More Adventures Of The Great Brain

The Night the Monster Walked

THERE WERE TWO GOOD REASONS for the people in Adenville to celebrate
Christmas in 1896 besides the birth of Jesus Christ.
It was the year that Utah became the forty-fifth state, and the year everybody in town believed my brother Tom had reformed. Papa went around with a happy look, believing he no longer had to worry about Tom making a fool out of him. Mamma was all smiles, believing no angry mother or father would be calling her on the telephone to complain my brother had swindled their son out of something. Aunt Bertha looked as if Tom had suddenly sprouted wings. Uncle Mark, who was the Marshal and Deputy Sheriff, thought all he had to deal with in the future would be lawbreakers. It was the first Christmas parents bought presents for their sons, believing my brother wouldn’t try to
connive
their kids out of them.

   
There was only one doubter in our midst, and that was my oldest brother, Sweyn, when he came home for the Christmas holidays from the Catholic Academy in Salt Lake City. Adenville only had a population of about twenty-five hundred people. About two thousand were Mormons, and the rest Catholics and Protestants. We had a one-room schoolhouse, where Mr. Standish taught the first through the sixth grades. Any parents who wanted their children to get more education had to send them to Salt Lake City. There were plenty of places in Salt Lake City where the Mormons could send their kids for a higher education, because The Saints, as they preferred to be called, outnumbered other religions by ten to one. And there was more than one Academy for Protestants in the state capitol.
But only one Catholic Academy.

   
Sweyn was thirteen. He was named after my Danish grandfather on my mother’s side and had blonde hair like Mamma. I was now eight years old and would soon be nine. Tom was going on twelve. I had dark curly hair and brown eyes like Papa. Tom didn’t look like Mamma exactly, and he didn’t look like Papa. His hair wasn’t blonde, and it wasn’t dark. He was the only one in the family who had freckles.

 
  
“What has happened to the Great Brain?” Sweyn asked me two days after his arrival home, as we were stringing popcorn to help decorate our Christmas tree. “He hasn’t tried to
connive
me out of a single thing since I’ve been home.”

   
“T.D. has reformed,” I said. My brothers and I always called each other by the initials of our first and middle names, because that is how Papa addressed us. We all had the middle name of Dennis just like Papa, because it was a family tradition.

   
Sweyn held the darning needle threaded with string in one hand and a piece of popcorn in the other hand. He stared at me like I was plumb loco. “
Bushwah
!” he said. “That little conniver could no more reform than he could wash the freckles off his face.”

   
I had never heard the word “
bushwah
” before and assumed it was a city slang word that Sweyn had picked up at the Academy. But I knew what it meant just from the way he said it.

   
I told him how Tom’s great brain had helped Andy Anderson so he wasn’t useless anymore with his peg leg. And how Tom had refused to accept the erector set he had been promised as payment if he helped Andy
learn
to do his chores and play—peg leg and all. And I told Sweyn how Tom had given me back my genuine Indian beaded belt, which he had swindled me out of earlier in the year.

“T.D. hasn’t pulled a crooked stunt since,” I concluded.

   
Sweyn thought about what I’d told him for a moment. “Once a conniver always a conniver,” Sweyn said. “It doesn’t sound like T.D. at all.”

   
“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson both thanked Papa and Mamma for what Tom had done for their son,” I said. “And I told them about him giving me back my belt.”

   
Sweyn got a sly look on his face. “And what else did T.D. get you to tell Papa and Mamma?”

   
“Well,” I said, “he did ask me to tell them he had his heart set on getting a bicycle for Christmas. He even got me to tell them the one he wanted at the Z.C.M.I. store.” Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institute was the full name of the town’s big general store owned by the Mormon
church
. Some people called it the Z.C.M.I, store, and some called it the Co-op.

   
“Ha, ha!”
Sweyn exclaimed. “I knew it. T.D. with his cunning mind figured that a bicycle was worth more than an erector set or an old Indian beaded belt. This pretending to reform is all an act to get Papa and Mamma to give him a bike for Christmas.”

   
Sure enough, Tom got his bike for Christmas. I got a new wagon. Sweyn got a pocket watch and watch fob. I guess it was about the happiest Christmas of my life, because it was the first time I didn’t have to worry about Tom trying to swindle me out of my present.

   
Sweyn still had his doubts and put them into words just before he left to return to the Academy in Salt Lake City.

   
“I’ll bet ten to one, J.D.,” he said, “that the Great Brain resumes his career as a confidence man now that he has his bike.”

   
My oldest brother was sure right. Tom started out the
new year
in his usual conniving style. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been just one of his usual swindles. But this one got so complicated that armed men patrolled the streets of Adenville, and women and children had to remain behind locked doors.

   
Papa, who was editor and publisher of the Adenville Weekly Advocate., was considered the smartest man in town because he was the only one who had ever gone to college. Uncle Mark was considered one of the smartest peace officers in Utah. By the time Tom got through with his first scheme of the year, Papa was ready to admit he was the dumbest man in town except for Uncle Mark.

   
It all started our first day back at school during morning recess. A new kid in town named Parley Benson was showing off a genuine Bowie knife his father had given him for Christmas. Parley was Tom’s age, had yellow hair, and he always wore a coon-skin cap.

   
I knew Tom’s great brain was working furiously to get that Bowie knife while he was riding me home on the handlebars of his new bike.

