by John Gordon
her movement. He wanted to see this for himself.
Back at the Miffin’s house Brandon worked on a new theorem in Mapple Miffin’s study.
Pellomie walked in, “Have a cooke, Brandon. They’re very good.
“Thanks, Pellomie, Wow, this is really some problem. I think I’ve just about got it solved though. You see I posited a reversal at one point in the original theorem. That should create neutral numbers of a slightly different kind.”
Pellomie liked Brandon, but she didn’t like mathematics at all. Besides she was bursting to tell him the latest news.
“Do you know, Brandon,” she gasped “Can you even guess what happened to Jubal?” she said with her pretty brown eyes glowing.
“He’s probably floating off with the wind like Baroness Von Smulkin,” he said. “And I feel like it’s all my fault.”
“Nope!” She answered. “His Ma called Cranky Dunlop over. He used to be a rodeo champ. Well, he lassoed Jubal, but couldn’t pull him down. And Jubal was so upset at being roped that he got angry at Cranky and a couple of the squiggly numbers climbed down the rope and stuck to Cranky too.” She stopped to giggle, “You should see it, Brandon. Jubal’s way up above the house with a rope around him and Cranky’s still hanging on to the other end. Now he’s up in the air too and they can’t get down.”
Brandon looked at Pellomie with a startled expression. “That’s the answer! I have it, Pellomie. I know how to get everyone down.”
‘What’s that?” Maple asked, as he and Mrs. Miffin came into the study. Marshall was stretching himself on the desk next to Brandon.
“The answer!” Brandon held up the waste basket that had been by his feet. “It’s full of a new batch of numbers. The final thing to figure out was how to get them up to the Baroness, Juble and Tiny, oh and Cranky too.”
“What good will more numbers do?” Mr. Miffin was pretty good at math and more of the same batch of trouble didn’t sound like a solution to him.
“I wondered about that too.” Brandon said. “You see, positive and negative numbers balance each other out. In theory they can’t exist without each other even if you don’t see them. For example, a seven couldn’t exist if it wasn’t possible for it not to exist. It can only not exist if there’ a minus seven. Do you see?”
Pellomie pulled on his sleeve. “Have a cooked Brandon. they are really good.”
“Yes dear Brandon, have a cookie,” Mrs. Miffin said as she sat down near the desk. “then tell us the truth. Can you really get our neighbors down? After all, Marshall was the cause of it all and it won’t be long before dark. They’ll be lost if it get’s dark.”
“Well,” he mumbled through the cookie in his mouth, “balanced numbers won’t work because they can’t float. You just can’t get a balanced number to float off the sidewalk.” Brandon reached out and drew Marshall into his lap. “Marshall is going to get them all down.”
Right then everyone knew Marshall was listening, because he jumped straight up in the air, headed for the door, and disappeared around the corner before a single eye could blink.
‘Didn’t Brandon realize what he was saying?’ Marshall thought. Did he know how much all those people and Tiny would like to get hold of him? Marshall scurried under the Miffin’s large bed and crouched in the darkest, farthest corner he could find. Then he relaxed as cats tend to do, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
“I’ll get Marshall.” Pellomie offered as she hurried to drag him out from under her parent’s bed. She was small enough to fit under it. It was his favorite hiding place. Pellomie hardly ever bothered him there, so she was sure he wouldn’t mind if he was bothered just this once.
“Brandon. I don’t see how Marshall could do the trick.” Maple said.
Their mathematical friend pointed to the wastebasket again. “We just dip him in these slightly positive numbers. For some reason these unbalanced numbers stick to Marshall very easily. They must need to be aimed with strong feelings in order to stick to someone. You see, that’s why your neighbors have numbers all over them. Marshall was frightened by the Baroness and by Jubal and by Tiny. Whenever he was frightened, he had strong feelings. His emotions directed the numbers at them. As long as they have strong feelings, they’ll keep the numbers agitated, which is what causes them to float off the ground. The more feelings they have the higher they go. If they started by standing on the ground they would probably be grounded and go nowhere. Even someone jumping off something would just plummet straight down because they’d be grounded at the start. It’s just that instant when Marshall is upset that gets them going, then their own fear and anger keeps them floating.” He stood up and turned to look at Annabell and Maple. “Plus my numbers are very unusual. I am studying gravity with advanced mathematics. There are probably only two or three people in the world that would even understand my theorems. Once I clear this up it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of that.”
