The Luck of the Buttons (5 page)

“I’m twelve,” said Tugs.

“Twelve, then,” huffed Mrs. Dostal. “Now, if you can’t say anything nice . . .” And she resumed her watering.

Tugs pressed on. “Is he really not paying you room and board?”

“Why, child, I just told you. He’s paying
in kind.
That’s what some people do. I wouldn’t expect you to know that.”

“I just think . . .” said Tugs.

“And that’s your problem right there, young lady,” snapped Mrs. Dostal. “You think too much, when you should be inside helping your mother or dragging that scruffy little cousin of yours somewhere or another, preferably to his own house. Now, I’ve got real work to do here. Run along and leave adult matters to adults.”

“We don’t have a lake for sailing,” Tugs said as she turned and tromped up her own porch steps.

Tugs shrugged into yesterday’s clothes, which still lay in a heap on the floor, slipped past Granny, who was writing a letter at the kitchen table, and collected five pennies from her mother on her way out the door.

Wednesday mornings were Granddaddy Ike’s checkers mornings, and in the summer, Tugs was in charge of walking him from his house to Al and Irene’s Luncheonette to make sure that (1) he didn’t wander off to City Hall or the Baptist church, and (2) he didn’t gamble away anything valuable. The importance of the task made Tugs proud.

Granddaddy Ike lived in a tiny cottage next to Ned’s, between Tugs’s house and downtown. He was older than spit and had been a drummer boy in the Civil War. This afforded him a bit of notoriety around town. His house smelled of sweet pipe tobacco and was cluttered with his collections. He took his meals with Aunt Mina, Uncle Wilson, Ned, and Gladdy, but didn’t like them interfering in his day otherwise.

“My savior!” Granddaddy trumpeted when Tugs let herself in the door. “Quick! Let’s escape before Mina catches us!” Tugs played along, finding one of Granddaddy’s walking sticks and his cap and whispering conspiratorially as she helped him down the sidewalk. The trick today was avoiding Ned. She still hadn’t told him she wanted to race with Aggie, and while she hadn’t actually said to Aggie that she would race with her, she was sure Aggie assumed it after their Monday practice.

“What are you playing for today?” she asked, steering him past Ned’s house as quickly as she could.

Granddaddy stopped and reached into his pocket.

“Looky at this,” he said proudly, holding out a kitchen spoon. “Silver! I slipped it in my pocket after dinner last night. Mina will never notice.”

Tugs took the spoon and examined it appreciatively as she got Granddaddy walking again. “Did you ever play the spoons as instruments, with two together?” she asked. That got Granddaddy talking about the old days. He didn’t notice when Tugs slipped the spoon in her own pocket so she could give it back to Aunt Mina. She always came prepared with something to substitute if necessary. Like today’s pennies.

“. . . and that was the end of George,” Granddaddy was saying. “Which reminds me, Mina better be pressing my uniform for the All Join In Parade tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Independence Day. Tugs groaned. Maybe it would rain. She looked up at the sky hopefully, but it was frustratingly blue, only a wisp of a cloud floating by.

They turned on Main to see mayor Corbett standing outside Al and Irene’s, carrying on an animated conversation with Harvey Moore.

“Are you any relation to boxing great Gentleman Jim Corbett, mayor? Should I be ready to duck?”

“Mr. mayor!” Granddaddy interrupted. “What do you got to say about that upstart come to town to churn out a newspaper? Are you going to give your approval? It’s about time we got our own news, I say. The people and places of our own streets and businesses. And our own take on the rest of the country. And pictures. Do you think the
Cedar Rapids Tribune
will cover the dignitaries in tomorrow’s parade? No, siree. No, sir. Pits, I say. Pits on Cedar Rapids and their big-wheel attitudes. Pits on Iowa City and their swanky university. And what about the carryings on of our own mayor? Never know what kind of rubbish those yahoos are trying to feed us, I say.”

“Mr. Button,” mayor Corbett interrupted. “This is . . .” But Granddaddy wasn’t finished.

“It’s a free country now, isn’t it, mayor? A fellow doesn’t need your approval to start a newspaper, does he? I hear he’s a little short of cash, though.”

Harvey stuck out his hand and pumped Granddaddy’s free one.

“Harvey Moore, pleased to meet you. I am that young upstart, Mr. Button, and you are absolutely right on all fronts. News, right here from Goodhue and the nation. I can tell you are a businessman, Mr. Button, astute as you are about money.”

Granddaddy Ike hooked a thumb through his suspender and stood up taller.

“Why, I don’t mind telling you . . .”

But Harvey interrupted and continued his flattery of Granddaddy, weaving in his tale of investment opportunity.

Tugs turned away. Harvey Moore reminded her of the balloons at Aggie’s party. They grew bigger and bigger as you blew into them, but the minute you let go of the end, the air whooshed out and the balloon wafted away. She wondered when the air would fizzle out of Harvey Moore.

Tugs stopped listening and skimmed the publicity notice for this year’s Independence Day picnic posted on Al and Irene’s window, looking for announcement of the penny raffle prize.

A Button had never won anything in the penny raffle, but then a Button had never bought a raffle ticket either. It’s rigged, they said. Waste of a coin.

