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mules to pull him out. He knew his money-loving heart would never forgive his great brain for losing him a profit of sixty cents a week. All he had to do was to get just five demerits a month and he could have kept the washroom job until school ended.
He went into the yard where his three friends were waiting for him under their usual tree. He told them what had happened.
“I guess my great brain went to sleep on me,” he concluded. “We sure as heck can’t make every kid who gets the washroom job a stockholder in the corporation.”
Jerry shook his head sadly. “Good-bye, candy store,” he said. “The washroom is the only way to get into the attic.”
That made Tom’s great brain wake up in a hurry. “Wrong,” he said. “What about the storeroom on the third floor? I bet there’s a trapdoor into the attic from it.”
“So what?” Jerry asked. “The door is always locked. And Father Rodriguez carries the keys on that ring and chain he always has with him.”
“Maybe not,” Tom said. “Remember the ring of keys hanging on the wall in his office? I’ll bet they are a dupli-cate set in case one of the priests needs them when Father Rodriguez isn’t here. There is only one way to find out.”
His three friends looked at him as if he was suggest-ing they steal the crucifix from the altar in the chapel. Phil was the first to recover from his astonishment.
“You get caught in his office when he isn’t there and you’ll be expelled for sure,” he said.
“I’ll put my great brain to work on it,” Tom said, “and I personally guarantee we won’t be caught.”
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I guess Tom’s great brain wanted to redeem itself for not reminding him to get some demerits, because he had a plan all ready by the following Friday. He met with his three friends in the yard after school. He rehearsed them on what each had to do while the priests were at vespers that evening.
At seven thirty-five Tom and his three friends left the dormitory. Phil remained at the foot of the stairway on the ground floor. Tony went into the library. Tom and Jerry walked over to the doorway of the superintendent’s office. Jerry had a textbook with him and they pretended to be arguing about a problem in it. They had to wait a couple of minutes before Phil signaled that no kids were coming down the stairway and Tony signaled that no kids were leaving the library. Then Tom opened the door of the office and slipped inside. He got the ring of keys and put them in his pocket. He scratched on the door and waited until he heard Jerry scratch back. Then he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
He and Jerry went up the stairs to the third floor, with Tony and Phil following them. Phil went inside the dormitory. Tony stood at the top of the stairway. Tom and Jerry went to the door of the storeroom.
“We are all set,” Tom whispered. “Phi! will stop any kid coming out of the dormitory. Tony will let us know if anybody is coming up the stairway. John Burton has the door of the washroom locked so he can clean it. 1*11 start trying the keys now.”
Tom tried four keys before he found the one that opened the storeroom. Inside there was enough moonlight coming through the windows for them to see more religious statues, crates, and boxes. But Tom was only interested in
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the ceiling. And in one corner of it he saw a trapdoor lead-ing to the attic. They slipped out and locked the door.
Then Tom and Jerry went down to the washroom on the second Hoor and Tom made an impression of the key in a bar of soap. He wiped the key off carefully before go-ing back to the third floor and hiding the bar of soap un-der the statue of Saint Francis. Jerry got Phil from the dormitory and the four of them returned to the ground floor, where they took up the same positions as before. When the coast was clear Tom slipped into the superintendent’s office and returned the ring of keys to the peg on the wall.
Everything had been so easy up to this point that Tom expected to hear Jerry scratching on the door immediately. Instead a minute passed, and then another min-ute, and Tom began to sweat. It seemed like an hour but was actually only about five minutes before Jerry finally scratched on the door. Tom slipped into the hallway.
“What took you so long?” Tom asked.
“Two eighth graders were standing in the doorway of the library talking,” Jerry said. “I couldn’t just stand here without attracting suspicion so I went into the library un-til they left.”
Tom met with his three friends at their usual tree in the yard the next afternoon. He had a piece of wood, the bar of soap, and his pocketknife. He sat on the far side of the tree so his three friends could warn him if anybody ap-proached. Tom was an expert whittler and could carve just about anything. But it took him more than an hour to make a wooden key from the impression in the bar of soap. He hid the key under the statue of Saint Francis.
That night he lay awake until all the other boys were
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asleep. He got a black crayon and his pocketknife and crept into the hallway. He removed the wooden key from under the statue and tried it in the lock of the storeroom door. It didn’t work. He then rubbed the black crayon on the key and tried it again. He went into the washroom and turned on the lights. He could tell from the crayon marks that the key had to be carved in two places. He did the carving and once again tried the key in the storeroom lock. It turned halfway and stopped. Again he rubbed the black-crayon on it and tried again. He went into the washroom. The crayon marks told him that he had to make the notch on top deeper. He did this and once again tried the key. This time the wooden key opened the lock. Thanks to Tom’s great brain the Academy Candy Store was back in business.
