"What's the idea?" I asked. "So the fish can see the
bait at night?"

Tom laughed. "No, J. D.." he said. "According to
the book, fish are attracted by any unusual brightness in
a deep pool. When those big fellows on the bottom see the
fish lantern they will come up to look at it. And when they
do, they will see the bait. I am just hoping they will be
hungry."

Tom put big fat worms on the hooks of four of the
poles. He set the poles so a baited hook was on each side
of the fish lantern.

I was positive when I went to bed that night that the
fellow who wrote the book was telling a tall fish story.
Tom woke me up with his hand over my mouth while it

was still dark. We slipped out of the tent and dressed
quietly. Taking our fishing poles and tackle boxes with
us, we walked downstream to the deep hole. I could tell
from the tightness on three lines there had to be fish on
the other end. The sun was just coming up as Tom picked
up the first pole.

"Got one," he said, grinning.

But he wasn't grinning for long after landing the fish.
It was just a medium-sized rainbow trout. Tom removed
the rock and picked up the second pole. I knew from the
way he held it and the tightness of the line that he had a
big one this time. He began to baA up to keep the line
tight. And suddenly the biggest trout I'd ever seen was
stirring up the water in the pool.

"Don't lose him!" I shouted.

That fish gave Tom a longer and harder battle than
the German brown had given Sweyn. But when Tom
finally landed it, it was the biggest 'rainbow trout I'd
ever seen. It was a beauty and had to outweigh Sweyn's
by at least a pound. And I had to take my hat off to the
fellow who wrote that book. Tom hauled in another rain-
bow trout bigger than Sweyn's on the next pole. The
fourth pole didn't have a fish on the hook. But Tom had
two big trout and either one ot them would outweigh the
trout Sweyn had caught-

"You did it!" I shouted. "And if that doesn't cure
Sweyn of his selfishness and bragging, I don't know what
will."

I removed all the hooks and lines from the poles
while Tom took care of the fish lantern. We hid the poles
and buried the fish lantern in the ground so it couldn't
be seen at night. We circled the camp to make it appear

69

we were coming from upstream. Tom had the three trout
hooked through the mouth and gills to a Y tree branch.
We hid in the bushes until we saw Papa and Sweyn come
out of the tent.

"Now, J. D.," Tom said. "And don't forget to yell
what I told you."

I ran from behind the bushes toward the campsite.
"Papa!" I shouted. "Papa! Papa! Wait until you see what
T. D. caught! Get the scale ready!"

Tom came from behind the bushes, holding up the
three trout. Papa got so excited he ran to meet us. He
took the fish from Tom.

"Get them in water," Papa said proudly. "We will
want to take them home with us, packed in wet mud and
grass to show people. There is no doubt about it. These
are the biggest trout ever caught in Beaver Creek."

"Not until I weigh the biggest one," Tom said.

Papa insisted on weighing the biggest one himself. It
weighed four pounds and five ounces. Poor Sweyn stood
staring at the scales. He looked like a cowboy who, after
losing his month's pay playing poker, comes out of a saloon
and finds somebody has stolen his horse.

"I've still got all day," he said.

"Take all day," Tom said, grinning. "And take all
night too. Just remember we are breaking camp and leav-
ing for home in the morning right after breakfast."

Tom and I sure got even with Sweyn for his selfish-
ness and bragging that day. Tom's (rick of pretending
he'd caught the fish upstream worked. Sweyn began fish-
ing the deep holes upstream. Tom and I sat on the bank of
the creek getting in our digs.

7n




"You are wasting your time in this hole," Tom said.
"It is all fished out."

"You are just trying to talk me out of fishing this
hole," Sweyn said.

"Just be careful with my rod and reel," Tom said. "I
don't want either one broken when you hand them over
to me."

"I'll bet, T. D.," I said, "that you aren't going to be
selfish like some fellow we know when the rod and reel
belong to you."

"That is a bet you'd win," Tom said. "You can prac-
tice casting any time you want. And when we go on our
fishing trip next year, you can use my rod when I go hunt-
ing."

I don't know if it was to get away from Tom and
me or because he hadn't caught anything, but Sweyn fi-
nally decided to give up fishing the deep holes upstream.
That afternoon he went back to fishing in the rapids. And
for the first time he decided to try some night fishing after
supper. Papa began to get a little edgy when Sweyn hadn't
returned by nine o'clock-

"We had better go look for him," Papa said. "He
might have slipped on a rock and fallen or something."

We found Sweyn upstream, fishing in the dark at one
of the deep holes.

"I know this is our last day," Papa said, "but it is time
we turned in."

I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for Sweyn when
we got back to camp. He removed the reel and carefully
placed it in its box. Then he unscrewed the rod and
placed it in its canvas bag. But the saddest part of all was
watching him remove the fly hooks from his fisherman's

72

hat and placing them in a box. Then he handed Tom the
rod, the reel, and the fly hooks.

"You won the bet," he said sadly. "They're all yours
now."

Papa stared at Sweyn over the flames of the camp-
fire. "Just what was that all about?" he asked.

"I bet T. D. that I would catch the biggest fish on
this trip," Sweyn answered.

Papa then turned his head and stared at Tom. "Know-
ing you as I do," he said, "I'm positive you wouldn't have
made the bet unless you knew you would win. But for the
life of me I can't understand how you could possibly know
that you would catch the biggest trout."

"Fisherman's luck," Tom said, grinning. "And J. D.
is my witness that I won fair and square. I caught both of
those big trout using just a pole, line, hook, and worm
bait."

"That's right. Papa," I said. "And T. D. only made
the bet to cure Sweyn of his selfishness and bragging."

"What selfishness and bragging are you talking
about?" Papa asked.

I told him how selfish Sweyn had been with his rod
and reel and how he had boasted he would catch twice as
many fish as Tom and me put together.

Papa was shaking his head when I finished as he
looked at Sweyn. "Under the circumstances," he said, "you
deserve to lose your fishing gear. Perhaps it was provi-
dence's way of punishing you for being selfish and a boaster.
Let's go to bed now."

And that is the story of how The Great Brain hooked
a fish named Sweyn.

CHAPTER FIVE

Alkali Flats

A FEW MILES SOUTH of Adenville there were
twelve hundred and eighty acres of land called Alkali
Flats which nobody wanted because it was all alkali soil-
Being rather arid country, Utah has many of these large
alkali beds. Nothing would grow on this land, not even
range grass for grazing, which made it worthless. Papa
told us an easterner named Boswell had bought the land
sight unseen many years ago. When he discovered it was
all alkali soil, he had stopped paying taxes on the land.

Every year old-man Hobbs, the country treasurer and
tax collector, posted delinquent tax notices on Alkali
Flats in Papa's newspaper. Anybody foolish enough to pay

74

the back taxes could have the land.

It was right after we returned from our fishing trip
that a man named Wilbur Cummings arrived in town. He
registered at the Sheepmen's Hotel. He purchased a dozen
fruit-canning jars at the Z. C. M. I. store. The full name
of the store was Zion's Cooperative Mercantile Institute.
There was one of these stores owned by the Mormon
church in every town in Utah. The only thing Mr. Har-
mon, the manager of the store, found out about Mr. Cum-
mings was that he was a chemical engineer.

Mr. Cummings rented a horse and buggy at the livery
stable and drove out to Alkali Flats. He took samples of
the alkali soil in twelve different places, putting the soil
in the twelve fruit-canning jars. Upon his return he went
to the courthouse where he was told Alkali Flats could be
purchased for back taxes. This caused a lot of curiosity in
town. But Mr. Cummings refused to answer any questions
before leaving Adenville.

A few days later another stranger arrived on the morn-
ing train from Salt Lake City. He was a distinguished-
looking gentleman with gray hair, a gray mustache and
goatee, and he was wearing very fashionable clothes. He
took the most expensive suite at the Sheepmen's Hotel and
registered as Francis K. Pendleton from Chicago.

Mr. Pendleton went to the courthouse after eating
lunch at the hotel. He purchased Alkali Flats in the name
of Alkali Products Incorporated for two hundred and ten
dollars in back taxes. Then he rented a horse and rig
and drove out to the farm of Carl Underwood. He told
the farmer he wanted an option to build a spur track from
the railroad across the south pasture of his farm to Alkali
Flats. He offered a hundred dollars for a thirty-day option

7.^

to purchase the right-of-way for fifteen hundred dollars
before the option expired- Mr. Underwood was delighted
because he would have sold his whole farm for two thou-
sand dollars. He rode into town with Mr. Pendleton. They
went to the law office of Judge Potter, where the option
papers were signed and the hundred dollars in cash given
to Mr. Underwood.

The next morning Mr. Pendleton went to the tele-
graph office. He sent a telegram to Frederick Ames Hol-
lingsworth. President, Alkali Products Incorporated, Salt
Lake City branch office in the Newman Building. Nels
Lar5on, who was the telegrapher, station master, and ev-
erything else at the depot, made a copy of the telegram.

Calvin Whitlock, the town mayor and president of

the Adenville Bank was seated in his private office when
Nels entered.

"I know it's against the rules," Nels said, "but I made
a copy of a telegram I think you should see." He handed
the copy to the banker. It read:

PROPERTY KNOWN HERE AS ALKALI FLATS IS NOW OWNED
BY ALKALI PRODUCTS INCORPORATED. OPTION FOR SPUR
TRACK RIGHT OF WAY THROUGH UNDERWOOD FARM HAS
BEEN NEGOTIATED. ESTIMATE WE WILL NEED APPROXI-
MATELY FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS TO BEGIN MINING
OPERATION HERE. SUGGEST COMPANY RAISE NEEDED CAPI-
TAL BY ISSUING ONE THOUSAND SHARES OF FIFTY DOLLAR
PAR VALUE PREFERRED STOCK FOR SALE TO CHICAGO BRO-
KERAGE HOUSES AT TEN PERCENT DISCOUNT. WILL AR-
RANGE FOR SURVEY OF PROPERTY TODAY.

FRANCIS K. PENDLETON
VICE PRESIDENT

76

Mr. Whitlock sent tor Papa after reading the tele-
gram.

"This is the biggest economic development that could
happen to Adenville," he told Papa. "You and I are going
to call on Mr. Pendleton and convince him that the citizens
of Adenville should be permitted to buy stock in the com-
pany."

The banker telephoned the hotel. Mr. Pendleton
wasn't in but Mr. Whitlock knew Robert Meredith was the
only surveyor in town. He reached Mr. Pendleton in the
surveyor's office. Mr. Pendleton told the banker he was
going out to Alkali Flats with Mr. Meredith that morning
but would meet Mr. Whitlock and Papa in his hotel suite at
two o'clock.

Mr. Pendleton was such a high-class fellow that he
didn't go to a barber shop for a haircut. Danny Forester's
father was cutting Mr. Pendleton's hair in the suite when
Mr. Whitlock and Papa arrived. The banker introduced
himself and Papa.

"I assume, gentlemen." Mr. Pendleton said, "that
you are here to learn why Alkali Products Incorporated
purchased Alkali Flats. Our company manufactures lye,
soap, and Epsom salts. Our present source of supply for
raw material is getting low. We sent our chemical engi-
neer, Mr. Cummings, west to locate a large bed of al-
kali soil rich in the chemicals needed for our products.
With the help of state boards of agriculture Mr. Cum-
mings located large alkali deposits in Kansas, Colorado,
and Utah. But the others were either too far from a rail-
road or so poor in the chemicals needed as to be worth-
less."

"Excuse me," Mr. Forester said, as he moved Mr.
Pendleton's head slightly to continue the haircut.

"To go on, gentlemen," Mr. Pendleton said. "One
alkali bed suggested to Mr. Cummings was Alkali Flats.
You will be glad to know that the soil is very rich in the
chemicals needed for our products and only half a mile
from the main railroad line. We expect to be mining and
shipping carloads of raw material to our Chicago plant in
about two months. We will employ approximately twenty-
five local men when mining operations begin. I believe
that answers all of your questions, gentlemen."

"Not quite," Mr. Whitlock said. "Mr. Larson showed
us a copy of the telegram you sent."

At first Mr. Pendleton was angry. "Doesn't your Mr.
Larson know that is against the rules and regulations?" he
asked. "I could have the man terminated for it." Then
he shrugged. "No real harm has been done. Whatever
was in the telegram will become public knowledge when
the new stock is issued."

"That is what we wanted to talk to you about," Mr.
Whitlock said. "As mayor of Adenville, may I suggest that
your company permit our citizens to invest in the first big
industry to locate here?"

"I'm sorry," Mr. Pendleton said, "but that is impos-
sible. The thousand shares of stock will be sold to stock-
brokers in blocks of one hundred shares at forty-five dol-
lars a share. This will enable the company to get the
capital needed immediately. The brokers will then sell
shares of stock to the public. You can purchase stock that
way. Instead of paying forty-five dollars a share, the stock
will cost you about fifty-five dollars a share. The brokerage
firms must pay their salesmen a commission and make a

78




profit. But even at fifty-five dollars a share the stock is a
bargain. It will be worth a great deal more when we pay
our first dividend in about six months."

Mr. Whitlock didn't become a banker because he
didn't know his arithmetic, "Assume that other citizens
and I," he said, "wanted to purchase a block of one hun-
dred shares. Could we buy them at the same price as a
stockbroker?"

Mr. Pendleton thought about it for a moment. "I can't
think of any possible objection," he said. "I would, of
course, have to get President Hollingsworth's approval.
And I would have to be certain that the money to pay for
the stock was on deposit in your bank."

"I see your point," Mr. Whitlock said. "Some people
might say they want to buy shares and then change their
minds at the last moment. But I can set up a special account
in the bank to handle it."

Mr. Forester finally finished the haircut and left the
suite with the first gratuity of his life. Mr. Pendleton gave
him a fifty-cent tip.

"Now, gentlemen," Mr. Pendleton said, after putting
on his frock coat and removing a business card from his
wallet. He handed it to Mr. Whitlock. "Send me a tele-
gram to our Salt Lake City branch office certifying you
have the cash in a special account to purchase a hundred
shares of stock."

"What if we want to purchase more than a hundred
shares?" Mr. Whitlock asked.

