John Fitzgerald GB 05 Great Bra (2 page)

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.

ť. “‘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 basketball 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 backstop 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 lowdown crooks there is. He finds out a secret about somebody 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 remember,” 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 anymore. 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

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 railing 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 hypnotism,” Tom said. “Are the kids coming over to play basketball 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 pulling 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 Kokovinis. 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.”