AH the fellows had complained so much about the candy store’s being closed the week before that Tom decided to buy forty five-cent bars of candy instead of twenty the following Friday evening. Of course, his money-loving heart had something to do with the decision because he had lost sixty cents in profit the week before. He waited until Billy Daniels went to clean the washroom and the priests were at vespers in the chapel. He left Phil in the dormitory to warn if anybody was coming out. There was nobody in the hallway. Jerry went down to the library where he could watch the clock. Tom and Tony entered the storeroom and locked the door behind them. They climbed on top of crates and entered the attic through the trapdoor. Tony remained in the attic while Tom made the trip to the grocery store and back. He had forty bars of candy in the paper sack.
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Jerry was supposed to wait twenty minutes in the library and then return to the third floor. But when Tom scratched on the door there was no answering scratch from Jerry. Tom waited a couple of minutes and then scratched again-He heard Jerry scratch on the door and unlocked it-With Jerry shielding him from anybody coming up the stairway Tom locked the door and hid the key under the statue of Saint Francis.
The candy-hungry boys sure made up for the week the candy store had been closed. Tom made a profit of a dollar and twenty cents besides two bars of candy for himself and each of his three friends. And that night he got his first good night’s sleep since losing his job in the washroom. I guess his money-loving heart had been keeping him awake.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
The Mental Marvel
TOM HAD NEVER LIKED liver and wouldn’t eat it on a bet. When he wrote me that they served beef liver every Thursday at the academy 1 sure felt sorry for him. Mamma said all boys disliked some kind of food. Tom hated liver. Sweyn wouldn’t eat a tomato, raw or cooked. I hated celery; for my money, it was food for rabbits and not for human beings. Papa never ate radishes because they gave him gas. Mamma made gooseberry pies for us but never ate a piece herself. So what Mamma should have said is that all adults as well as all boys disliked some kind of food.
Tom wrote me that he tried to fill up on bread and
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saved his candy bar to eat on Thursday nights. But this wasn’t enough to stop him from going to bed hungry. Then one Thursday evening his great brain told him it was st
upid to go to bed hungry when there was plenty to eat in the kitchen. He called Jerry, Phil, and Tony over to his bunk.
“How would you fellows like to have a nice sandwich tonight?” he asked.
Phit rubbed his stomach. “I could go for a jam sandwich,” he said.
“Me too,” Tony said.
Jerry nodded. “I guess we all could. But how are we going to get them?”
“We wait until the priests have gone to bed,” Tom said, “and then sneak down to the kitchen.”
“It is too risky,” Phil said. “One of the priests might come into the kitchen to get a glass of milk or something.”
“And besides,” Tony said, “that would be stealing.”
“No it wouldn’t,” Tom said. “Our parents are paying for our room and board. The food in the kitchen is there to feed us. So how can you call it stealing when we are just taking something that belongs to us?”
Phil shrugged. “All right,” he said, “maybe it isn’t stealing but it is too risky. We might even be expelled if we are caught.”
Jerry looked disgusted. “There goes the worry wart again,” he said. “We haven’t even entered the kitchen and he has already got us all expelled.”
“I wish you would stop calling me a worry wart,” Phil said.
“I will stop when you stop acting like one,” Jerry said.
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“No sense in arguing,” Tom said. “You and I will raid the kitchen. Jerry. And if Phil and Tony are afraid we’ll bring them back a sandwich.”
Tom guessed right what Jerry would say.
“If they want a sandwich let them come with us,” he said.
“I’m not afraid,” Tony said.
“Me neither,” said Phil.
“All right,” Tom said. “Just stay awake until the other fellows are asleep.”
Tom lay awake, his stomach growling from hunger, until he was sure everybody but his three friends were asleep. But Jerry was the only one who wasn’t asleep. They had to wake up Phil and Tony. They put on their slippers and slid down the banister to the ground floor. There was enough moonlight coming through the kitchen windows for them to see. Tom found a loaf of bread and sliced it. Then he got a piece of leftover baked ham from the icebox. Tom made himself a ham sandwich while his three friends made jam sandwiches. When they finished eating, Tom was stilt hungry and made himself a jam sandwich.
“Let’s all have another one,” Jerry said. “And how about a glass of milk?”
“Why not?” Tom asked.
Jerry patted his stomach after they had finished. “This is the best idea your great brain ever had,” he said. “We can come down here every night and have a feast.”
“No we can’t,” Tom said. “Father Petrie would get suspicious. We will only come on Thursday nights. You fellows know that is the night we have liver and I can’t eat
it.
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The following Thursday night Tom and his three friends again raided the kitchen. Again Jerry said it was the best idea Tom’s great brain ever had. But he was sing-ing a different tune one week later. The four of them were sitting in the kitchen eating jam sandwiches and drinking milk when the kitchen lights went on. Standing in the doorway were Father Rodriguez and Father Petrie. Although Tom and his friends had on white nightgowns, they sure didn’t look like four little angels. Angels don’t have jam on their mouths and guilty looks on their faces.
“Finish your sandwiches and milk, boys,” Father Rodriguez said, looking like a cat that has just cornered four mice. “You will all report to me in my office immediately after school tomorrow.” Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Tom stared at Father Petrie. “How did you know?” he asked.
“Bless my soul, Thomas,” the fat priest said. “A cook knows what is in his kitchen just as a boy knows what is in his pockets. I missed the bread, jam, and milk taken the last two Thursday nights.”