"Let me know how many shares you want to purchase
in the telegram," Mr. Pendleton said. "I will then take it
up with Mr. Hollingsworth. But you do understand that
the stock must be purchased in blocks of one hundred

shares. And Mr. Fitzgerald, please don't print anything
about this in your newspaper or notify the Salt Lake City
papers. If it became known that our company was permit-
ting the citizens of Adenville to buy the stock at forty-
five dollars a share, we would be deluged with demands
from investors to sell them stock at the same price."

Papa was certainly excited when he came home that
evening. Before supper, during supper, and after supper,
he talked about his visit with Mr. Pendleton.

Mamma let Papa ramble on until he said he was go-
ing to mortgage the house to buy stock.

"You will do no such thing," she said. "There are
enough of the worthless stocks you've bought in a trunk in
the attic to paper the walls of this parlor."

"But those were high-risk stocks, Tena," Papa pro-
tested, "with no guarantee that the companies would find
gold or silver or oil on the property. This is a company
that manufactures lye, soap, and Epsom salts."

"I have never seen the name Alkali Products Incor-
porated on any I've bought," Mamma said.

"That is because their market is in the central states,"
Papa said.

They were still arguing about it when the time came
for Frankie and me to go to bed. Papa was a good talker
but I knew Mamma would never let him mortgage the
house. I stayed awake until Tom came up at nine.

"Papa could make us rich," I said, "if Mamma let
him mortgage the house."

"Mamma knows that Papa doesn't know beans about
stock," Tom said. "If Mr. Whitlock is going to invest, I
just might buy a share of stock myself. I'm not a fellow

who passes up a chance to almost double his money in six
months. But I am also not a fellow who puts up forty-five
dollars without knowing a lot more about Alkali Products

Incorporated."

The next morning Tom went for a ride on Sweyn's
mustang, Dusty. That afternoon he went to the post office
to mail two letters and a mysterious package. I asked him
what it was all about.

"Just protecting my forty-five dollars," he said, and
that was all 1 could get out of him.

Mr. Forester didn't waste any time telling people what
he had heard in the hotel suite. Everybody who could
scrape up forty-five dollars or more was demanding that
Mr. Whitlock let them buy shares of stock. The banker
had his bookkeeper, Frank Collopy, record how many
shares each person wanted to buy and made them deposit
the money in the special account. Papa got a loan on the
Advocate building to buy twenty shares of stock. Tom
took forty-five dollars from his bank account to buy one
share. The total amount of money deposited in the special
account was enough to buy two hundred and twenty-one
shares. Mr, Whitlock himself said he would purchase
seventy-nine shares to bring the total up to three hundred.

He sent a telegram to Mr. Pendleton at the Salt Lake
City branch office stating there was $13,500 in the special
account—enough money to purchase three hundred shares.
He received a telegram back stating that President Hol-
lingsworth had approved the sale. Mr. Pendleton also re-
quested that Mr. Whitlock mail him the name of each
shareholder and the number of shares each person was
buying. This was so the stock certificates could be issued

in their names.

Tom went to the post office and opened our box every
day. Finally, on Saturday, he received a letter from a boy

he knew at the academy who lived in Salt Lake City. The
letter read:

Dear Tom:

1 went down to the Newman Building like you
asked me to do. There was no Alkali Products Incor-
porated on the directory. I went up to the room
number you gave me. It is just a place you can receive
mail, telegrams, and phone calls by paying three
dollars a month. Sure miss you and Tony and Jerry.

Your Friend,
Phil

1 handed the letter back to Tom. "Does that make
Mr. Pendleton a crook?" I asked.

, "I'll need the answer to my other letter before I can
convince Papa or anyone of that." Tom said.

The other letter arrived on Monday. It was from the
State Board of Agriculture and read:

Dear Mr. Fitzgerald:

Our department has made a chemical analysis
of the alkali soil you sent to us. The soil is unsuitable
for the following reasons. There is not enough so-
dium hydroxide present to profitably manufacture lye
or hard soap. There is not enough potassium hydrox-
ide present to profitably manufacture soft soap. There
is not enough magnesium sulfate present to profitably
manufacture epsom salts. In short, this is a very poor
grade of alkali soil for commercial purposes.

Yours truly,
Herbert Garrison

"I guess this proves Mr. Pendleton is a crook," Tom
said. "Let's go tell Papa."

We ran all the way to the Advocate office. Papa and
Sweyn were both setting type.

"Hold the front page for the biggest story of the
year!" Tom shouted. "Mr. Pendleton is a confidence man."

Sweyn laughed a sort of dirty laugh. "It takes one to
know one," he said.

"What nonsense is this?" Papa asked.

"There is no nonsense about it," Tom said. "I've got
the proof that Mr. Pendleton is a crook." He handed Papa
the two letters.

Papa read the letter from Tom's friend first and then
handed it back. "It is a common practice," he said, "for
a company to use a mailing and telephone service tem-
porarily until they find a suitable location for a branch
office."

"'Read the other one," Tom said. "I'll bet that will
convince you that Mr, Pendleton is a crook."

Papa read the letter from the department of agricul-
ture. "Where did you get the sample of alkali soil you sent
them?" he asked, as he handed the letter back to Tom.

"About twenty feet from the edge," Tom answered.

"That explains it," Papa said. "In as large a deposit
of alkali soil as Alkali Flats, the chemical content is going
to vary. And it stands to reason that the closer you get to
the edge, the less alkali in the soil. That is why Mr. Cum-
mings took samples in twelve different places."

"Then you don't believe Mr. Pendleton is a crook?"
Tom asked, looking as flabbergasted as a rooster that has
just laid an egg.

"I know you meant well, T. D.," Papa said, "but

please leave such business matters to me. Mr. Pendleton
and the president of the company will arrive on the eleven
o'clock train tomorrow morning. I don't want you showing
or mentioning those two letters to a soul. I will not permit

you to start an ugly rumor that might embarrass these
two gentlemen."

Tom was plenty disgusted as we left the Advocate
office. "It is easy to understand why Papa has a trunk
filled with worthless stock in our attic," he said. "But I'm
not going to let anybody give me a worthless stock cer-
tificate for my forty-five dollars. I'm going to see Uncle
Mark."

"Papa said not to tell a soul," I said.
"I can't help what Papa said," Tom said. "Nobody is
going to swindle me out of forty-five dollars."

We found Uncle Mark in his office, looking at wanted
posters. The three jail cells were vacant.

"I think Mr. Pendleton is a crook," Tom said.
"So do I," Uncle Mark said, to our surprise. "But
I've been through every wanted poster I have and can't
find anything on him or that Cummings fellow."

"I've got the evidence to prove it," Tom said, hand-
ing Uncle Mark the two letters.

Our uncle was smiling after he read the letters. "You
and your great brain have saved the people in this town
thousands of dollars," he said. "I had a hunch Pendleton
was a confidence man. Everything was just too pat—like
having Mr. Forester give him a haircut in the suite. He
knew the barber would tell everything he heard."

"Papa doesn't believe the man is a crook," Tom said.

"I showed him the letters." Then he explained what Papa
had said.

84

Uncle Mark looked worried. "If you couldn't con-
vince your own father with this evidence," he said, "I
would have one devil of a time trying to convince other
citizens who want to invest."

"You could, if you proved there was no such com-
pany," Tom suggested.

"I thought of checking that out with the Chicago
police," Uncle Mark said. "But I knew that if I were
wrong, Nels Larson would tell it all over town and make
me look like a fool. But with these two letters as evidence,
I'm not worried about that any more."

We went with Uncle Mark to the depot where he sent
a telegram to the chief of police in Chicago.

"Now, Nels," Uncle Mark said, "if you mention what
is in that telegram or the reply I get, I am going to arrest
you for revealing confidential information between two
law enforcement officers. Is that understood?"

Mr. Larson nodded his head. He knew my uncle
never made idle threats.

No reply had been received by the time the depot
closed. The next morning Tom and I went to the depot.
Uncle Mark was there waiting. It was almost ten o'clock
before he got an answer to his telegram- He showed it to
us. The telegram read:

MARK TRAINOR . . . MARSHAL - . . ADENVILLE, UTAH. IN
REPLY TO YOUR TELEGRAM. NO ALKALI PRODUCTS INCOR-
PORATED LISTED IN TELEPHONE BOOK, CITY DIRECTORY,
BUSINESS DIRECTORY. NO RECORD OF A LICENSE EVER
GRANTED THIS COMPANY AT CITY HALL.

J- J. MALONEY
CHIEF OF POLICE

QC

I looked at Uncle Mark. "Are you going to arrest them
when they get here on the eleven o'clock train?" I asked.

"No, John," he said. "We will let them sell their
worthless stock first."

Calvin Whitlock, Papa, and all the leading citizens
of Adenville were at the depot to meet the train. An el-
derly man wearing a plug hat, wing collar, cutaway coat,
striped morning trousers, and pince-nez glasses got off the
train with Mr, Pendleton and Mr. Cummings. Mr. Pendle-
ton introduced the man as Frederick Ames Hollingsworth,
the president of Alkali Products Incorporated. Then Mr.
Hollingsworth made a short speech.

"Citizens of Adenville," he said in an oratorical voice,
"it gives me great pleasure to permit some of you to
become shareholders in our company- To those of you
wanting a short-term gain, I can guarantee that the stock
will be worth about seventy-five dollars a share in six
months. To those of you wise enough to keep your stock,
I can guarantee the market value will continue to in-
crease and it will pay handsome dividends. My associates
and I will register at the hotel and meet with Mr. Whit-
lock and the investors at the bank after lunch. Thank
you."

There was applause and cheers from the crowd. When
the three men arrived at the bank at one o'clock, a long
line of investors was waiting. Mr. Pendleton was carrying
a large briefcase. Mr. Whitlock had arranged two tables
with chairs in the lobby of the bank. The three Alkali
Products men sat at one table, Mr. Whitlock and his
bookkeeper, Mr. Collopy, at the other table. Mr. Pendle-
ton opened his brief case and removed a stack, of stock

certificates. He handed them to Mr. Collopy. The book-
keeper added up the number of shares listed on the stock
certificates on an adding machine. He told Mr. Whitlock
that the total was three hundred shares. Then Mr. Whit-
lock went to the safe and returned with $13,500 to pay for
the stock. Both Mr. Pendleton and Mr. Hollingsworth
counted it. Then Mr. Pendleton put the money in the
briefcase.

The line of investors then began filing by the tables.
Each gave his name and the number of shares he had
bought. Mr. Collopy hunted through the stack of stock
certificates until he found [he one belonging to each in-
vestor. Tom got in line and, after receiving his stock cer-
tificate, showed it to me. It was pretty fancy looking, with
a green border. Tom's name and the figure "one" in a
space in one corner and the word "one" on a line below
Tom's name were all typed in. I thought for sure Uncle
Mark would arrest the three men after everybody had re-
ceived their stock certificates. But he didn't.

Mr. Hollingsworth went over to speak to Mr. Whit-
lock at his table.

"We will, of course," he said, "open a rather large
checking account with you when we start operations here.
Meanwhile, this money will be deposited in a Salt Lake
City bank to pay for the construction of the spur track. I
would appreciate it if you would keep the money in your
vault overnight."

That last statement almost convinced me that Tom,
Uncle Mark, and the chief of police of Chicago were all
mistaken. I followed Uncle Mark and Tom outside.

"Why didn't you arrest them?" I asked.

"I want them to walk out of the bank with the

money," Uncle Mark said. "That will give me an air-
tight case."

Tom and I left Uncle Mark and started walking home.

"If they are really crooks," I said, "why didn't they
take the money and leave town?"

"Because there isn't a train out of here for Salt Lake
City until tomorrow morning," Tom said. "And they
know that if they rented horses at the livery stable it
would attract suspicion."

"Why did they leave the money in the bank?" I
asked. "Were they afraid of being robbed?"

"Heck, no," Tom said. "What better way to con-
vince people they are just who they represent themselves
to be than by leaving the money in the bank? That way
they could leave town tomorrow and nobody would sus-
pect they were confidence men for days or even weeks."

The next morning Tom and I were at the bank be-
fore it opened. Uncle Mark was already there. At five min-
utes to nine the three Alkali Products men arrived-

"Good morning, Marshal," Mr. Hollingsworth said.
"What brings you here?"

"I just want to see you gentlemen safely on the train
with the money," Uncle Mark said.

"Very commendable," Mr. Hollingsworth said.

Mr. Whitlock and Mr. Collopy were inside the bank.
They opened the doors at nine sharp. The safe was
opened and the briefcase containing the money given to
Mr. Pendleton. The three men walked out of the bank
with Uncle Mark following them. He waited until they
were on the wooden sidewalk and then drew his Colt .45
revolver and pointed it at their backs.




"The jail is the other way, gentlemen," Uncle Mark
said. "Just turn around and keep your hands in plain
sight."

The three confidence men decided to plead guilty in-
stead of having a jury trial. Judge Potter sentenced them
to five years in prison. Tom was the star witness. And boy,
oh, boy, was The Great Brain disappointed when Uncle
Mark told him there was no reward for discovering that
the three Alkali Products men were confidence men. He
explained that a criminal just about had to rob a bank, a
train, a stagecoach, or rustle cattle or commit murder be-
fore a reward was offered. But that disappointment was
nothing compared to how Tom felt when he found that
the citizens of Adenville weren't going to give him a re-
ward either.

The only thing Tom got out of it was what they called
a citation, which was issued by Mayor Whitlock and the
town council- It was a letter signed by the mayor and city
councilmen, praising Tom for meritorious achievement
as a Junior Citizen of Adenville. I thought Tom was going
crazy when he framed the citation and hung it on the wall
in our bedroom. The first thing he did when he got up ev-
ery morning was to stand and stare at that citation.

"You'll go plumb loco staring at that thing," I said
one morning.

"I want it where I can see it every day to remind me
of something," he said.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Yeah, what?" Frankie said.

"To remind me never to use my great brain to save

the citizens of this town," Tom said, "unless they give me
a cash reward in advance."

"I wonder why they didn't give you a reward," I said.
"I wondered about it so much that I put my great
brain to work on it," Tom said. "I figure they knew if they
did give me a reward that it would be the same as admit-
ting a kid was a lot smarter than them. And that is one
thing no grownup will ever admit."