Tugs stared at the poster.

She read it quickly, then again.

There was a picture of a boy holding a small box in front of his chest, looking down into it with a grin, taking a photo of two girls in frilly dresses.

Tugs reached in her pocket and felt the five pennies her mother had given her for Granddaddy Ike. She rubbed her fingers around their smooth warmth. A camera. She read it again.

Going into Ward’s Ben Franklin was out, but she hadn’t worn out her welcome at Pepper’s, as far as she knew. It was the last day to buy tickets. Tugs turned back to Granddaddy, who was winding up with Harvey Moore and the mayor, and led him inside, where Mr. Jackson and Mr. Everett were waiting.

“Thought you bought the farm!” said Mr. Jackson.

“Thought you’d caught the bus!” said Mr. Everett.

“I got more kick in me than either of you two geezers,” retorted Granddaddy Ike. “What are we playing for?”

He settled into a chair and looked back at Tugs. “Where’s the goods?” he asked. “I got to put in.”

Tugs hesitated. She could just give him the spoon and take the five pennies to Pepper’s. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Everett were used to his odd antes. They’d been known to put in buttons and bow ties and even once a locket of hair from Mr. Everett’s horse’s tail.

“Luckier than a rabbit’s foot, that,” he’d said. Granddaddy Ike had wanted to win that horsehair like anything, but Mr. Jackson had taken home the horsehair and a set of Granddaddy’s false teeth that day. Granddaddy won back his teeth, but the horsehair never came back to the table.

Today it was toothpicks (Mr. Everett) and tiny tin soldiers (Mr. Jackson). Granddaddy would love to get his hands on those tiny tin soldiers, Tugs was certain. He’d never get them with a spoon. She pulled all five pennies from her pocket and laid them on the table.

Granddaddy flashed his loose teeth around the table. He sat up tall and set up the red chips proudly. “All right, boys, who thinks they can take the loot?”

Tugs watched them get started, then slipped out the door. They’d be busy for an hour if she was lucky.

Tugs stepped around Harvey Moore, who had cornered Al outside his luncheonette. She walked down to Pepper’s and stood in front of the window. There was a display of the newest Brownie cameras and a poster with an image of a girl about her age taking a picture of a squirrel running up a tree. Tugs scoffed. If she had a camera, she’d certainly photograph something more interesting than a squirrel.

She tried the door, but it was locked. She cupped her hands around her face and pressed her nose against the glass. The store was empty, save for the dozens of camera eyes gazing around the shop.

“Now you’ve gone and smudged my window!”

Tugs turned. Mr. Pepper had pulled up to the curb and was trying to get an unwieldy box out of his Ford.

“I was . . . the door was . . .” she started, but Mr. Pepper interrupted.

“Never mind. Grab the keys off the front seat, will you? Unlock the door and hold it open for me.” Tugs did as she was told and stood holding the door while Mr. Pepper wrestled the box into the store.

“Now, take this rag and go wipe your nose juice off the window.”

“I . . .” she started, but Mr. Pepper was already rooting through a drawer and muttering to himself about scissors and numbskulls and the dearth of good help in this country.

Tugs scrubbed at the window of the front door. She couldn’t see any smudges, but she wiped anyhow. When she had wiped the outside of the door, she came inside and wiped the inside, too, for good measure.

“Help me out here, would you?” barked Mr. Pepper. He was pulling smaller boxes out of the large box.

“Line these up on the counter as I hand them to you. We have to count them and sort them into types. Have to make sure the distributor didn’t short me. These are the most popular items Kodak makes right now, and I’m just a little store in the middle of Nowheresville, Iowa, and even though the people of small-town America deserve cameras as much as the rest of the world, the little guy often gets overlooked. Don’t you forget that, young lady.”

“I won’t forget,” said Tugs, lining the boxes up as neatly as she could. Tall as she was and being a girl, she’d never be the little guy. “Did you hear about the newspaper starting up?” Tugs asked.

“Oh, sure. Now, that’s what I’m talking about. There’s a man with vision. Foresight. In fact, he was in here yesterday, and I don’t mind telling you, he asked me to be his photographic consultant. Says he’ll buy a camera from this very shop when the paper gets under way. Not going to send away to Chicago, to some fancy schmancy store. No. That man knows quality when he sees it. I paid him for six months of advertising in advance. Might have to hire someone on, all the business I’m going to get in here.”

“You gave him money already?” said Tugs. “But there’s no paper yet.”

“Humph. I can’t expect you to know how business works. Of course I gave him money in advance. How else is he going to get the paper up and running? Now, pay attention to what you’re doing, young lady.”

Tugs handled the boxes gingerly, wishing she were taking one home with her.

The count came out just as the invoice directed, which made Mr. Pepper pleased at last.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the counter. “There we go, then.” He sighed heavily and nearly smiled at Tugs. “I guess you’ve been quite a help.” He reached under the counter and brought out a string of five raffle tickets. “Got a few left. Here you go. For your efforts. Write your name on the back and drop them in that box at the end of the counter. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Really?” Tugs grinned. “Swell. I mean, great. I mean, thanks, and where’s a pencil?” Mr. Pepper handed her a pencil and she got busy printing her name as clearly as possible.