Tom and his three friends finished their sandwiches and milk but without much appetite. As they started up the stairway to the dormitory Phil turned to Tom.
“You and your great brain sure got us into a mess this time,” he said. “I just knew we would get caught.”
“If you knew,” Jerry said, “why did you come with us?”
“Because I would rather get caught,” Phil said, “than have you and Tom think I was afraid.”
“Me too,” Tony said.
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“Don’t worry, fellows,” Tom said. “I’ll take all the blame.”
Phil grunted in disgust. “You took all the blame last time,” he said, “but Jerry, Tony, and I ended up peeling spuds for three weeks.”
The next day Tom felt a little hurt because Phil and Tony seemed to be avoiding him. A few minutes after three o’clock that afternoon they all stood before Father Rodriguez in the superintendent’s office.
The priest rubbed his forehead as if very tired. “Thomas Fitzgerald,” he said, “you are yet going to make me wish I had been born a Protestant.”
“I take all the blame,” Tom said.
“You usually do,” the superintendent said. “But the four of you raided the kitchen and the four of you will be punished for it. Making you peel potatoes or clean the washroom seems to have no effect upon your deportment. But I do have a punishment in mind that may make you wish you had never raided the kitchen.”
Tom couldn’t think of any punishment worse than peeling spuds or cleaning the washroom. “What is that?” he asked.
“Twice each school year,” Father Rodriguez said, “I permit all the students to attend the Salt Lake Theater. Our first trip to the theater is this coming Saturday afternoon. But now you four boys aren’t going to be permitted
to go.”
“Please don’t do that,” Tom pleaded. “I’ve never been inside a theater. Make us peel potatoes, clean the washroom, give us demerits, anything you want, but please, Father, let us go to the theater.”
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“The punishment stands,” Father Rodriguez said. “You boys are excused.”
“It isn’t fair,” Tom cried, “to give us such a severe punishment just because I can’t eat liver.”
Father Rodriguez leaned forward on his desk. “What has liver to do with your raiding the kitchen?” he asked.
“I can’t eat any kind of liver,” Tom said. “I hate the sight, smell, and taste of it. And I got so hungry on Thursday nights that I talked the fellows into raiding the kitchen with me.”
“Do you mean to tell me that the only reason you raided the kitchen was because you were hungry?” Father Rodriguez asked.
“Yes, Father,” Tom answered.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t like liver?” the superintendent asked.
“What good would it do?” Tom asked. “There is no prayer you could say for me that would make me eat liver.”
“I never want any boy in this academy to go to bed hungry,” Father Rodriguez said. “I shall arrange with Father Petrie to give you fried eggs on Thursdays for sup-per, Thomas. And I don’t think I can punish you, because I’ve been remiss in my duties as a superintendent and priest. I should have made certain all the boys were eating the food served them at every meal.”
“Does that mean we can go to the theater Saturday?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Father Rodriguez said. “There will be no punishment for any of you. You are excused.”
“Thank you. Father,” Tom said. “Thank you very much.”
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Tom’s three friends patted him on the back after they were out of the superintendent’s office.
“Your great brain did it again,” Jerry said. “You talked Father Rodriguez right out of punishing us.”
“It wasn’t my great brain at all,” Tom said. It was the first time he hadn’t given his great brain all the credit. “I simply told the truth,”
Jerry grinned. “Then just go on telling the truth and maybe that will make a Protestant out of Father Rodriguez,”
he said. “That would be one way to get rid of him.”
“Yeah,” Phil said, “especially since it looks as if the Pope isn’t going to answer your letter,”
Tom couldn’t help feeling that maybe Father Rodriguez wasn’t such a bad fellow after all. “Just what makes you think another superintendent would be any better?” he asked.
“Anybody,” Jerry said, “would be better than Father Rodriguez.”
“I am beginning to wonder after what just happened,” Tom said. “It is like my father used to say when we went on a fishing and camping trip and the road was bad. There is always a worse road than the one you are traveling on.”
Tom was just as excited as the rest of the boys when they entered the Salt Lake Theater for the Saturday matinee accompanied by Father Rodriguez and Father O’Malley.
The theater was famous for the plays, operas, con-certs, and vaudeville shows held there. Father Rodriguez had chosen a week when a vaudeville show was playing. Tom was thrilled with the theater itself and with the show.
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There were acrobats, a trained-seal act, a song-and-dance team, a comedian, a quartet, some Swiss bell ringers, and, as the headliner, a mind-reading act called the Mental Marvel.
It was this act all the fellows liked best. The Mental Marvel had two people from the audience come up on the stage and blindfold him-Then his assistant mingled with the audience, asking people to hand him some article they had on their person. The assistant would hold the article in his hand and ask the Mental Marvel to read his mind and tell the audience what it was-And just like a shot the Mental Marvel would say it was a watch, a billfold, a pair of glasses, or whatever the article happened to be.
Tom was as mystified as the other boys until he put his great brain to work. He was positive that no one could read another person’s mind. There had to be some trick to it. He watched and listened very carefully to every word the assistant said.
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