I knew the real reason Tom had investigated Alkali
Products Incorporated was to protect his own forty-five
dollars. I was going to remind him of that but changed my
mind and here is why. I knew his money-loving heart was
breaking because he didn't get a reward. I thought about
my basketball and backstop and all the other things The
Great Brain had swindled me out of. And I decided to let
his money-loving heart go right on grieving. It would
serve him right.

CHAPTER SIX

The Runaway

FRANKIE HAD NEVER been punished by Papa
and Mamma until right after the Alkali Flats swindle. I
don't know what got into him, but all of a sudden he
became very mischievous. It began one evening during
supper. Frankie liked jam on his bread instead of butter,
Mamma had jelly on the table but no jam.

"I want jam," Frankie said.

"I just might have gotten you some," Mamma said,
"if you had said please. Now you can either use butter or-
jelly on your bread."

Frankie picked up the bowl of jelly and turned it
upside down on the table. We all couldn't have been more

surprised if he had suddenly turned into a frog.

"Just for that," Mamma said, "there will be no dessert
'for you tonight, young man."

The next morning Eddie Huddle came over to play
with Frankie. They began playing tag and chasing each
other. Frankie knew he wasn't supposed to play in Mam-
ma's flower garden. But he and Eddie started chasing
each other around inside the flower garden and trampled
down some of Mamma's prize flowers. She gave him a
good tongue lashing.

Just before lunch it began to rain. Mamma phoned
Mrs. Huddle to say that Eddie would have lunch with us on
account of the rain. It was still pouring when we finished
eating. Mamma told Frankie and Eddie to play either
inside the house or on the back porch. They went to the
back porch but didn't say there long. They took off their
shoes and stockings and went wading in the rain puddles
in the backyard. I guess they got tired of doing this and
decided to have a mud-ball fight instead.

Mamma heard them yelling and went to the back
porch. And what a sight she saw! Frankie and Eddie were
making mud balls and throwing them at each other. They
were both covered with mud from head to toe. Mamma
made Frankie take a bath and go to bed. She cleaned up
Eddie the best she could and told me to take him home.
I guess Frankie thought taking a bath and having to go to
bed in the afternoon was all the punishment he would
get. But when Papa came home. Mamma told him what
Frankie had done.

"I dislike doing it," she said, "but the boy must be
punished."

She got Frankie out of bed, dressed him, and brought
him into the parlor.

"Frankie," Papa said, "you know you weren't sup-
posed to play in Mamma's flower garden and ruin her
pretty flowers. You were told not to leave the back porch
and you disobeyed. When a boy does things his parents
have forbidden him to do, he must be punished. You will
be given the silent treatment for one week."

I'd always figured the other kids in town were lucky.
When they did something wrong they got a whipping
and that was the end of it. But not the kids in our family.
We got the silent treatment instead. This meant Papa
and Mamma wouldn't speak to us. To me it was a lot
worse than a whipping, which only lasted a few minutes.

Frankie had never received the silent treatment so I
explained it to him. But he just didn't seem to under-
stand. During our supper of fried pork chops and fried
potatoes he asked Papa to pass the salt. Papa handed the
salt shaker to Mamma who gave it to Aunt Bertha who
passed it to Sweyn who finally passed it to Frankie. During
the meal Frankie tried several times to get Papa and
Mamma to speak to him. They pretended they didn't hear
him.

Papa had always let Frankie blow out the match after
he lit his after-dinner cigar. After supper Frankie stood
by Papa's chair in the parlor waiting to blow out the
match. But Papa blew it out himself.

"Why didn't you let me blow out the match?" Frankie
asked.

Papa picked up a magazine and started to read.
Frankie tried to climb up on his lap.

"J. D.," Papa said to me, "tell Frankie that he is not

to blow out the match, and he is not to sit on my lap, and
he is not to speak to me for one week."

_ That was the system Papa and Mamma used to give
orders when one of us was being punished. I walked over
and took Frankie's hand.

"Don't bother Papa," I said, "Come on and play
checkers with me."

I led him over by the fireplace and tried to get him to
play checkers, but he just shook his head. He just sat
there until Mamma and Aunt Bertha came into the parlor
after finishing the supper dishes. Frankie got up. He
waited until Mamma was seated in her maple rocker and
had resumed working on a doily she was crocheting. He
walked over to her.

"What are you doing, Mamma?" he asked.

She ignored him and spoke to Aunt Bertha instead.
"Whose turn is it to entertain the Ladies' Sewing Circle
tomorrow, Bertha?" she asked.

"Elinor Taylor's," Aunt Bertha answered.

Then Frankie tried to climb up on Mamma's lap.
She pushed him away and spoke to me,

"John D., tell Frankie that if he doesn't stop bother-
ing me he will be sent to bed," she said.

Frankie backed away from Mamma. "You and Papa
don't love me anymore," he cried, tears coming into his
eyes. Then he ran upstairs to our room.

"Poor little fellow," Mamma said sadly. "But he must
learn to obey."

I knew how Frankie must feel so I went up to our
room. He was sitting on our bed, staring out the window.

"Get undressed and we'll have a pillow fight," I said.

"Nope," he said.

"Want me to get the checker board?" I asked. "We
can play up here until it is bedtime."

"Nope," he said.

I sat down beside him and put my arm around his
shoulders. "I know how you feel," I said. "I remember
the first time I got the silent treatment. It only lasted one
day but it seemed like a year."

"That proves Mamma and Papa don't love me any-
more," he cried. "You only got one day and I got a whole
week."

I tried for about an hour to convince Frankie that
Papa and Mamma loved him but he just wouldn't believe
me. He cried himself to sleep that night.

The next day during breakfast and lunch he tried
several times to get Papa and Mamma to speak to him.
They both just ignored him. After lunch he went to the
woodshed. I following him and found him crying. It was
just too much. I went to the kitchen.

"Frankie is in the woodshed crying as if his heart is
breaking," I told Mamma.

"It is breaking my heart to punish him," Mamma
said. "But it must be done. If I let him get away with it
this time, he will expect the same leniency next time. Little
boys his age are quick to take advantage of any weak-
ness they see in their parents. Aunt Bertha and I will be
leaving for the Ladies' Sewing Circle in a little while.
Keep an eye on Frankie and see he gets some cookies and
a glass of milk this afternoon."

Tom and I tried to get Frankie to go swimming with
us, but he refused to budge out of the woodshed.

"That means we can't go swimming either," Tom
said. "Let's play some basketball."

"Not if you are going to charge me a penny to play,"
I said.

I guess Tom didn't want to play by himself so he let
me play without charging me the usual fee. We played
two-man basketball until about two o'clock when Frankie
came out into the alley. He was pulling his wagon. His
box of treasures that he kept in our bedroom was in the
wagon. And so was his pup, Prince.

Tom stared at him. "Where do you think you are
going?" he asked.

'"'I'm running away," Frankie said, "because Papa and
Mamma don't love me anymore,"

Tom winked at me. "Don't you think you had better
have some milk and cookies first?" he asked.

"I guess so," Frankie said.

We all went to the kitchen where we had some oat-
meal cookies and milk.

"I'll be going now," Frankie said as he got down from
his chair.

Again Tom winked at me. "Where do you think you
will go, Frankie?" he asked» just as serious as he could be.

"I'm not telling," Frankie said.

"If you don't want us to know," Tom said, "there is
nothing we can do about it. But don't you think it would
be a good idea to take along a sandwich?"

"I guess so," Frankie said,

Tom was really carrying a joke a long way. He actu-
ally made a ham sandwich and put it in a paper bag. We
walked back to the alley. Frankie put the sandwich in his
box. Prince had jumped out of the wagon. He put the
pup back in it.

"Guess I'll be going now," he said.

"Good-by and good luck," Tom said.

Frankie picked up the handle of the wagon. "Good-by,
John," he said.

"Good-by," I said.

"Good-by, Tom," Frankie said.

"Good-by," Tom said.

Frankie started up the alley. He went about ten feet
and stopped and turned around.

"Good-by, John," he said.

"Good-by," I said-

"Good-by, Tom," Frankie said.

"We already said good-by once," Tom said. "So, for

the last time, good-by."

We watched Frankie pulling the wagon down the
alley with Prince sitting in it. He looked so pitiful it was
actually comical. I couldn't help laughing and neither
could Tom.

"I'll bet," I said, "that he turns around before he gets

to the end of the alley."

"That is one bet I won't take," Tom said.
We were both wrong. Frankie kept going until he

reached the street. He waved at us and then disappeared.
Tom sat down by the side of the woodshed and

laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach. "He is hiding

around the corner," he said, "waiting for us to come after

him."

I sat down beside Tom and laughed too. But I
stopped laughing after a few minutes when Frankie didn't

return.

"Maybe we should go get him," I said.
"Remember that time you ran away from home when
you were about his age?" Tom asked. "I sat right here and




watched you go up the alley, just like Frankie. I got wor-
ried when you didn't come back and went after you. And
I found you playing with Jimmie Peterson in his back-
yard, Frankie will go to Eddie Huddle's home when he
finds out we aren't coming after him."

"But Mamma said to keep an eye on him," I said.

"We know where he is," Tom said, "so what are you
worrying about?"

We played basketball. Then we played catch until it
was time for me to start doing the evening chores.

"I'll go get Frankie now," Tom said.

Mamma and Aunt Bertha returned just as I was fill-
ing up the woodbox in the kitchen. I began to get worried
when Tom didn't return with Frankie by the time I'd
finished all the chores. It was almost suppertime when
Tom finally came down the alley. But Frankie wasn't with
him.

"Where is Frankie?" I asked,

"I don't know," Tom said, looking plenty worried.
"He wasn't with Eddie Huddle. I tried the homes of some-
other kids he plays with. No luck. I thought I could fol-
low the tracks of the wagon but he must have pulled it in
the street and the wheels didn't leave any marks on the
gravel. Are you sure he didn't come back?"

"I'm sure," I said. "What do we do now?"

Tom took a deep breath. "We tell Mamma," he said.

Mamma was in the kitchen with Aunt Bertha pre-
paring supper. Tom confessed that we had let Frankie run
away and couldn't find him.

Mamma always reacted briskly in a crisis. "I'll deal
with you two later," she said. Then she telephoned Papa
and Uncle Mark. Supper was forgotten.

We were waiting in the parlor when Papa and Uncle
Mark arrived. Tom toid them what had happened. Uncle
Mark stood up holding his Stetson hat in his hand.

"I don't think there is anything to worry about," he
said. "A boy pulling a wagon with a dog in it is sure to
be noticed. I'll check the houses on the street he took."

"I'll go with you," Papa said.

It was dark before Papa returned. Frankie wasn't
with him. Mamma began to cry and so did Aunt Bertha.
I sure as heck felt like crying.

"Please don't cry," Papa said, "Mark is organizing a
search party. We did find one person who saw Frankie.
Mrs. Cranston, who lives in that yellow house at the edge
of town, saw him going down the road toward the river."

"The river!" Mamma cried. "Why didn't she stop
him?"

"She assumed he was just taking his dog for a ride,"
Papa said. "T. D., get me the kerosene lantern from the
barn."

I went to the barn with Tom.

"If anything happens to Frankie," I said, "I'll never
forgive you,"

"Forgive me?" Tom asked. "What about yourself?"

I knew Tom was right. I didn't have to go along with
the joke. I could have stopped Frankie. I made a sacred
vow never to play a joke on anybody again. As we started
for the house Brownie began barking. In the moonlight
I saw Prince come running down the alley. He had some-
thing in his mouth. When the pup got close enough, we
could see it was the cap Frankie had been wearing- Tom
put the lantern down and dropped to his knees.

"Good boy, Prince," he said, patting the pup on the
head. Then he waved the cap in front of Prince. "Frankie,"
he said. "Take us to Frankie."

But Prince just wagged his tail.

"You try," Tom said-

1 took the cap and waved it in front of Brownie's nose.
My dog took the cap and dropped it in front of Prince and
began barking. I think Brownie understood what we
wanted, but the pup didn't. Prince just stood there, wag-
ging his tail.

"There has to be a way," Tom said. "Take the lan-
tern to Papa. But don't say anything about Prince. Too
many people will just get the pup more excited."

I took the lantern to Papa. Then I went back to the
alley.

"Did your great brain figure out how to make Prince
take us to Frankie yet?" I asked.

"My great brain will make him understand," Tom
said.

He took the cap and ran a few steps down the alley.
"Frankie," Tom called. "Here, Prince. Find Frankie!"

The pup ran to Tom and he put the cap in the pup's
mouth. But Prince just dropped the cap on the ground
and stood there wagging his tail. Tom picked up the cap
and ran a few more steps down the alley, calling to Prince.
The pup followed him but stopped when Tom did.

"He thinks we are playing a game with him," Tom
said as he walked back to where I was standing, "We
know he loves Frankie. Just ignore him. Don't move or
speak to him."

Then Tom threw the cap several feet down the alley.
Prince ran to the cap and began to whine.

"Don't say anything," Tom whispered. "Just walk
toward him."

We started walking toward the pup. Prince picked
up the cap and ran down the alley. He turned around to
see if we were following him. Then he began to run, with
me and Tom and Brownie after him. He ran down the
street Frankie had taken. When we got to the outskirts of
town the pup turned around to see if we were still follow-
ing him, then ran down the road leading to the river,
He kept going for about a mile down the road. My lungs
felt as if they were on fire. Prince turned off on a side road
that led to a wooded glen where people often went for
picnics. We found Frankie sitting with his back against a
tree. Prince was licking tears from Frankie's face.

"John, Tom!" Frankie shouted, getting up and run-
ning toward us.

Tom reached him first and picked him up. "What a
scare you gave us," he said.

"I was plenty scared when it got dark," Frankie said.

"We didn't think you would really run away," Tom
said.

"I wouldn't have if it hadn't been for you and John,"
Frankie said.

I couldn't have been more astonished if Frankie had
accused us of beating him. Tom was the first to recover
from his astonishment.

"I thought you were running away because you didn't
think Papa and Mamma loved you anymore," he said.

"That's right," Frankie said- "But I wasn't real hon-
est sure until you and John didn't stop me. Then I knew
that you both knew Papa and Mamma didn't love me
anymore."

"Boy, oh, boy," I said to Tom. "When he tells Papa
and Mamma that, you and I had better run away from
home. They will never forgive us."