“You mean that any of those three could come down right now if they’d just relax and let their feelings ease up?” Annabell Miffin asked.
“That’s right Annabell. But because we don’t have the skill of a Marshall cat. Our emotions release slowly which is why they will all get safely down.”
“What about Marshall? Won’t he just tumble from the sky once he has released all these,” she pointed to the basket, “balancing numbers?”
“Marshall is a unique animal. He retains his floating ability longer which is why he floated down before, well, sort of floated. After this is over he’ll be pretty light on his feet for a few days.”
“It sounds like this will work,” Maple Miffin thought out loud. “Except for suppertime, Marshall is about the most indifferent animal around.”
“Here he is,” Pellomie walked back into the room with a reluctant Marshall in her arms. “He’s really not very happy about being a hero though.”
Brandon covered the wastebasket with a piece of cardboard and picked it up. “Com on, let’s find out where every one is up in the sky.”
“One more question,” Mr. Miffin asked as they walked out into the back yard. “You didn’t explain what good it will do to cover the flying neighbors with more of these numbers of yours. How’s that going to get them down?”
Brandon, Maple and Annabell and Pellomie Miffin, carrying Marshall, walked out to the center of the yard. They spotted Jubal and Cranky Dunlop floating about even with each other. But Cranky persistently held to the rope even though it just hung there between them like a drooping clothesline a hundred feet off the ground. Pellomie giggled again as she saw them.
Brandon fixed a long rope to Marshall’s harness. Marshall hadn’t worn a harness for over a year. He wondered why being a hero should have so much indignity attached to it.
Then Brandon explained why his numbers would work. “Maple, this formula of left over numbers will act to gradually balance the numbers that are holding those people up there. They should work in a way so everyone will float slowly down to the ground. And when they come down, all the numbers will have dissolved.”
They borrowed more clothes line from the Baroness’s yard on the way to the Krumkle’s yard. Mr. and Mrs. Krumkle were standing by a small tree when Brandon and the Miffins got to the yard closest to Jubal and Cranky far above them.
There was a look of reverence on Mr. Krumkle’s face as he said, “Look at that, Maple. My son! My boy, flying on his own! Now tell me he isn’t smart.”
“Mrs. Krumkle,” Brandon said, “If we can borrow some more clothes line, I’ll send Marshall up to get him down.”
“Oh dear, Oh dear, dear.” Mrs. Krumkle was wringing her hands with worry. “Yes Brandon. Please get him down. His dinner is getting cold and he won’t eat it if it isn’t hot. My poor little button boy.”
Pellomie covered a giggle with her hand when she heard this. Now she knew what to call Juble when they were back at school tomorrow.
Brandon and Maple connected all the ropes into one long rope and attached one end to Marshall’s
harness. Now he uncovered the the wastebasket and dipped a reluctant Marshall into it.
Marshall wiggled and squirmed and attracted every single numeral in the basket. He began floating into the air. His body was a mass of curling, leaping, happy numbers, numbers that nobody could read except Brandon, and maybe Brandon couldn’t even read them now. One thing was sure. They were a healthy batch of numbers, for Marshall was rapidly ascending into the blue sky.
“What are you expecting to do with that cat?” Mr. Krumkle asked.
Brandon winked at Pellomie, “He’s gone up with a little note pad so Jubal and Cranky can write down what they want for dinner. They’ll have to eat if they want to stay healthy and famous and march in the first Flyonaut parade in town.”
“Flyonauts? Yes that’s what my boy is, a flyonaut!” Mr. Krumkin looked even more reverently at the tiny figures above them.
Jubal was getting tired of lazing around in the sky. He had thrown all the pebbles he had in his pocket and all his spitballs at people walking on the streets below. This was really dullsville. He wanted action. How could he upset anyone so far off the ground?
The only thing that kept Jubal up was his mischievous heart. He was so full of mischief he didn’t know how to relax. so the numbers floated him up and up ever so little at a time.
“Hey Cranky, what’s that coming up behind you?” Jubal yelled as he tugged his end