   
I was enjoying the ride as I looked at the trees planted by early Mormon pioneers that lined both sides of Main Street. Adenville was a typical small Mormon town but quite up to date. There were electric light poles all along Main Street, and we had telephones. There were wooden sidewalks in front of the stores. Straight ahead I could see the railroad tracks that separated the west side of town from the east side. Across the tracks on the east side were two saloons, the Sheepmen’s Hotel, a rooming house, and some stores.

   
“That is some Bowie knife that new kid got for Christmas,” Tom said.

   
I turned my head, and sure enough he had that old scheming look on his face.

   
“Sweyn was right,” I said. “You only pretended to reform to get this bike for Christmas.”

   
“You talk as though I were some kind of crook,” Tom said, pretending I’d hurt his feelings. “Just because my great brain makes me smarter than any kid in town, and a lot of grownups, doesn’t make me a crook. Papa always says that
it’s
brains that count in this world.”

   
“But Papa didn’t say you are supposed to use your great brain to go around swindling people,” I said.

“Who did I ever swindle?” Tom demanded.

   
“Me and every other kid in town,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.

“No two people can make a deal without both of them agreeing to it,” he said.
“Right?”
“Right,” I said. “And on all the deals we ever made, you agreed. Right, J.D.?”

I nodded my head.

   
“And no two people can make a bet without both of them believing they are going to win,” he said.
“Right?”

   
“Right again,” I answered, wondering what he was leading up to.

   
“Then you’ve either got to admit that you are stupid and an easy mark or that I’ve never swindled you in my life,”

Tom said.

I sure as heck wasn’t going to admit that I was stupid and an easy mark.

“I guess you are right,” I said. “I’m sorry I called you a crook.”

   
“But you did call me a crook,” Tom said. “And when I tell Papa and Mamma that you called your own brother a crook, it will break their hearts.”

“Please don’t tell them,” I pleaded.

   
“If I agree not to tell them,” Tom said, “I think you should be punished for daring to call me a crook.”

“I’ll do anything you want,” I said quickly.

   
Tom thought for a moment. “If you do my chores for a week, I just might not tell Papa and Mamma,” he finally said.

   
“It’s a deal,” I said, and how I wished I’d learn to keep my big mouth shut. I knew if I told Papa and Mamma that Tom was a crook, it would break their hearts. But I also knew if I told them I was stupid and an easy
mark, that
would break their hearts too. The more I thought about it, the more grateful I was to Tom for letting me off so easy.

After we’d changed clothes, I filled up all the wood boxes in our kitchen, dining room, and parlor. Then I began bringing in buckets filled with coal from our coal and wood shed.

   
Mamma and Aunt Bertha were kneading biscuit dough for supper. Mamma tilted her head piled high with long golden braids and looked at me.

“Why are you doing your brother’s chores?” she asked.

   
“It is all right, Mamma,” I said, as I put down a heavy bucket filled with coal beside our big kitchen range. “I’m perfectly satisfied with the deal.”

   
Aunt Bertha, who wasn’t really our aunt but had lived with us so long she was just like one of the family, looked down at me from her great height as she brushed a strand of gray hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. She had hands and feet as big as a man’s.

   
“Deal!”
She said it as if it were a dirty word. “It was too good to be true. I knew it couldn’t last. Tom is at it again.”

   
Mamma looked concerned. “Is Tom D. taking advantage of you?” she asked.

   
“No, Mamma,” I said, because I thought Tom had let me off easy.

   
Tom sat on the corral fence while I fed and watered the chickens, milk cow, team of horses, and Sweyn’s mustang, Dusty. I was exhausted when I joined Tom on the corral fence.

   
“That new kid Parley Benson sure likes to brag,” Tom said.

   
“You mean how he bragged about his father being an animal bounty hunter for the ranchers?” I asked.

   
“Yes,” Tom answered. “And how brave his father is, and how brave he is.”

   
“I guess it does take a lot of courage to track down and kill mountain lions, wolves, coyotes, and other animals that kill livestock,” I said.

   
“Sure it does, but that doesn’t make Parley brave like his father,” Tom said. “If there is anything I can’t stand, it is a kid who boasts.”

   
I knew if Tom couldn’t stand it, he was going to put a stop to it. “Are you going to put your great brain to work to cure Parley of his bragging?” I asked. I couldn’t help feel excited.

Tom grinned. “And teach him a lesson at the same time,” he said.

“I’d hate to be in his shoes,” I said.

   
On the first Saturday after school had started in the
new year
, it was snowing in the mountains and raining in town. Tom went up to his loft in the barn to put his great brain to work on how to cure Parley Benson from bragging while I did all the chores.

   
It continued to rain after we’d eaten lunch. We went to the barn to wait for our friends, who always came there to play when the weather was bad. Tom and I were sitting on a bale of hay when Basil Kokovinis entered. He was a Greek boy, whose father owned the Palace Cafe. He was Tom’s age and had big dark eyes and black hair.

   
“It’s a pour down,” Basil said as he took off his cap and yellow rain slicker.

   
“Downpour,” Tom corrected Basil, who had trouble with the English language since he had been in this country less than a year.

   
Danny Forester, Sammy Leeds, and Parley Benson were the next to arrive. Parley and Danny were Tom’s age and Sammy one year older. Sammy had what Sweyn called a city-slicker look. I’d never seen a city slicker, but assumed my brother meant Sammy always had a sly, know-it-all look on his face. Danny’s left eyelid was half closed like it was most of the time—as if one half of him wanted to go to sleep and the other half to stay awake. Parley was wearing his coon-skin cap and had his Bowie knife in a scabbard on his belt.