Tom put Frankie down. "Now listen," he said. "Papa

and Mamma do love you. J. D. and I were just playing a
joke on you."

"It's no joke," Frankie said, "to make me believe
Papa and Mamma don't love me."

"We know that now," Tom said. "And we are sorry
we played a joke on you. Now get into the wagon and sit
on the box and we'll take you home."

Frankie was smiling as he got into the wagon. "It is
good knowing I'm going home," he said. "And I won't tell
that you and John played a joke on me."

We were on the river road, about a quarter of a mile
from town, when we saw a group of men carrying lanterns
coming toward us. I waited .until they were near enough
and then cupped my hands to my lips.

"Uncle Mark!" I shouted. "We found Frankie! He is

all right!"

All the men with lanterns began running toward us.
Papa and Uncle Mark reached us first. Papa picked up
Frankie and hugged him.

"Are you all right, son?" he asked.

"I'm fine now that I know you love me," Frankie
said as he put his arms around Papa's neck.

"Don't you ever forget how much I love you," Papa
said, "and how much your mother loves you."

Papa carried Frankie all the way home. Tom told
Uncle Mark and the other men in the search party how
we had found Frankie. They left us at our front gate. I had
never seen such a happy look on Mamma's face as when

104

the three of us entered the parlor with Frankie.

"Give me my son," she cried. She took Frankie from
Papa and sat down in her maple rocker holding him on her
lap.

Frankie was struggling to keep his eyes open as
Mamma rocked him in her arms. He fell asleep with a
beautiful smile on his face.

Tom told Papa, Aunt Bertha, Mamma, and Sweyn
how we had found Frankie.

"The worst part of it," Tom confessed, "was that
Frankie was sure you really didn't love him when J. D.
and I didn't try to stop him from running away."

Papa sat in his chair shaking his head. "You both
played a very cruel joke on a little boy," he said. "It easily
could have resulted in a tragedy. Frankie could have fallen
into the river and been drowned. He could have wandered
into that stretch of desert on the edge .of town and been
bitten by a rattlesnake. I can't imagine any punishment
that is severe enough for what you two did."

"I can," Mamma said. "Just knowing what might
have happened to Frankie will haunt both of you for the
rest of your lives."

Mamma was sure right. My conscience gave me more
punishment day'and night than anything Papa could have
done to me. Every time I looked at Frankie I couldn't
help thinking he might have died as a result of a joke- I
had terrible nightmares at night about finding Frankie
dead. I told Tom about them.

"You aren't alone," Tom said, patting my shoulder.
"But it is punishment we both deserve for playing such a
joke on somebody we love."

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Magnetic Stick

I GUESS JUST ABOUT EVERY KID in town sort of
envied Parley Benson. His father let him have things no
other kid could have. Parley wore a coonskin cap just like
Daniel Boone. When Parley was ten years old, his father
gave him a genuine bowie knife. So it was no surprise to us
kids when Parley's father gave him the first repeating air
rifle ever seen in Adenville. Parley received the King air
rifle for his birthday during the last week in July, right
after Frankie had run away from home.

It was a beaut with barrel, handle, air chamber,
plunger, piston, and all working parts made from brass
and steel. It was so powerful it would shoot BB shot forty

infi

rods and kill rabbits and small game at fifty feet. It was
the only repeating air rifle in town, and could shoot one
hundred and fifty BB shots without reloading. Tom had a
Daisy air rifle and I had a Quackenbush but we could only
shoot one BB shot at a time.

Parley was showing off his air rifle to the kids at
Smith's vacant lot the afternoon of his birthday. After
demonstrating it, he told us he was going hunting. Ev-
ery kid who owned an air rifle decided to go hunting with
Parley, except Tom.

"Does that mean you'll look out for Frankie?" I asked.

"Yes," Tom answered.

I knew from the conniving look on The Great Brain's
face why he wasn't going hunting. He was going to put
his great brain to work on how to swindle Parley out of
the King air rifle.

Tom was very quiet after supper that evening. He sat
reading one of the books from our set of encyclopedias.
Even Papa was impressed with how quiet Tom was.

"What are you reading that is so interesting?" he
asked.

Tom -looked up from the book. "I'm reading about
Australia," he said. "We studied a little bit about the
country in geography at the academy. But I want to know
more about the aborigines."

"It is quite a country," Papa said. "It was originally
settled as a penal colony by Great Britain. The aborigines
are among the most primitive people in the world."

"I know al! that," Tom said as if Papa had insulted
his intelligence.

"Pardon me," Papa said. "I thought J. D. and Frankie
might like to hear about it."

At any other time I would have liked to listen to
Papa. But right then Frankie was going to beat me play-
ing checkers if I didn't concentrate good and hard.

"Some other time, Papa," I said.

The next morning Tom disappeared- When he re-
turned he was carrying what looked like a couple of
branches from an oak tree. He took them up to his loft
and pulled up the rope ladder. He wouldn't let me come
up or tell me what he was doing. And after lunch I'll be
a four-eyed bullfrog if he didn't take Papa's big, leather-
bound dictionary, a rasp, and some sandpaper up to his
loft. Tom stayed up in there all afternoon while Frankie
and I went swimming. Tom also spent all the next day in
his loft. The fellows at the swimming hole wanted to know
if he was sick.

"Sick in the head," I said. "I don't know what he is
doing but I'll try to find out tonight."

Tom was in the corral when Frankie and I arrived
home- He showed us a bent piece of wood about a foot
and a half long and sort of oval shaped.

"My great brain did it," he said. "The first one I
made didn't work but this one does."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Something no kid or adult in this town has ever
seen," Tom said. "It's a magnetic stick."

"You can't magnetize wood," I said.

"With a great brain, anything is possible," Tom
said. "You'll find out tomorrow."

And that is all he would tell me until Frankie and
I had finished the chores the next morning. He jumped
down from the top rail of the corral fence.

108

"Go to Smith's vacant lot and round up the kids," he
told me. "Tell them I've got a magnetic stick that I can
throw in the air and make come back to me."

"Like fun I will," I said. "They will think you are
crazy."

"And that, J. D.," he said, "is exactly what I want
them to think. Just make sure Parley Benson is with you
when you come back."

I was so curious that I figured it was worth letting the
fellows think Tom was crazy. I rode my bike to Smith's
vacant lot. Several kids were there, including Parley, bat-
ting fly balls and playing catch.

"I found out what Tom is doing," I said as they
crowded around me. "He says he has made a magnetic
stick that he can throw in the air and make come back to

him."

Danny's left eyelid flipped open. "Nobody can mag-
netize wood," he said.

"Tom says his great brain did it," I said.

Seth Smith patted me sympathetically on the shoul-
der. "Pa always said that sooner or later people with great
brains end up in the insane asylum," he said.

All the fellows wanted to see what a fellow bound for
the insane asylum looked like. They accompanied me
back to the corral. The minute I saw Tom I knew Seth
was right. The Great Brain was standing in the corral,
rubbing his bent piece of wood with a magnet. Then he
took it in his right hand and threw it into the air, pointing
the magnet in his left hand at it. The stick went spinning
straight over the corral and then fell to the ground.

Parley shook his head. "He's gone plumb loco, for
sure," he said.

Danny called out, "What are you doing, Tom?"
The Great Brain picked up the stick and walked over
to the corral fence. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he
asked with a wild look in his eyes. "I'm going to magnet-
ize this stick so that when I throw it into the air and
point a magnet at it the stick will return to me."

All the kids backed up a few steps. I didn't blame

them. Nobody wanted to get too close to an insane kid.
Seth pointed at Tom.

"You had better see a doctor," he said.

Parley nodded his head. "It's the booby hatch in
Provo for you, for sure," he said.

"So you all think I'm crazy," Tom said. "I'll show
you how crazy I am. Parley Benson. My great brain will
figure out how to do it by one o'clock this afternoon.

And I'll bet two dollars against your King air rifle that I
can do it."

.1 was by now just as convinced as the other kids that
Tom's great brain had blown a fuse. "Please don't bet

him. Parley," I pleaded. "He doesn't know what he is
say ing or doing."

Danny slapped Parley on the back. "Go ahead and
bet him," he said. "Tom used his great brain to swindle
me out of my infielder's glove and to swindle you and every

other kid in town. Now that his great brain is sick, we have
a chance to get even."

"My great brain isn't sick," Tom said. "And I'm just
as sane as any of you."

Parley stared at Tom. "They say an insane person

will never admit he is crazy," he said. "I don't want to bet
if you have gone insane."

110

"If I say I'm not insane," Tom said, "then you think
I am insane. If I say I am insane does that mean you will
believe that I'm sane? All right. I'm insane. Now go ahead
and bet."

"Let me get this straight," Parley said. "You are bet-
ting two dollars cash against my air rifle that you can
throw that stick in the air and make it come back to you.
Right?"

"Right," Tom said. "I'll stand at one end of the cor-
ral and throw the magnetic stick. It will circle all around
the corral and come back to me. If it doesn't, you win
two dollars. If it does, I win the air rifle. Is it a bet?"

"It's a bet," Parley said. "Go ahead and show me."

"I need more time to magnetize the stick," Tom said.
"Be here at one o'clock and bring the air rifle with you."

"I'll be here," Parley said.

I knew as I watched Parley and the other kids walk
down the alley that Tom wasn't insane. I knew because
any time The Great Brain bet two dollars in cash, he
knew he was going to win the bet. But I started having
doubts when Tom went to the woodshed and chopped up
the stick.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"Yeah, why?" Frankie said.

"That was the first one I made," Tom said. "I didn't
get it shaped right, and that is why it didn't work. But
I've got one I made in the loft that does work."

"Do you mean your great brain figured out how to
magnetize wood?" I asked.

"Of course not," Tom said. "I got the idea from read-
ing about the aborigines in Australia. It's called a boom-

III

erang. I saw a picture of one in Papa's big dictionary.
The aborigines use them to hunt. They can throw them
hard enough to stun or kill small animals."

"How do the aborigines make the stick come back?"
I asked.

"It is the way it is shaped," Tom explained. "The
spinning motion creates air currents that bring a boom-
erang back to where it was thrown from."

"Then why all that mumbo jumbo about a magnetic
stick?" I asked.

"That was a come-on to get Parley to bet," Tom
said. "If I'd told the kids I could use a knife, rasp, and
sandpaper to shape a piece of wood so it would return
when thrown in the air. Parley and the other kids might
believe it could be done. All the kids know you can't
magnetize a piece of wood and that is why Parley bet me."

At one o'clock Parley and a dozen other kids came
down the alley to our corral. Parley had his air rifle with
him. Tom handed Seth Smith two dollars.

"You hold the stakes and be the judge, Seth," he said.
Parley handed Seth the air rifle. Then Tom went into
the barn. He came out carrying a boomerang in his right
hand and a magnet in his left hand. He rubbed the magnet
against the boomerang for a couple of minutes. Then, hold-
ing the boomerang with his right hand, he threw it with a
swift motion into the air. He pointed the magnet in his left
hand toward the boomerang. The spinning boomerang
made a circle in the air above the corral for about fifty
feet. It. came right back to where Tom was standing and
dropped at his feet.

11 o




Tom had told me what a boomerang was and yet I
sat there with my mouth open, unable to believe what
I'd seen. The other kids stared at Tom as if The Great
Brain were the devil himself.

Tom picked up the boomerang- "And just to prove
it was no accident," he said, "I'll do it again."

He rubbed the magnet on the boomerang and then
threw it into the air. He followed its circling motion with
the magnet. The boomerang circled over our heads and
again fell at Tom's feet. He picked it up and walked over
to us-

"I guess that proves I'm not insane like you all
thought," he said. "I'll take the two dollars and the air
rifle now, Seth."

Parley jumped down from the railing. "Not until I
make sure you used a piece of wood and not metal," he
said.

Tom handed the boomerang to Parley, who examined
it closely.

"It looks and feels like wood," Parley said, looking
very disappointed.

"I'll prove it beyond a doubt," Tom said. He took
the boomerang and tossed it into the water trough in our
corral. "You can see it floats," he said.

"You win the bet," Parley said. "But the least you
can do is give me the magnetic stick."

"It is no good now that it is wet," Tom said. "It
cannot be magnetized again."

Seth handed over the two dollars and the air rifle.
"I'll give you fifty cents to make one for me," he said.

Tom shook his head. "It takes a special kind of wood,"

114

he said, "and two days to make one. It wouldn't be worth
it tome."

Danny touched Parley on the shoulder. "I'm sorry I
talked you into betting," he said.

Parley was a good loser. "You didn't talk me into it,"
he said. "Let's go swimming."

I watched the fellows walk down the alley. "Teach
me how to make boomerangs," I said to Tom. "I'm not a
fellow who will pass up a chance to make fifty cents in
two days. I'll bet I could sell one to every kid in town."

"If you started selling boomerangs," Tom said, "the
kids would all say that I swindled Parley."

"They are going to say it anyway," I protested, "when
their parents tell them you can't magnetize wood."

Tom picked up the boomerang from the water trough.
"Nobody will ever be able to prove this piece of wood
wasn't magnetized," he said.

And he sure as heck was right because he went into
the woodshed and chopped up the boomerang. Then we
went swimming with Frankie. I couldn't help feeling
sorry for Parley as we sat on the sandy bank of the swim-
ming hole. He told me that he would get the worst whip-
ping of his life when his father returned from bounty
hunting.

That made me begin to wonder about The Great
Brain. Tom was the wealthiest kid in town. He had more
money than some adults. He could have bought a King
air rifle from Sears Roebuck and not even missed the
money. But his money-loving heart wouldn't let him
spend a penny for anything his great brain could get him
for nothing. I had always been jealous of his great brain

115

but I wasn't anymore. Parley was supposed to be Tom's
friend. I knew that I would never do anything to make
my good friends, Jimmie Peterson or Howard Kay, get the
worst whippings of their lives-

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Good Raft Explorer

BY AUGUST OF THAT SUMMER I don't believe
Tom had one real friend left in Adenville. None of them
came over to play basketball anymore. They all seemed
to be trying to avoid him. And there wasn't a kid left in
town who would make a trade or a bet with The Great
Brain. I sure as heck didn't blame them. After the swindles
Tom had pulled off that summer, a fellow would have
to have cabbages growing out of his head to bet or trade
with The Great Brain.

