John Fitzgerald GB 04 Great Bra (2 page)

“Get your quarter ready.” Sweyn said confidently,

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“and go ahead and ask your two questions.”

“Who is the big boss on a train, the conductor or the engineer?” Tom asked.

“That is easy,” Sweyn said. “The engineer is.”

“One wrong,” Tom said. “And you can ask Mr. Walters the conductor if you don’t believe me. Now for the second question. What were conductors on trains called before they were called conductors?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Sweyn asked.

“It is about trains, isn’t it?” Tom asked, smiling. “I can see you don’t know the answer so I will tell you-They were called captains because they had full command of a train just like the captain of a ship. Now fork over that quarter.”

Poor old Sweyn was as foolish for making that bet as a rooster trying to lay an egg. I don’t remember my eldest brother or me ever winning a bet from Tom. Sweyn handed Tom twenty-five cents.

When the train arrived in Cedar City a man wearing a white cap and jacket boarded the train and went into the smoking car. As the train left the depot he came into the coach. In front of him he had a box-type tray held by a strap around his neck.

“Candy, peanuts, chewing gum, and magazines’” he called out.

Tom stared at the man as a passenger bought a candy bar and a magazine. “Who is that?” he asked.

“The candy butcher,” Sweyn answered. “And it just goes to prove you don’t know everything about trains.”

“Why do they call him a butcher?” Tom asked. “Butchers only work in meat markets.”

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“How should I know?” Sweyn said.

“Which just goes to prove you don’t know everything about trains,” Tom said.

“One thing I do know,” Sweyn said. “If you want any candy you had better buy it now and eat it before we get to Salt Lake City. The superintendent. Father Rodriguez, only allows each student to buy ten cents worth of candy once every four weeks. And parents are forbidden to mail any sweets to their sons or bring any candy on visiting days.”

The academy was beginning to sound like a reform school to Tom. “What has he got against candy?” he asked.

“He says it is bad for the teeth and health,” Sweyn answered. “And if you have any candy when you get there he will take it away from you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tom said. “My great brain will figure out a way for us to have all the candy we want.”

“You get caught smuggling candy into the academy and you’ll get demerits and punishment,” Sweyn said. “And if you get twenty demerits in one month you can be expelled.”

“What kind of punishment?” Tom asked.

“Peeling potatoes in the kitchen, cleaning the washrooms, mopping and waxing the floors, and things like that,” Sweyn answered.

“They’ve got to catch you first,” Tom said confidently. “I’m getting hungry. Let’s eat.”

They got down from the rack the shoe box containing the lunch Mamma had made for them. When Mamma prepared a lunch she always made sure nobody went hun-gry. There was enough for six people. Tom and Sweyn

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ate their fill. There were still five pieces of fried chicken, four hard-boiled eggs, five bread-and-butter sandwiches, and three pieces of chocolate cake left.

The traveling salesman across the aisle spoke to Tom. “The train doesn’t stop for passengers to eat until we get to Provo,” he said. “I’ll give you a dime for one of those drumsticks and a bread-and-butter sandwich.”

“How about a hard-boiled egg and a piece of cake too?” Tom asked. The smell of money to him was just like the smell of food to a hungry man. “It will only cost you another dime.”

“Sold,” the salesman said.

Sweyn was shaking his head as Tom pocketed the twenty cents. “You can’t even ride on a train without turning conniver,” he said. “Mom would have a fit if she knew what you just did.”

“The customer is perfectly satisfied,” Tom said. “And that gives me an idea. There must be other hungry passengers on this train. I’m going to sell the rest of this stuff.”

“You can’t do that,” Sweyn protested. “Only the candy butcher can sell things on a train.”

Did this make Tom give up his idea? Heck no. When it came to money he was like a bloodhound on the trail of a fugitive.

“Then I’ll make a deal with the candy butcher,” he said.

Tom found the candy butcher sitting on the rear seat in the smoking car. “Let me sell this food on the train,” he said, “and I’ll buy candy with all the money I get. Is it a deal?”

