More Adventures of the Great Brain
Page 9
I was so excited I was trembling. “I’ll go get Uncle Mark!” I shouted.
“You will do no such thing,” Tom said. “And you will give me your word you won’t breathe a word of this to anybody.”
“But you must tell Uncle Mark,” I said.
“We will tell him, but not until just before the first edition of the Bugle hits the streets tomorrow,” Tom said. He dropped his pencil on the desk and began rubbing his hands. “Boy, am I going to scoop Papa’s newspaper. He’ll wish he’d never said I was too young to help him at the Advocate. I’ll start setting the type for the first edition of the Bugle right now. You will have to do my chores this afternoon.”
“Why should I?” I asked.
“Because I can set type and you can’t, and we’ve got a newspaper to get out,” Tom answered. Then he looked at Basil. “You’ve done a great job of reporting,” he said. “I will see you get full credit for it in the Bugle. Now go tell all the other reporters I want them here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, but don’t mention anything about the robbery being solved.”
I not only got stuck doing Tom’s chores and mine that afternoon but also the next morning. Tom said he’d found some typographical errors in the type he had set and wanted to correct them.
“I can’t slug the type to make the columns come out even,” he told me right after breakfast, “because I haven’t enough experience yet. But I can make sure there are no typographical errors.”
All the reporters arrived at nine o’clock just as I finished the chores. We all went into the barn. Tom had two pairs of old scissors Mamma had given him. He put Sammy and Danny to work cutting strips of newsprint 7½ inches by 10 inches. We had to wait until they had a hundred sheets cut.
“We are ready to roll, men,” Tom said. “I’ll turn the wheel of the press and ink the make-ready. J.D., you feed the sheets into the press. Basil, you pull out the printed copies. The rest of you lay the printed copies on bales of hay and around the barn so the ink can dry.”
As the first copy of the Bugle came off the press, and Basil handed it to Sammy, I heard Sammy yell, “Holy Toledo, we solved the bank robbery!”
It was just like Sammy to take some of the credit and make such a commotion we had to stop the press while we all crowded around the bale of hay where the first copy lay drying. I couldn’t help swelling up with pride as I read the one-page first edition of the Bugle.
THE ADENVILLE BUGLE
READ IT FIRST IN THE Bugle
T. D. Fitzgerald Vol 1
Editor and Publisher Price One Cent
THE BUGLE SOLVES
BANK ROBBERY
Acting upon information furnished by the Bugle, Marshal Mark Trainor arrested Hank Williams and Frank Jackson for the robbery of the Adenville Bank just a few minutes before this first edition of the Bugle was released to the public. All the stolen money was recovered from under some hay in the livery stable, where Williams has worked for about three months since coming to town.
LOCAL NEWS OF INTEREST
If Mrs. Haggerty will stop nagging her husband all the time, he will stop getting drunk. Sarah Pickens is going to die an old maid because she is too stuck up and choosey to marry a local man who loves her. The Winters’ dog, Bess, had pups. Anybody wanting a pup see Mr. or Mrs. Winters. Robert Bates got stung on the horse he bought from Steve Andrews because the horse is windbroken. If the
The robbery was solved by the great detective work of Basil Kokovinis, a Bugle reporter, and the great brain of the Editor and Publisher of this newspaper.
The Editor and Publisher of the Bugle deduced the robbers were from the east side of the railroad tracks and must eat some of their meals in The Palace Cafe. He assigned his reporter to hide behind the counter in the cafe and listen for anything suspicious customers might say.
At eight-thirty Thursday evening Williams and Jackson entered the cafe to eat supper. They placed their order with Mr. Kokovinis, the proprietor, who went into the kitchen to prepare the meal. Then the two robbers began to quarrel about the robbery, with Jackson wanting to take the loot and leave town at once and Williams insisting they remain in town for a month before leaving so as not to attract any suspicion to them. The Bugle reporter hidden behind the counter heard every word.
The citizens of Adenville can thank the Bugle for solving what would have otherwise been a perfect crime. And remember, you always read it first in the Bugle.
Widow Rankin spent as much money on her kids as she does on herself trying to catch a new husband, her kids wouldn’t look like ragamuffins. Mrs. Lee’s brother, Stanley, isn’t in the Army like she tells people. He is serving time in the State Penitentiary. Anybody wanting a kitten see Mrs. Carter. Dan Thomas had better find a job soon or his brother-in-law, Mr. Forester, is going to throw Dan out on his ear. The kids in town made a deal with Mr. Smith. They are going to keep all the weeds cleared from the Smith vacant lot in return for using it as a playground.