But what the kids didn't know was that betting, trad-
ing, conniving, and swindling were to Tom what food
and water was to them. I felt so sorry for Tom that I al-

1 1 '7

most decided to let him swindle me out of something just
so he could keep in practice.

We were sitting on the riverbank'by the swimming
hole one afternoon, keeping an eye on Frankie and" Eddie
Huddle. Tom looked like the fellow who lost his horse,
his dog, and his best friend all at the same time.

"If I don't put my great brain to work on something,"
he complained, "it will start shriveling up."

"You sure as heck can't blame the fellows," I said.
"When a kid sticks his head in a hole and gets whacked
on the head with a club every time, he soon learns not to
go around sticking his head in strange holes." I thought
that was pretty darn clever but Tom didn't.

"There must be something I can put my great brain
to work on and make some money," he said. "What would
you like to do that you've never done before?"

"Fly like a bird," I said, quick as a flash.

"You know that is impossible," he said.

"I don't know about that," I said. "You've told me
plenty of times that nothing is impossible with a great
brain."

That night after supper I was sitting on the floor in
the parlor reading Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain to
Frankie. Tom was studying the World Almanac. I was
reading the part in the book about the trip down the river
on the raft. Tom stopped reading and listened until it
was time for Frankie and me to go to bed.

The next morning, while we were getting dressed,
Tom asked me, "How would you like to go exploring
on the river on a raft, like Huckleberry Finn?"

"Oh, boy," I said, "that would be a great adventure."

"Would you be willing to pay for it?" he asked.

"Sure," I answered. "How much would depend on
how long the trip took."

"Say it took from half an hour to forty-five minutes,"
he said. "How much would you pay?"

"At least a nickel," I said. "Why?"

"I'm going to build a raft," he said, "and run explor-
ing excursions on the river."

Eddie Huddle came over to play with Frankie just
as the morning chores were finished. Tom saddled up
Dusty and asked me if I wanted to take a ride with him.
I got up behind him on the mustang. We rode to the
swimming hole.

"I'll start the excursion on the raft from here," he..
said. "But now I have to find out how far downstream to
go."

We rode Dusty along the riverbank until we came
to the rapids. It was a place where the riverbed dropped,
causing the current to flow swiftly. I pointed at the rapids.

"You will never get a raft upstream through those
rapids," I said.

"I'll have to bring it back over land," he said. "Now
to find a good landing place."

We rode until we came to a big bend in the river. Just
around the bend the river became twice as wide and the
current slow. We rode Dusty across the river and back to
find out how deep it was. It was only about two feet
deep all the way across.

"This will be the landing place," Tom said. "I figure
the trip from the swimming hole to here on a raft would
take about half an hour."

We returned home for lunch. After eating, Tom
harnessed up the mare of our team.

"What are you going to do with Bess?" I asked.

"I need her to pull logs for my raft," Tom answered.

"Can I go with you?" I asked.

"Not unless you want to work," he said.

"How much will you pay me to help you build the
raft?" I asked.

"Pay you?" Tom said as if I'd insulted him. "I am
giving you a chance to learn how to build a raft and you
want to be paid. You must have cockroaches in your head.
I can get any kid in town to help me for nothing."

I sure as heck didn't want to lose out on learning how
to build a raft. Someday I might be lost in the mountains
and the only way to save myself would be to build a raft
and float downstream to civilization,

"You don't have to pay me," I said. "But we can't
leave Frankie alone."

"We'll cake him with us," Tom said.

We got the two-man saw, the hand saw, and a tow
chain from the toolshed and the ax from the woodshed.
We rode Bess to Cedar Ridge, on the outskirts of town.
It got its name from the cedar trees growing there. But
there were also a lot of pine and aspen trees.

Tom picked out a young pine tree that had a trunk
about eight inches thick. He cut a notch with the ax on
one side to make it fall the way he wanted. Then we started
sawing on the other side with the two-man saw. It was
hard work, but I pretended I was a lumberjack and that
made it fun.

"Timber!" Frankie shouted as the tree began to
topple and then fell to the ground.

190

We cut off the top with the saw and then trimmed all
the branches off with the hand saw and ax. When we fin-
ished we had a log about twelve feet long.

"We will need three more the same size," Tom said.

He hooked one end of the chain around one end of
the log and the other end of the chain to tugs on Bess's
harness. Bess pulled the log to our corral, with the three
of us riding her. Frankie and I got off. Tom rode Bess in-
side the barn, pulling the log-
It took the next two days to get three more logs the
same size and cut them in two. Tom laid the eight logs
side by side on the ground in the barn.

"When we finish," he said, "I'll have a raft about five
feet wide and six feet long."

"How did you learn how to build a raft?" I asked be-
cause nobody in Adenville had a raft.

"Out of Papa's book," Tom said. "Mountain men
and trappers used vines or strips of animal skin to bind
the logs together in the old days. I'll have to use rope
instead."

It was now time for The Great Brain to part with
some cash. For Tom this was like a soldier going to war
parting from his sweetheart. And, oh, how it must have
broken his money-loving heart to part with one dollar to
buy fifty feet of rope. We returned to the barn with the
rope. I helped Tom bind the logs together. We used slip-
knots to tie the logs together about a foot from each end.

"Get a bucket of water from the water trough and
soak the ropes," Tom said.

"Why?" I asked.

"To shrink the rope and make it good and tight,"
Tom answered.

We soaked the rope and then took Frankie's wagon
and went to the lumberyard. Tom asked Mr. Hoffman if
he had any scrap lumber.

"Going to build a doghouse?" Mr. Hoffman asked,
probably because Brownie and Prince were with us.

"No, sir," Tom said. 'T'm building a raft. I want to
put a deck on the logs."

"How big is it?" Mr. Hoffman asked-

"About six feet long and five feet wide," Tom an-
swered.

"You should have a solid board across the front and
the rear," Mr. Hoffman said. "Then you can use scrap
lumber for the rest of the deck."

"I wasn't figuring on paying for any lumber," Tom
said. "Maybe Mr. Harmon at the Z. C. M. I. store has some
old wooden crates he will give me."

"Who said anything about paying?" Mr. Hoffman
asked.

He gave Tom two boards a foot wide and five feet
long and more than enough scrap lumber for the deck.
And I'll be the son of a sailor if he didn't give Tom a
pound of nails free of charge too.

We returned to the barn. It was a good thing Tom
had put the ropes binding the logs together a toot from
each end. The two boards Mr. Hoffman gave him fit per-
fectly. We nailed them first. Then we used pieces of scrap
lumber to finish the deck.

Tom stepped back to admire the raft. "All I need
now is an oar and a oarlock," he said.

"What is an oarlock?" Frankie asked.

"It is a thing shaped like a horseshoe with a bolt on

199

the end," Tom said. "I'll show you a picture of one in
Papa's big dictionary."

The next morning Tom took the dictionary with
him when we went to the blacksmith shop owned by
Eddie Huddle's father. Mr- Huddle was the strongest man
in town. He was wearing his leather apron and shaping a
red-hot horseshoe on his anvil when we arrived. We waited
until he had shaped the horseshoe and, using his tongs,
dunked it into the barrel of water to temper the steel.

Tom showed Mr. Huddle the picture of the oarlock
in the dictionary. "I want you to make an oarlock like
this one for me," he said. "I figure you can use a horse-
shoe and forge a bolt to the bottom of it."

"Why do you want it?" Mr. Huddle asked.

"For my raft," Tom said. "But first, how much will it
cost me?"

"Not a thing, Tom," Mr. Huddle answered.

The blacksmith put a horseshoe and a bolt on his
forge. Tom turned the handle on the blower of the forge
until the metal was red hot. Mr. Huddle used his tongs,
blacksmith's hammer, and anvil to forge the two pieces
of metal together. Then he dunked the oarlock into the
barrel of water to temper the steel. Tom thanked him and
we started for home.

"One thing I can't figure out," I said. "Why did Mr.
Hoffman give you the lumber and nails for nothing and
Mr. Huddle make the oarlock free of charge?"

"Because they have guilty consciences," Tom said.
"Both of them would have lost money in the Alkali Flats
swindle if it hadn't been for me. And it they had tried to
charge me, I was going to remind them of it."

"But you had to pay for the rope." I said.

"Because Mr. Harmon at the Z. C. M. I. store didn't
invest in Alkali Products Incorporated," Tom said.

Tom got Papa's brace and a one-inch wooden bit from
the toolstied. He drilled a hole near the center of the rear
end of the raft. He put the bolt part of the oarlock into
the hole in the deck board and log. He twisted the horse-
shoe back and forth.

"Now for the oar," he said.

I watched him make an oar out of an old pitchfork
handle and a piece of board about six inches wide and a
foot long. I didn't understand how the oarlock worked
until he put the handle in the horseshoe part.

"Get the idea, J. D.?" he said as he moved the handle
back and forth in the oarlock. "The oarlock does two
things. It holds the handle of the oar and gives me the
leverage needed to steer the raft."

"It's a beaut," I said. "Now all you've got to do is
to figure out how to get the raft to the river."

"My great brain figured that out before I started,"
he said. "I knew I couldn't drag the raft over land or it
would wear out the ropes around the logs. I'm going to
use our stone sled to haul it."

Almost every family in Adenville had a stone sled.
They were used instead of a wagon for small hauling jobs.
We used ours every fall to haul manure to put on our
vegetable and flower gardens and front lawn. The early
pioneers used them mostly for hauling stones to build fire-
places. That is how they got their name.

Tom had told Papa that he was building a raft in the
barn. During iunch he let Papa know the raft was com-
pleted.

124

"I'd better take a look at it," Papa said, "if you intend
sailing it on the river."

Papa inspected the raft after lunch and pronounced
it seaworthy.

"Now, J. D.," Tom said, after Papa had left the barn,
"I want you to round up all the kids you can and tell them
that they can get to see the first river-going raft ever built
in Adenville. And all it will cost them is two cents."

"So that's why you didn't want anybody to know you
were building a raft," I said. "But they will get to see it
for nothing when you take it down to the river."

"Don't mention anything about me taking the raft to
the river," Tom said. "Just tell them they get to see the
raft and that's all."

Then Tom put his arm around my shoulders. "I've
decided to make you a ten percent partner in this busi-
ness venture," he said generously. "Your job will be to
ride Bess, pulling the stone sled down to the landing place
and hauling the raft back upstream to the swimming hole.
You get ten percent of all the money I collect for fares- Of
course, you can't expect ten percent of the money I get for
showing the raft to the kids the first time."

"Shake on it," I said quickly. This was one time I
was positive there was no way I could possibly lose making
a deal with The Great Brain.

We shook hands. Then I rode my bike to Smith's va-
cant lot. The kids usually gathered there to play while
waiting an hour after lunch to go swimming. A couple of
kids in town had almost drowned from cramps because
they went swimming right after eating. There were about
a dozen kids there already. I told them about the raft.
Those who didn't have any money with them went

19P.

nome to get some. Another bunch of kids showed up. I
told them about the raft. News travels fast in a small
town. I waited about half an hour but no more kids ar-
rived. I found out the reason when I entered the barn.
There were about fifty kids in our barn. But none of

them had seen the raft yet. Tom had it covered with a
horse blanket.

"I guess everybody is here," I told Tom.
He walked over and took hold of one corner of the
horse blanket. Then, with a dramatic movement, he threw
back the blanket revealing the raft. I'd never seen such a
bunch of bug-eyed kids in my life.

"Behold the good raft Explorer!" Tom shouted. "The
first river-going raft ever built in Adenville!"

Danny Forester's left eyelid was wide open as he

stared at Tom. "Are you going to sail it on the river?"
he asked.

"There will be morning and afternoon trips down the
river," Tom said. "For a mere five cents you get to go ex-
ploring on a raft just like Huckleberry Finn. The trip
includes shooting the rapids. Never before in the history
of Adenville has such a thrilling, exciting, and dangerous
adventure been offered to the kids in this town- The first
trip will be this afternoon, starting at the swimming hole."
Then he picked up the coil of left-over rope. "Basil,"

he said, "you and Parley and Danny hold up one end of
the Explorer."

I watched Tom loop the rope around the middle of

the raft as the three boys held up one end. He tied a
good strong knot in it.

"In case you are wondering," he said, "the rope is for
the smaller kids to hold onto when we shoot the rapids."

126

I helped Tom hitch up Bess to the stone sled. The
raft was lifted onto the sled. I got on Bess. Tom led the
way out of the barn. When we reached the street a lot of
adults stared at us. I guess they had never seen a raft being
hauled on a stone sled with about fifty kids following be-
hind.

When we arrived at the swimming hole, Tom stripped
except for an old pair of pants.

"Line up, fellows," he said, "for the maiden voyage
of the good raft Explorer. The fare is just a nickel, the
twentieth part of a dollar, for the greatest thrill of your
lifetime."

Every kid there wanted to go on the maiden voyage.
There would have been a dozen fistfights over it if Tom
hadn't solved the problem.

"We will go by your birthdays, beginning in Janu-
ary," he said.

Howard Kay was the only one born. in January. Danny
and Basil were born in February. Nobody had been born
in March. Pete Kyle and Hal Evans were born in April.

"That'is all for the first trip," Tom said, "because I
have to take Frankie and only six passengers can go at a
time."

The raft was carried into shallow water, and every-
one climbed on board.

"You sit down, Frankie," Tom ordered, "and hold
onto the rope."

Tom used the oar to push the raft into deeper water.
Then he put the oar in the oarlock as the current began
carrying the raft downstream. I got on Bess and began
pulling the stone sled downstream. The kids who had
been left behind ran with me, waving and yelling at the

127




passengers on the raft. I was surprised at how well Tom
could steer the raft with his oar and oarlock. He kept the
bow pointed downstream and the raft right in the middle
of the river's current. The raft picked up speed as it
neared the rapids. Tom ordered the five paying passengers
to sit down. But he remained standing, holding the handle
of the oar.

"Man the braces!" Tom shouted as the raft entered
the rapids. "Man the top sail!"

The raft bounced up and down, dousing everybody
on board with water but Tom remained standing. Tom
wasn't fooling when he had promised his customers the
thrill of a lifetime. The passengers were screaming and
yelling like I'd never heard kids do before. And the kids
running along the bank were carrying on as if they, too,
were shooting the rapids. This was one time The Great
Brain was giving the kids more than their money's worth.