“It sure is,” the candy butcher said. “See those four

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men playing poker on a suitcase at the other end of the car? They were complaining because I don’t sell sandwiches like they do on the main line. Try them.”

Tom walked to the other end of the smoking car. “The candy butcher told me you men were hungry,” he said. “A piece of home-fried chicken and a bread-and- butter sandwich will cost you a dime-The hard-boiled eggs are a nickel and the cake ten cents.”

Tom collected seventy-five cents from the hungry poker players and then stood watching the game-The men were playing stud poker. A man the other players called Mr. Harrison was winning and a man named Baylor who looked like a rancher was the big loser. The other two players were complaining about losing also. Tom watched while four hands were played and he knew why Mr. Harrison was winning. He decided to tell Mr. Walters about it. He stopped and gave the candy butcher the seventy-five cents, saying he would get the candy later. He found Mr. Walters in the caboose with the brakeman.

“Is it part of your job to watch out for card sharks?” he asked.

“It certainly is, Tom,” the conductor said. “You see, whenever a passenger loses money to a card shark on a train he never blames the card shark or himself. He always blames the railroad. Why do you ask?”

“Those four men playing poker in the smoking car are using a marked deck of cards,” Tom answered.

Mr. Walters looked as surprised as a man who opens a can of beans and finds peas inside instead. “You must be mistaken,” he said. “I inspected that deck of cards be-fore the men started to play, and my years of experience

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as a conductor have taught me just about every way a deck can be marked.”

“These cards are marked at the factory,” Tom said. “My uncle. Mark Trainor. is the marshal and deputy sher-iff in Adenville and he showed me a deck just like it. A salesman selling playing cards came to town. He offered both saloonkeepers such a good price that they each bought fifty decks of cards. A week later a man calling himself Harry Johnson came to town and began playing poker in both saloons. He won so much money that the players said he was either the luckiest poker player in the world or a caid cheat. But nobody could prove he was cheating and he kept on winning money every night. Un-cle Mark knew nobody could be that lucky. He got a deck of the cards from a saloonkeeper and took it to his office. He studied it for hours before he discovered how they were marked at the factory. He arrested Harry Johnson, who confessed he and the card salesman were partners.”

Mr, Walters nodded his head. “That was a slick confidence game,” he said. “The salesman got the cards into the saloons and then his partner came along and, using the marked cards, had to win. I didn’t like the looks of that Harrison fellow with his manicured nails and waxed moustache. They are his cards.”

They went to the smoking car and waited until the poker players finished playing a hand. Mr. Harrison won again. Then Mr. Walters picked up the deck of cards.

“What is the idea?” Mr. Harrison asked. “You checked these cards and so did these three gentlemen before we started to play.”

“Then you won’t mind if my friend here takes a look

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at them/’ Mr. Walters said, handing the deck to Tom.

“That’s the kid who sold us the food,” Mr. Harrison said. “What is this, some kind of a joke?”

The moment Tom spotted the marked deck of cards he had put his great brain to work on how to take financial advantage oŁ the situation. He looked at Mr. Walters.

“If I can prove this deck is marked, will Mr. Harrison have to return all the money he has won?” he said.

“He certainly will,” the conductor said.

Then Tom looked at the three losing poker players. “I figure it should be worth a dollar apiece to you to know how these cards are marked so you can get your money back,” he said.

Mr. Baylor nodded his head. “You figure right, boy,” he said.

Tom held the deck with the faces down and dealt out five piles of cards with just four cards in four of the piles and the rest in the fifth pile.

“This deck has a small diamond design on the back like most playing cards,” Tom said. “The diamonds are arranged at the place where the cards are manufactured, so anybody who knows the secret can tell how many high cards the other players have by looking at the backs.”

He pointed at one of the piles. “These four cards have full diamonds across the top and bottom edges, which means they are the four aces,” he said.

Mr. Baylor turned the four cards over, revealing the four aces.

Tom pointed at another pile. “These four cards have half diamonds across the top and bottom edges, which means they are the four kings,” he said.