There was a big bend in the river below the rapids-
1 left the bank of the river and took a shortcut. I got Bess
to the landing place just as the raft came around the bend.
When it was opposite me, Tom cupped one hand to his
mouth.

"Ahoy the shore!" he shouted.

I hadn't expected this. I cupped my hands to my
mouth.

"Ahoy the raft!" I shouted.

"The good raft Explorer asking permission to come
ashore!" Tom shouted.

"Permission granted!" I shouted.

Then Tom and all the passengers except Frankie
jumped off the raft. They waded through the two-feet-
deep water and pushed the raft to the riverbank.

Danny was so excited it looked as if his left eyelid
would never be half closed again. "Thought we were a
goner in those rapids, Captain," he ^aid to Tom.

"It was a mighty rough sea. Matey," Tom said. "But
the good raft Explorer weathered it well." Then he looked
at the kids who had run along the riverbank. "These land-
lubbers don't know what they missed."

The trip downstream had lasted about half an hour.
It took a little longer to haul the raft back to the swim-
ming hole. Tom said there was time for one more trip.

"How about me?" I asked.

Tom hesitated and then looked at Basil. "You ride
Bess down to the landing place," he said, "and take
Frankie with you."

Then he collected five cents from each of the next
five passengers and the Explorer was off on its second voy-
age.

It had been very exciting for me just watching the
raft from the riverbank. But actually riding on it was the
greatest thrill of my life. And Tom made it even more
thrilling.

"Shiver my timbers!" he shouted as we entered the
rapids. "By the Great Horn Spoon we are heading into
a typhoon. Man the braces and hang on, men!"

And as we went through the rapids, I imagined I was
standing on the bridge of my own ship in a raging ty-
phoon.

After the second trip it was time for everybody to go
home to do the evening chores. I rode Bess with Frankie
as the mare pulled the raft to our barn.

"Why didn't you just leave the raft at the swimming

hole?" I asked Tom as we entered the barn.

"And have some kids get up early in the morning and
go for a free ride?" Tom asked as if I were the stupidest
person he'd ever met, "I figure I can make one trip in the
morning and two in the afternoon every day except Sun-
day. Papa and Mamma wouldn't stand for it on Sundays.
Six kids three times a day for six days out of the week
comes to five dollars and forty cents I'll collect in fares. I
hope you appreciate, J. D., that my great brain is going to
make a fortune for you."

"I appreciate it," I said, and meant it.

Tom handed me a nickel. "I collected fifty cents in
fares today," he said. "Here is your ten percent commis-
sion."

We unharnessed Bess. Then Tom sat on the railing
of the corral fence while Frankie and I did the chores.
He jumped down after we'd finished.

"You know, J. D.," he said, putting an arm around
my shoulder. "I've been thinking. I'll be leaving for the
academy in about three weeks. The weather here in Aden-
ville is so mild you can run excursions on the river on
Saturdays after school starts, at least during September
and October. You could make ninety cents every Saturday
if you owned the Explorer."

"Are you going to give me the raft?" I asked.

"Of course not," Tom said. "But I'll make you a
business proposition. You give me a dollar to pay for the
rope I bought. And also your ten percent commission on
fares until I leave and I'll turn the Explorer over to you
when I go back to the academy."

I knew from some sad experiences that it always pays
to think twice when making a deal with The Great Brain.

"I'll think it over," I said.

"What's to think about?" Tom asked as if I'd in-
sulted him. "During the next three weeks your ten per-
cent commission will amount to a dollar and sixty-two
cents. The dollar for the rope brings this up to two dol-
lars and sixty-two cents. There are nine Saturdays in Sep-
tember and October. You would make ninety cents on
each Saturday. That would amount to eight dollars and
ten cents- Forget it, J. D. I'll sell the Explorer to some kid
who isn't so dumb when it comes to figuring money."

I sure as heck didn't want to be known as a kid so
dumb he didn't know the difference between two dollars
and sixty-two cents and eight dollars and ten cents.

"Don't do that," I said. "I'll buy the raft from you."

"Shake on it," he said.

We shook hands to seal the bargain.

"And now, J. D.," Tom said, "it is always best to settle
a business deal as quickly as possible. Let's go up to our
room so you can get the dollar from your bank."

We went up to the room. I shook a dollar's worth of
change out of my piggy bank and handed it to Tom.

"You are a nickel short," he said.

I stared at the money in his hand. "How do you figure
that?" I asked. "Two quarters, four dimes, and two nickels
make one dollar."

"You are forgetting the five cents commission I paid
you today," Tom said. "Our deal was for a dollar plus all
of your ten percent commission until I leave for the acad-
emy."

The Great Brain was right. I handed him another
five cents.

CHAPTER NINE

The Wreck of the Explorer

PIGGY BANKS IN ADENVILLE sure took a beat-
ing during the next several days. The Explorer did a land-
office business. Tom collected fares in advance every morn-
ing from the eighteen kids who would make the trip down
the river, six at a time. He made more than thirty cents
on some of these trips. Parley Benson, Seth Smith, Danny
Forester, and other older boys wanted to be captain and
pilot the raft down the river. Tom let them be captain
and handle the oar and oarlock for an extra five cents.
Some of the kids were making one trip almost every day.
The Great Brain was making a fortune.

Every kid in town who had read Treasure Island by

Robert Louis Stevenson was now trying to talk like a
sailor. They called each other "Matey" and the most
popular song for kids was "Fifteen Men on the Dead
Man's Chest, Yo-Ho-Ho, and a Bottle of Rum."

Then came that unforgettable Monday. I could see
that it was raining in the mountains when I got up. But
not one drop of rain fell in Adenville all that day. The
Explorer made a trip down the river in the morning and
another trip during the early afternoon. I was riding Bess,
pulling the raft back upstream for the second trip of the
afternoon. It was still raining in the mountains and it
looked as it there was a real cloudburst up there. By the
time I reached the swimming hole, the water in the river
was getting muddy.

All the kids knew'that when it rained in the moun-
tains and the river water started turning muddy, there
might be a flood. We always stopped-swimming then. I
was surprised when Tom had the raft carried back into the
shallow water-1 jumped off Bess.

"You can't make another trip," I told him. "The wa-
ter is turning muddy and there might be a flood."

"Keep your mouth shut," Tom said. "I'm not about
to pass up thirty cents because the water is turning a little
muddy. The river has turned muddy before and there
hasn't been any flood."

Jimmie Peterson and Howard Kay were passengers
on the trip.

"To heck with you," I said to Tom. I walked over to
Jimmie and Howard. "Don't go," I said. "There might
be a flood."

Tom gave me a nasty look. Then he spoke to the pas-
sengers. "Anybody who is afraid of a little muddy water

doesn't have to make the trip," he said. "But the Explorer
sails on schedule. And no passage money will be refunded.
All passengers who aren't fraidy-cats get on board."

After that speech all the passengers had to get on
board or admit they were cowards. I got on Bess with
Frankie and started downstream. Tom and his six pas-
sengers began the trip down the river. They were about a
hundred yards past the swimming hole when I heard a
roaring sound. I could see up the river for about a quar-
ter of a mile, but I saw no sign of a flood and assumed
what I'd heard was thunder in the mountains.

The raft reached that part of the river near the rapids
where the current became swifter. I knew that the roar-
ing sound wasn't thunder as it became much louder. I
turned and looked up the river. A wall of angry, muddy         \
water a couple of feet high was roaring toward me, carry-
ing logs, uprooted trees, and debris. All the kids on the
riverbank screamed for Tom and the passengers to get off
the raft. Larry Hanson, Frank Jensen, Hal Evans, and Pete
Kyle dove off and began swimming toward shore. They
all reached it in time.

Tom was trying to get Jimmie and Howard to dive
into the river before the flood reached the raft. But my
two friends were too paralyzed with fright to move. I
watched Tom wrap his legs around Jimmie with a scissor
hold. Then he put his arms around Howard and grabbed
hold of the rope on the raft. He was just in time. The
wall of floodwater hit the raft and all three of them went
out of sight for a moment before the raft bobbed back up
to the surface.

I jumped off Bess and unhitched the stone sled. I




mounted her with Frankie behind me and made her gal-
lop downstream- The raft hit the rapids and was tossed
about as if it were a matchstick. Uprooted trees and logs
smashed into it. A second wall of floodwater, almost three
feet high, came roaring down the river and hit the raft
right in the middle of the rapids. I couldn't see Tom,
Jimmie, Howard, or the raft for what seemed like an
eternity. Then the Explorer shot up to the surface as if
tossed by a giant hand. The three boys were still on it.
The raft spun crazily around, under water one moment
and above water the next. The flood was carrying it down-
stream so fast that I couldn't keep up with it on Bess. The
raft, Tom, and my two best friends disappeared in the
raging water.

Frankie tightened his arms around my stomach. "They
are all deaded," he cried.

I didn't think they were dead the last time I saw them
because they were still on the raft. But I also knew it was
impossible for Tom to hold Jimmie, Howard, and the rope
much longer. And when he finally had to let go from
exhaustion, they would all be washed overboard and
drowned. Even an excellent swimmer like Tom wouldn't
have a chance in the flood. He would be knocked uncon-
scious by an uprooted tree or log. I was sure all three
would be drowned as I rode Bess at a gallop into town. I
lifted Frankie down from the mare in front of the mar-
shal's office.

"Run and tell Papa what happened," I said.

Then I ran into the marshal's office. Uncle Mark was
sitting at his desk.

"•Flood on the river!" I shouted. "Tom, Jimmie, and
Howard were on the raft!"

138

Uncle Mark jumped to his feet. "Where?" he asked.

"The last I saw of them was in the rapids!" I cried.

Uncle Mark ran out of the office. His big white stal-
lion, Lightning, was tied to the hitching post. Uncle Mark
leaped into the saddle, grabbed my wrist, and lifted me up
behind him. We rode at a gallop to the bank of the river
just below the rapids. Then Uncle Mark slowed the stal-
lion down as we followed the river downstream.

"They must be drowned!" I cried.

"Stop that bawling and keep your eyes open," Uncle
Mark ordered.

About two miles below the rapids there was a sharp
curve in the river where it practically reversed the direc-
tion in which it was flowing. Uncle Mark pointed.

"There they are!" he said.

The raft had been tossed by the crest of the flood
up on the bank of the river. I could see Tom, Jimmie, and
Howard lying on the raft, but they weren't moving.

"They're all dead," I cried.

"If they were dead," Uncle Mark said, "they probably
wouldn't still be on the raft. But I've got to get them away
from that riverbank."

I saw what he meant as I got off Lightning. The
force of the floodwater was chewing big chunks, out of the
riverbank where the raft was. If Uncle Mark didn't reach
the raft in time to pull it away from the river, it would
fall into the floodwaters. And if that happened, Tom
Jimmie, and Howard would be drowned for sure.

I watched Uncle Mark ride Lightning into the flood-
waters. I began to pray. Uprooted trees and logs were be-
ing hurled with enough force to stun a horse or even kill
it. But no wonder Uncle Mark was proud of his stallion.

139

Lightning swam steadily across the river without balking,
although he was nearly hit several times by a log or up-
rooted tree before reaching the other side.

The floodwater had carried them about a quarter of
a mile downstream. Uncle Mark rode back at a gallop
toward the raft. Uncoiling his lariat, he tied one end of it
to the pommel of his saddle. I bit my lip in ten-or as I
saw the riverbank cave in under one corner of the raft.
Uncle Mark whirled the noose of his lariat over his head
and threw it. The loop fell around the oarlock. Uncle
Mark slowed Lightning down until the lariat became taut.
Then he pulled the raft about fifty feet away from the
riverbank. Jumping off Lightning, he ran to the raft. I
saw the undermined riverbank where the raft had been
suddenly cave in. If Uncle Mark had missed that first
throw of the lasso, Tom, Jimmie, and Howard would have
dropped into the raging floodwater.

I watched Uncle Mark turn Jimmie over. He put his
ear to Jimmie's chest, then to Tom's and Howard's. Then
he signaled me and I knew he meant that they were all
unconscious but not dead. I watched him carry Jimmie to
Lightning and lay him belly down across the saddle. Then
he put Howard across Lightning's neck and Tom across
the horse's rump. He began slapping all three of them on
the back.

I watched Uncle Mark for what seemed like hours but
could only have been a few minutes before Papa arrived
on a borrowed horse. Several men were with him, includ-
ing Parley's father, who was carrying some blankets.

"Are they alive?" Papa asked me.

"They must be," Mr. Benson said before I could an-
swer, "or the marshal wouldn't be trying to get the water

140

out of them. No sense in all of us getting wet. I've got the
whiskey and blankets. I'll go across."

The river was almost as high as when Uncle Mark
crossed, but there were no uprooted trees and logs in it
now. Mr. Benson swam his horse across and was soon with
Uncle Mark-

They carried Jimmie to the raft. Uncle Mark held
Jimmie's head up while Mr. Benson forced some whiskey
down his throat. I saw Jimmie's head move and then his
legs. Then Uncle Mark and Mr. Benson rolled Jimmie in
a blanket. I watched them do the same thing with How-
ard. Then they carried Tom to the raft. I held my breath
as they tried to force whiskey down Tom's throat. Tom
didn't move. Mr. Benson forced more whiskey into my
brother. This time I saw his head move as he struggled
unconsciously to avoid the whiskey.

Then I did something that I'd never done before. I
tainted-
When I woke up I was home in bed. Frankie was stand-
ing by the bed, holding my hand.

"You woked up," he said, smiling. "I'll tell Mamma."

I looked at Tom's bed. It was empty. "Where is
Tom?" I asked.

"In Mamma's bed downstairs," Frankie said.

"And Jimmie and Howard?" I asked.

"Nobody is deaded," Frankie said. "They are home
in bed."

It wasn't until then that I realized it was morning.
I'd slept right through from the time I'd fainted.

"Never mind telling Mamma," I said. "I'm going to
get up."

141

"Want to know where Papa went?" he asked as I was
getting dressed.

I nodded my head.

"Papa and Uncle Mark took saws and axes to chop
up the raft so nobody can ever use it again," Frankie
said. "And Papa is real mad at Tom."

"So am I," I said, suddenly feeling an anger against
The Great Brain that I had never believed I was capable
of feeling.

It was nine o'clock when I went downstairs with
Frankie. Mamma and Aunt Bertha were in the kitchen.
They both hugged me, as if I'd been away for a long time.

"How do you feel?" Mamma asked.

"Hungry," I answered.

"That is because you haven't had anything to eat
since noon yesterday," she said. "I wanted to wake you
last night, but Dr. LeRoy said to let you steep until you
woke up by yourself. What would you like for breakfast?"

"Everything," I said. "Mush, hot cakes, bacon and
eggs, toast, and milk. Gosh, but I'm hungry. How is Tom?"

"All right, thank God," Mamma said. "You can go
talk to him while Bertha and I fix your breakfast."

"I don't care if I never see him again," I said.

Mamma looked at me as if I'd said I was going into
her bedroom to cut Tom's throat. "How can you say such
a terrible thing about your own brother?" she asked.

"Easy," I said. "How would you feel about somebody
who almost killed your two best friends?"

Mamma made me tell her all about it as I ate the big-
gest breakfast of my life. I told her about Tom swindling
me out of my ten percent commission too. She and Papa

142

didn't even know that Tom was charging kids to ride on
the raft. But did I get any sympathy? Heck, no.

"Your father and I have warned you time and time
again not to make any bets or deals with your brother,"
she said. "As for what happened to Jimmie Peterson and
Howard Kay, your father is going to have a long talk with
Tom Dennis. Dr. LeRoy said to keep him in bed until
suppertime."

I knew Tom was in for it when Mamma called him
by his full name. She only did that when she was very
angry.

Eddie Huddle came over to play with Frankie by the
time we finished the morning chores. I got my bike and
rode over to Jimmie's house. His mother told me I could
go up and see him, but he had to remain in bed all day.
Jimmie looked pretty darn pale and sick when I entered
his room. He propped himself up on a pillow.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"How would you feel if you'd had a belly and lungs
full of muddy river water and almost drowned?" he asked.

"I guess I'd feel pretty bad," I said. "But not as bad
as if I'd drowned. Tom did save your life and Howard's."

"Maybe it would have been better if he'd just saved
himself and let us drown," Jimmie said to my surprise.

"How do you figure that?" I asked.

"Then all the grownups would hate him, just like
the kids do," Jimmie said. "And nobody in town would
have anything to do with him and his great brain."

I knew the kids had been avoiding Tom until he
built the Explorer and started running excursions on the

14*1

river. But I sure as heck didn't know they hated my
brother.

Jimmie's mother came into the room and said it was
time for me to leave. I rode my bike over to Howard's
house- His mother said I could see Howard but not to stay
too long. Howard was in bed too. He looked pale but not
as badasJimmie.

"Hello, John," he said in a weak voice.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Weak and dizzy," he said.

"You'll get over it," I said. "I'll bet you'll be coming
over to play with me by tomorrow."

"I'll never go to your place again until Tom goes
away to school," Howard said. "He almost got me drowned
Just to make thirty cents."

"I begged you and Jimmie not to go," I reminded
him.

"Tom made darn sure we had to go," Howard said.
"He knew we'd rather go than let the other kids think we
were cowards. I never want to speak to him again. But you
can come over and play with me any time, John.*'

"I'm glad you aren't mad at me because Tom is my
brother," I said.

"Pa says Tom belongs in a reform school," Howard
said. "And Ma wanted to have him arrested for almost
getting me drowned. But Pa said no because he is your
father's friend."

"I guess I'd better be going now," I said. "Your
mother said not to stay too long."

It was lunchtime when Papa returned from helping
Uncle Mark destroy the raft. Mamma told him what I'd

144

told her. He made me tell it all over again. And just for
good measure, I told him what Jimmie and Howard had
said. Usually when Papa got angry, his cheeks would puff
up and his face turn red. But the more he listened, the
whiter his face became and his cheeks appeared to sink''
in his face. He looked positively sick by the time I finished.

"I don't know what we are going to do with that
boy," he said to Mamma.

I had a few suggestions, like making Tom give me
back my dollar and paying me the ten percent commission
on the tares he had collected before the wreck of the Ex-
plorer. But Papa looked so sad and bewildered that I just
kept my mouth shut.

I played with Frankie in the backyard all afternoon.
Not one kid came over to play. I knew they weren't swim-
ming because after a flood the water in the river stayed
muddy for a couple of days.

Mamma let Tom get up and get dressed late in the
afternoon. He came out of the house just as Frankie and
I were starting to do the evening chores. We were in the
woodshed getting kindling wood when he entered.

"Why haven't you been in to see me?" he asked.

"I told Mamma that I didn't care if I never saw you
again," I said. "Papa and Uncle Mark destroyed the raft.
That means you swindled me out of my dollar and com-
mission. But that isn't the worst part. You and your money-
loving heart almost got my two best friends drowned be-
cause you couldn't pass up thirty cents."

"Maybe that last trip was a mistake," he admitted.
Then he went over and sat on the railing of the corral
fence until it was suppertime.

I sat at the table during supper waiting for Papa to

145

start blasting Tom, but he didn't. After supper I sat in
the parlor waiting for Papa to give Tom a lecture until it
was bedtime for Frankie and me. But I knew a blast was
coming. I went upstairs with Frankie and took off my
shoes.

"You stay here," I said. "I'm going to sneak down
the stairway and listen."

I crept down the stairway almost to the bottom. I
could hear everything that was said in the parlor.

"If I had known," Papa was saying, "that you were
going to charge your friends to ride on the raft, I would
never have let you build it. But since you did make them
pay, it is only fair and proper that you pay me for using
Bess. A team of horses rents for three dollars a day. You
will therefore pay me a dollar and a half for each day you
used Bess to pull the raft on the stone sled back up the
river."

"But that's a lot more money than I made each day,"
Tom protested.

"What you made," Papa said, "has nothing Co do
with the going rental price for a team of horses. This
morning your Uncle Mark and I destroyed the raft. That
means you cannot turn it over to J. D. as promised." -

"I didn't destroy the raft," Tom said. "That is J. D.'s
hard luck."

"No," Papa said, "that is your hard luck. You will
give J. D. back his dollar and pay him the ten percent
commission on fares you collected. And we will now get
down to the really important part of this raft business."

"Don't you call my having to hand over a fortune im-
portant?" Tom asked.

"You," Papa said, "and every boy in this town know

that when it rains hard in the mountains there is a very
good possibility of a flood in the river. You knew it had
been raining in the mountains all day. You knew the water
was turning muddy, indicating the possibility of a flood.
And yet you jeopardized the lives of six boys for thirty
cents. And as a result, Jimmie Peterson and Howard Kay
almost drowned."

"But they didn't drown," Tom protested. "And I
risked my own life to save them. Don't I get any credit for
that?"

"If you hadn't shamed them into going on the raft
with you," Papa said, "there would have been no need for
you to risk your life to save them. Now, I've just about
had it with you and your great brain. So I am giving you
fair warning. If you don't reform, I will send you to the
strictest military academy in the United States. So you
damn well better reform. Now go to bed."

It was the first time I'd ever heard Papa swear in
front of Mamma and Aunt Bertha. I guess that shows how
angry he was with Tom. I scooted back upstairs and was
starting to undress when Tom entered the room.

"You listened," he said.

"Yes," I said. "And boy, oh, boy, did Papa lay it on
you good."

"You told him everything," Tom said with an accus-
ing look. Then he shrugged. "I guess you had to after
what happened. And even if you hadn't told him, he
would have found out all about it anyway."

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, what?" he said.

"Are you going to reform like Papa said?" I asked.

"Papa is just a little upset," Tom said. "But he will

14-7

get over it, just as he has in the past. What is the sense in
having a great brain if you don't use it?"

"But if you don't reform," I said, "Papa will send
you to a military academy."

Tom sat down and took off one shoe. "You sure are
dumb when it comes to parents," he said.

"And just how do you figure that?" I asked because
no kid likes to be called dumb unless he knows why.

"You didn't hear Mamma say one word. did you?"
Tom asked.

"What has that got to do with me being dumb?" I
asked.

"Papa told Mamma he was going to lay down the law
to me," Tom said. "She knew it was something he had to
get off his chest. But Papa knows as well as I do that
Mamma would never let him send me away to a military
academy. And speaking of academies, I have a proposi-
tion for you before I go back to the Catholic Academy in
Salt Lake City."

"Not me," I said. "I may be dumb but not dumb
enough to make any more deals with you."

"Have it your way," Tom said, "I can sell the basket-
ball and backstop to some other kid before I leave."

That made me change my mind. "What do you want
for them?" I asked.

"Let me keep the dollar and ten percent commission
money Papa said J had to give you," Tom said, "and you
can have the basketball and backstop."

I knew the basketball and backstop cost a lot more
than that. And when I owned them, I was a very popular
fellow because I didn't charge the kids to play.

"It's a deal," I said.

"Shake on it," Tom said.

We shook hands to seal the bargain. I went to bed
that night knowing that The Great Brain had no inten-
tion of even trying to reform. But in spite of his money-
loving heart and the many times he had swindled me,
Tom was my brother, and I loved him. The Jesuit priests
at the academy had failed to reform him. Papa and Mamma
couldn't make him reform. So it was up to me to make
Tom turn over a new leaf. I knew I had to do it for his

own good.

Tom had taught me to think about a problem before

going to sleep and my subconscious mind would solve it.
I was thinking very hard of a way to save Tom from him-
self when I fell asleep.

CHAPTER TEN

The Trial of the Great Brain

THAT TRICK TOM TAUGHT ME of making the
subconscious mind solve a problem while you are asleep
sure worked. When I woke up in the morning, an idea
popped right into my head of a way to make Tom reform.
If The Great Brain got a taste of what it would be like
to go on trial as a confidence man, swindler, and crook,
maybe that would make him reform. I would get the kids
to put Tom on trial in our barn.

After the morning chores were over I got my bike and
went to Smith's vacant lot. Most of the kids our age were
there. I explained my idea to them. They all thought it
was a peach of an idea. The only trouble was that all of

i en

them wanted to be witnesses against Tom. I couldn't find
one kid who wanted to be on the jury. I decided to have
Tom tried just by a judge, the way Judge Potter often
tried cases in court. But I couldn't find one kid impartial
enough to be a judge. They all said Tom was guilty.

Then I happened to look across the street. Harold
Vickers was sitting on his front porch, reading a book.
Harold was always reading. He was the son of the district
attorney and sixteen years old. He had something the
matter with his eyes and wore glasses with thick lenses. I
walked over to the front porch, explained everything to
Harold, and asked him to be the judge.

"You've come to the right person," he said, looking
at me over his glasses. "I am going to be a lawyer when I
grow up. That's why I spend most of my time reading
about the law, or in court listening to my father try cases.
It will be a pleasure to act as judge and put that smart
aleck brother of yours in his place."

I didn't think what Harold said was prejudiced be-
cause he had never been swindled himself by The Great
Brain. And Harold agreed that making myself district
attorney wasn't prejudiced either. Even though he was
my brother, Tom had swindled me more times than any
kid in town. That made me impartial.

It was lunchtime when I got home. I was pretty dam
sure every kid in town my age and Tom's knew about the
trial. After eating, I sneaked some evidence I would need
into the barn without Tom seeing me. Then I joined Tom,
who was playing basketball by himself.

"I thought there would be a gang of kids here to play
basketball," he said, "now that they don't have to pay to
play."

"They will all be in our barn at two o'clock," I said.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"You are," I said. "You are going on trial for being
a swindler, confidence man, crook, and anything else we
can think of."

"What kind of a joke is this?" he asked, laughing.

"It is no joke," I said, "And it you want to try to de-
fend yourself, you be in the barn at two o'clock."

Harold Vickers came at one thirty, as promised- He
helped me move bales of hay inside the barn to make a
bench for the judge, a witness stand, and a place for the
district attorney and defendant to sit. There were about
forty kids in the barn before two o'clock. Tom was still
playing basketball by himself in the alley. I went to the
barn door and opened it.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" I shouted. "Court is about to be-
gin!"

I saw Tom put the basketball in the woodshed and
start for the barn. I knew his curiosity would make him
come.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

Harold picked up Papa's wooden mallet. He rapped it
on a block of wood we had placed on the bale of hay
serving as the judge's bench.

"Silence in the court," Harold ordered. "This court
is now in session. The Honorable Judge Harold Vickers
presiding." Harold had spent so much time in court that
he sounded like a real judge.

I stood up. "I call the first case. Your Honor," I said.
"The kids of Adenville against Tom Fitzgerald, alias The
Great Brain."

Harold looked at Tom over his thick glasses. "Does

the defendaat have an attorney?" he asked.

"I'll defend myself," Tom said smugly.

"You are charged," Harold said, "with being a con-
fidence man, a swindler, a crook, and a blackmailer, and
with the attempted murder of Jimmie Peterson and How-
ard Kay. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Tom said confidently.

I could tell from the look on Tom's face that he had
decided to play along with the trial, believing his great
brain would make fools out of all of us.

Harold pointed the mallet at me. "Call your first wit-
ness, Mr. District Attorney," he said.

Tom held up his hand. "Just a minute. Your Honor,"
he said. "I demand a jury trial."

This time Harold pointed the mallet at Tom. "How
can you have a jury trial when every kid in town is against
you?" he asked. "Now sit down and shut up or I'll fine
you for contempt of court."

I called Danny Forester as my first witness. I made
him place his hand on an old Bible and swear to tell the
truth.

"Now, Danny," I said, "tell the judge what happened
to you after the defendant swindled you out of your in-
fielder's glove."

Tom jumped up, "I object. Your Honor," he said.
"Danny made a bet with me and lost. There is no law
against betting in Utah."

I had expected this. I got seven tin cans from where
I'd hidden them and placed them on a bale of hay. I then
explained to Harold how Tom had swindled Danny and
Jimmie.

"And if that isn't a swindle, Your Honor," I said as

I finished, "I don't know what you would call it."

"The court rules," Harold said, "that it was an out-
and-out swindle. Proceed."

"Now, Danny," I said, "tell the judge what happened
afterward."

"My Pa gave me the worst whipping o£ my life,"
Danny said. "And he told me that I could never have
another baseball glove."