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Mr. Baylor turned over the four kings, “And this pile.” Tom said, “has quarter diamonds across the top and bottom edges, which means they are the four queens.”

Mr. Baylor turned over the four queens. “This last pile of four cards,” Tom said, “has full diamonds down both sides, which means they are the four jacks.” He turned over the four jacks himself. “All the other cards in the deck have staggered full and half diamonds on all four edges. Mr. Harrison could tell by looking at the backs of your cards whether you had an ace, king, queen, or jack as a hole card playing stud poker, and playing draw poker he could tell how many high cards you held in your hands.”

Mr. Baylor slammed his fist down on the suitcase. “You lowdown skunk of a card cheat,” he said to Mr. Harrison. “I’m going to drag you off this train at the next stop and beat you to a pulp.”

“Simmer down,” Mr. Walters said- “As soon as Mr. Harrison returns all the money he has won from you gentlemen I will take him to the caboose and handcuff him to a seat. He and the deck of cards will be turned over to the police when we get to Salt Lake City. It will then be up to you men to go to police headquarters and sign a com-plaint.”

And that is how Tom spotted a card shark and made himself three dollars richer on his first train trip. Papa had once said that if Tom fell down into a deep hole, instead of breaking a leg The Great Brain would probably discover a gold mine. But the way Tom ended his first let-ter almost made a nervous wreck out of me waiting for his

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next to arrive. And here is why-

“This has been a long letter, J.D.,” Tom wrote. “So I will have to wait until my next letter to tell you about the rest of my first train ride and the most exciting experience of my life. When you tell the kids in Adenville about it they will all turn green with envy.”

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ALL WEEK I WONDERED what could possibly have happened to Tom on his first train ride that made it the most exciting experience of his life. When I finally received his second letter I understood why he had said that all the kids in town would turn green with envy. When I showed the kids the letter they didn’t actually turn green any more than a yellow-bellied coward has a yellow belly. But you never saw such a bunch of envious kids in your life.

When Tom came home for the Christmas vacation with Sweyn he told Papa, Mamma, Aunt Bertha, our four-year-old foster brother Frankie, and me all about riding in

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the locomotive from Provo to Salt I^ake City. Hearing him tell it was ten times more exciting than reading about it. Tom’s great brain had already figured this out. He charged the kids two cents apiece to enter our bam and listen to him personally tell about his exciting experience. And every kid in town from four years old to sixteen was there.

I, of course, had to get Sweyn’s side of the story, which was a little different from Tom’s story. But by putting both together I can tell just about exactly what did hap-pen:

After collecting his three dollars from the grateful poker players Tom went to the other end of the smoking car and sat down beside the candy butcher. He collected the seventy-five-cents worth of candy that the man owed him.

“Why do they call you a butcher?” he asked.

“It is a show business slang word,” the candy butcher said. “In vaudeville and burlesque theaters men who sell candy during intermission are called candy butchers. When men began selling candy and things on trains the name just stuck.”

“I don’t see how you make any money,*’ Tom said. “The train fare must eat up all the profits.”

“I ride the trains free,” the candy butcher said. “My run is from Cedar City to Ogden and back.”

Tom returned to his seat and dumped fifteen five-cent bars of candy on it. “I made a deal with the candy butcher,” he told Sweyn. “He let me sell the rest of our lunch if I’d buy candy with it. I got seventy-five cents.”

“Half of that lunch was mine,” Sweyn said. “You got twenty cents from the salesman and seventy-five cents more, which makes ninety-five cents. You can have the odd

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nickel because you did all the work. Just give me my forty-five cents in cash.”

Poor old Sweyn was a dreamer if he thought he was going to talk The Great Brain out of forty-five cents.

“If I remember correctly,” Tom said, “you told me I was a conniver for selling part of the lunch and Mamma would have a fit if she knew about it. I sure as heck don’t want it on my conscience that I made a conniver out of my own brother and made him partly responsible for our mother having a fit. So I will just keep all the profits and my conscience will be clear. But dividing the profits and giving my brother some candy are two different things. Help yourself to as many bars as you can eat.”