"Cross-examine," I said to Tom.

Tom walked confidently to the witness stand. "When
you made the bet, Danny,'* he said, "you thought you
were going to win two dollars and a quarter from me,
didn't you?"

"I guess so," Danny answered.

"And, after seeing four other kids win twenty-five
cents from me," Tom said, "'you thought you had a sure
thing, didn't you?"

"I guess so," Danny said, looking almost ashamed.

"In other words," Tom said, "you thought you had a
sure thing and I thought I had a sure thing. So how can
you say I swindled you withouUadmitting that you tried
to swindle me?"

'Oanny gave me a helpless look. I didn't know what
to do so I passed on the helpless look to the judge. Harold
pointed the wooden mallet at me.

"I would like to point out to the district attorney,"
he said, "a flaw in the defendant's line of reasoning. The
witness only thought that he had a sure thing. The de-
fendant knew that he had a sure thing. So the court rules
the witness was swindled. Call the next witness."

Boy, oh, boy, was I glad I'd picked Harold for the

1^4.

judge. I called Jimmie Peterson to the witness stand and
put him under oath.

"Now, Jimmie," I said, "tell the judge what happened
to you after the defendant swindled you out of your base-
ball with the same confidence trick."

"My ma gave me a whipping," Jimmie said, "and
told me that I could never have another baseball because
I'd let that Fitzgerald kid cheat me out of mine."

"Now, Jimmie," I said, "tell the judge why you got
on that raft for the last trip, when you knew there was a
flood coming down the river."

Again Tom stood up. "I object, Your Honor," he
said- "The witness couldn't possibly have known there
was a flood coming down the river. The water in the river
has turned muddy many times before without there being
any flood."

Harold looked at me. I just stared back at him because
I didn't know what to say. Then he peered over his
glasses at Tom.

"You are right about the water in the river becoming
muddy without there being a flood," he said. "But this has
only happened when it was raining in and close around
Adenville and not in the mountains. Every time it rains
all day or all night in the mountains and the water in the
river starts turning muddy, there has been a flood. So the
court rules that when he saw the muddy water on that
day, he knew a flood was coming down the river."

Boy, oh, boy, Harold was turning out to be as smart
. when it came to law as his father.

"Now, Jimmie," I said. "Answer the question."

Jimmie pointed at Tom. "I got on the raft," he said,

"because Tom said anybody who didn't go was a fraidy-
cat. And I didn't want the other kids to think I was a
coward."

"Cross-examine," I said to Tom.

The Great Brain stared at Jimmie. "Is this the thanks
I get for saving your life?" he asked.

"You wouldn't have had to save it," Jimmie said, "if
you hadn't shamed me into going on the raft."

Tom walked back and sat down on a bale of hay. For
once in his life a kid had stunned him into silence. I called
Howard Kay as my next witness-

"Now, Howard," I said, after swearing him in, "tell
the judge why you went on that last trip on the raft."

"Same reason as Jimmie," he said. "I didn't want the
kids to think I was a fraidy<at."

"Then the defendant actually forced you to go," I
said.

"He sure did," Howard said.

"In other words," I said, "Tom Fitzgerald, alias The
Great Brain, is guilty of attempting to drown you and
Jimmie."

"I object!" Tom shouted. "Howard knows that I
couldn't attempt to drown him and Jimmie."

Harold pointed the wooden mallet at Tom. "You-
used words which forced both the witnesses to get on the
raft," he said, "which is the same as if you had used physi-
cal force, in the eyes of the law. The court rules that be-
cause you didn't cancel that last trip, you are guilty of the
attempted murder of Howard Kay and Jimmie Peterson.
Proceed, Mr. District Attorney."

There wasn't a doubt in my mind by this time that

156

Harold Vickers would one day be a member of the Supreme

Court of the United States.

"One last question, Howard," I said. "Are you will-
ing to forgive the defendant?"

"Shucks, no," Howard said. "I hate him."

"Cross-examine," I said to Tom-

I'd never seen such a bewildered look on Tom's face
as he walked to the witness stand.

"Do you really hate me, Howard?" he asked.
"You sure as heck haven't given me any reason to like

you," Howard answered.

I couldn't help feeling sorry for Tom as he slumped
down on a bale of hay. But I couldn't stop now. It was
up to me to make Tom reform—no matter how much it
hurt me or him. I called Parley Benson to the stand. I
didn't know if I should ask him to take off his coonskin
cap in court or not. I decided to let him wear it.

"Now, Parley," I said, "please tell the judge how

you lost your King air rifle."

"Tom said he had a piece of magnetic wood," Parley

said. "He claimed he could throw it into the air and make
it come back to him, using a magnet. I knew nobody
could magnetize wood and that's why I bet him."

I brought out Papa's big dictionary and opened it to
the page with a picture of a boomerang. I showed the pic-
ture to Parley.

"Is that what the piece of wood looked like?" I asked.

Parley stared at the picture. "Yeah," he said. "That

looks just like it."

"Your Honor," I said, "according to this dictionary,

this is a picture of a boomerang, which is described as a

1 K7

bent or curved piece of wood originally used by the abo-
rigines of Australia. By shaping the piece of wood a certain
way, it can be thrown and will return to the person who
threw it."

"Let me see that," Harold said.

I gave him the dictionary and then turned to Parley.
"Now, Parley," I said, "if you had known the piece of
wood was a boomerang, would you have bet?"

"Shucks, no," Parley said.

"What happened because you lost the air rifle?" I
asked.

"My pa horsewhipped me," Parley said. "But that
wasn't the worst part. Pa had promised me a twenty-two
rifle when I was fifteen. But he said that if I couldn't take
care of an air rifle then I couldn't take care of a twenty-
two. I guess I'll be lucky if Pa ever lets me have a real
rifle now."

"Cross-examine," I said to Tom.

The Great Brain walked to the witness stand. "You
are under oath to tell the truth." he said. "Now, isn't it a
fact that you thought I'd gone crazy when you made the
bet?"

"Well, yeah," Parley admitted.

"And isn't it a fact that you thought you were taking
advantage of an insane person to win two dollars?" Tom
asked.

Parley looked helplessly at me as if he expected me to
answer the question. I sure as heck didn't know how to
answer it without making Parley guilty and Tom not
guilty. But Harold did.

"The defendant is confusing the issue," Harold said.
"The court rules that the defendant pretended to have a

158

T

•s

magnetic stick and feigned insanity for the sole purpose
of swindling the witness. Call your next witness, Mr. Dis-
trict Attorney."

Boy, oh, boy, if I hadn't picked Harold for a judge,
Tom would have been found not guilty on all charges. I
called several more witnesses who had been swindled by
Tom. The Great Brain didn't cross-examine any of them.
I saved Frankie for my last witness.

"Now, Frankie," I said. "Tell the judge how Tom
tried to make a blackmailer out of you."

"Tom made you give him your basketball and back-
stop," Frankie said, "for not telling Papa and Mamma
you said he wasn't a Christian. He told me to make you
give me something for not telling. I made you give me
your jackknife. Then you called Tom and me blackmail-
ers. I didn't know what it meant until I asked Papa. He
told me a blackmailer was one of the most low-down
crooks there is. I didn't want to be a low-down crook so
I gave you back your jackknife."

"Now tell the judge," I said, "how Tom played a low-
down joke on you and made you run away from home."

"I didn't want to run away," Frankie said. "But when
you and Tom didn't try to stop me, I was sure Papa and
Mamma didn't love me anymore. So I runned away."

I was sorry I'd asked the question. I wanted Frankie
to put all the blame on Tom. I thought for sure Tom
would cross-examine to let everybody know it was as
much my fault as his fault that Frankie had run away. But
he just sat there staring at Frankie and shook his head
when I said, "Cross-examine."

"Your Honor," I said, after excusing Frankie from
the witness stand, "the prosecution has proved that Tom

Fitzgerald, alias The Great Brain, is a confidence man,
a swindler, a crook, and a blackmailer with such a money-
loving heart that he almost killed two boys tor thirty
cents. He is doomed to become a desperate criminal who
will end up at the end of a hangman's rope some day if he
doesn't reform. I'm finished now. What do I say?"

"You say 'The state rests,' " Harold told me.

"The state rests, Your Honor," I said, and sat down
on the bale of hay.

Harold looked at Tom- "The defense will now pre-
sent its case," he said.

Tom moved slowly to the witness stand. "I have only
one witness for the defense," he said. "Myself." He raised
his right hand and placed his left hand on the Bible. 'T
swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth, so help me God."

Tom looked at the faces of all the kids, then at Harold
and me. Then he said slowly, "When this trial started, I
thought it was a big joke and that my great brain would
make you all look like fools. Instead, for the first time
in my life, I see myself as others see me."

Harold peered over his glasses. "Are you trying to
tell this court that you didn't know you were a confidence
man, a swindler, a crook, and a blackmailer?" he asked.

"I didn't consider myself any of those things," Tom
said. "I just thought I was using my great brain to out-
smart other kids and adults. I didn't know Danny, Jim-
mie, and Parley had gotten a whipping for losing those
things. I didn't know that Danny could never have another
baseball glove, and Jimmie could never have another
baseball, and Parley could never have a- twenty-two rifle.
They never mentioned it to me. I didn't know Frankie

160




thought I was trying to make a blackmailer out of him.
I believed all the fellows liked me and were my friends."

Harold shook his head. "Just because you say you
didn't know all these things is no excuse," he said,

"I am not asking to be excused," Tom said. "I am only
asking to be allowed to make amends for some of the
things I have done. I promise to return the baseball glove
to Danny and the baseball to Jimmie and the air rifle
to Parley. And I ask the court for leniency."

Harold stared at Tom. "Why should the court give
a confessed confidence man, swindler, crook, and black-
mailer like you any leniency?" he demanded.

"Because I believe the good I have done with my
great brain should be judged also," Tom said. "I saved the
fathers of most of the kids here from losing money in
the Alkali Flats swindle. Danny's father would have lost
enough money to buy a hundred infielder's gloves. Jim-
mie's mother would have lost enough money to buy a
hundred baseballs. Parley's father, enough money to buy
a hundred King air rifles. And no matter how or why
Jimmie and Howard got on the raft, the fact remains that
I did risk my life to save theirs. And if it hadn't been for
me, the kids in this town would never have known the
joy of sailing a raft on the river. The defense rests. Your
Honor."

"Leave the barn, I mean the court, now," Harold
said. "The defendant can't be in court while his fate is
being decided."

• Tom walked out of the barn with a slump in his
shoulders.

Harold looked at me. "Does the district attorney be-
lieve the defendant will reform?" he asked.

161

"It wasn't Tom's great brain that made him a confi-
dence man, swindler, crook, and blackmailer," I said,
"but his money-loving heart. They say for a person to re-
form they must have a change of heart. And for my money,
it will break Tom's money-loving heart to give all those
things back. Can't you give him another chance?"

"I can give him a suspended sentence," Harold said,
"as soon as we decide what the sentence is to be."

"It was my idea," I said, "that if Tom refused to re-
form none of the kids in town would play with him, or
speak to him, or have anything to do with him until he does
reform."

Harold looked around the barn- "If I suspend the
sentence," he said, "how many of you kids will be Tom's
friend?"

Parley was the first to speak. "Seeing as how I'm get-
ting my air rifle back," he said, "I'll be his friend."

"Same here," Danny said.

"Me too," Jimmie said.

Harold peered over his glasses at the rest of the kids.
"If I suspend the sentence," he said, "it means you all have
to be Tom's friend for as long as he stays reformed. How
many are in favor of a suspended sentence?^

All the kids except Howard Kay held up their hands.
Then Howard slowly raised his right hand.

"Bring the defendant back," Harold ordered.

I sent Frankie for Tom. When they entered the barn,
The Great Brain was holding Frankie's hand as if he
wanted someone to hang on to. He didn't let go as he
stood before the judge.

"Tom Fitzgerald, alias The Great Brain," Harold said,
"you have been found guilty on all charges. Have you




anything to say before sentence is passed on you?"

"1 promise to reform and never use my great brain
to swindle or hurt anybody again," Tom said.

"It is the sentence of this court," Harold said, "that
no boy in Adenville will play with you or speak to you or
have-anything to do with you for one year."

I could see Tom was shocked because he staggered
backwards a step.

"However," Harold said, "due to the fact that you
have promised to reform, I hereby suspend the sentence.
But if you pull one crooked stunt during the year, I will
revoke the suspended sentence." Harold hit the block of
wood with the wooden mallet. "This court is adjourned,"
he said.

Then a sort of strange thing happened. Harold came
down from the bench and shook hands with Tom. Then
all the kids crowded around The Great Brain to shake
hands and pat him on the back. At first I thought it was
because they wanted to show they had no hard feelings.
But after thinking it over, I saw there was another reason.
They knew they didn't have to worry about The Great
Brain swindling them anymore.

By suppertime everybody in town knew that The
Great Brain had promised to reform. Papa tried to take
all the credit. He said it was his threat to send Tom to a
military academy that did it. Mamma didn't let him get
away with taking all the credit. She said it was her pray-
ers to St. Jude that did it. But all the kids in town knew it
was the trial that had brought about The Great Brain's
reformation.

I thought for sure Mayor Whitlock would declare a
town holiday, and that Papa would get out an extra of

the Adenville Weekly Gazette with a headline reading:

THE GREAT BRAIN REFORMS. But neither of these
things happened. What did happen was that people con-
gratulated Papa as if he was the father of a new baby.
And some women who hadn't spoken to Mamma for
months now became her friends again,

I'm telling you, the way people acted you would think
Tom had just paid off the debts of all th'e adults in town
and reduced the school year to thirty days. Grownups
and kids stopped him on the street to shake his hand. It
was as if he had become a hero by promising to reform.

But I have to end this book with a confession. Re-
member that brilliant plea I made to the judge to give
Tom another chance? I had my fingers crossed all the time
I was making it. I was the only person in Adenville who
had any doubts that The Great Brain was really going to
reform. For my money, a fox clever enough to get into
a chicken coop doesn't stop stealing chickens just because
the rooster starts crowing and the hens start cackling. If I
was right, it would make me the smartest kid in town. But
I hoped I was wrong, even if it made me the dumbest kid
in town.