EDITORIAL
Some parents don’t seem to realize that their kids are growing up and continue to treat them like little kids. When a boy gets to be eleven going on twelve, his parents should start treating him like a young man and not like a kid anymore.
All the reporters were as excited as all get out after reading the first edition of the Bugle and anxious to start selling it. But we had to wait until we’d printed the rest of the hundred copies and then wait for them to dry.
Then Tom handed me a copy. “You and Basil take this to Uncle Mark,” he said. “Stay with him until he has the bank robbers in jail. Then let me know so I can turn my other reporters loose selling the Bugle to the public.”
Basil and I ran to the Marshal’s Office. Uncle Mark was sitting in his swivel chair. I thrust a copy of the Bugle in his hands.
Uncle Mark jumped to his feet while still reading.
“Tom wants you to make the arrests quietly so nobody knows until they read it in the Bugle,” I said.
“Will do,” Uncle Mark said with a grin. Then he looked at Basil. “Thanks, Basil, and be sure you thank Tom for me. I’ll take Hank Williams first.”
“As reporters, we’ve got to see the arrest,” I said.
“All right, boys,” Uncle Mark said, “but just act natural. Follow me to the livery stable. I’ll go in the front but bring Williams out the back way.”
Basil and I were in the alley behind the livery stable when Uncle Mark came out the back way with Hank Williams and carrying a leather valise. He walked Williams up alleys as if they were just taking a friendly walk and got the man locked up in a cell without anybody noticing.
Then Uncle Mark opened the valise and looked at the money before he locked it up in his rolltop desk.
“I’ve got you cold, Hank,” he said to the prisoner. “Take my advice and confess and plead guilty and it will go easier for you.”
“What can I do but confess and plead guilty?” Williams asked sadly. “You knew where the loot was hidden and everything. Jackson must have told you.” Then he got a startled look on his face. “Where is Frank?”
“I’m on my way to arrest him now,” Uncle Mark said.
Basil and I followed Uncle Mark to the Sheepmen’s Hotel.
Jackson must have been in bed because it seemed like a long time before Uncle Mark came out of the rear of the hotel with the prisoner. Basil and I walked close enough to hear as Uncle Mark walked Jackson up the alley.
“You might as well confess and plead guilty,” Uncle Mark said. “I’ve got Hank Williams locked up and the money from the robbery. Hank confessed and is going to plead guilty.”
Jackson shrugged. “If that is the case, what else can I do?” he said.
Basil and I followed all the way up alleys and to the jail without anybody noticing anything. Uncle Mark locked Jackson in the cell next to Williams. Then he looked at Basil and me.
“You can go tell Tom he can start selling his newspaper now,” he said.
Basil ran out of the jail but I stayed.
“I didn’t squeal,” Williams said. “I thought you did.”
“I sure didn’t,” Jackson said.
Hank Williams pushed his face between the bars of his cell. “How did you ever figure it, Marshal?” he pleaded.
“I didn’t,” Uncle Mark said as he took the copy of the Bugle from his pocket and handed it to Williams.
“The boy who is the editor and publisher of this newspaper and his reporter solved the robbery.”
I never in my life saw such a flabbergasted look on a robber’s face as Williams read the story in the Bugle.
“I wouldn’t have minded so much, Marshal,” he said as if he wanted to cry, “if it had been you. But a couple of kids. The boys at the State Pen will ride Frank and me plenty for this.”
“What is going on?” Jackson hollered from his cell.
“Don’t tell him, Marshal,” Williams pleaded. “It will make him cry.”
Uncle Mark passed the copy of the Bugle to Jackson. Then we heard a lot of commotion in the street. I ran outside with Uncle Mark. I could see our reporters waving copies of the Bugle in the air on every corner on Main Street. I could hear them shouting: “Bank robbery solved! Read all about it in the Bugle! A penny a copy!”
And boy, oh boy, were they doing a land-office business. People were running out of stores and out of their homes and buying up copies of the Bugle like I’d never seen anybody buy anything in my life. But it was strange how people standing on Main Street reading the Bugle were acting. Some of the men were slapping each other on the back. Some of the men and women were reading and just staring as if they couldn’t believe the robbery had been solved. Some were laughing, while others looked positively angry.
I felt Uncle Mark’s hand on my shoulder. “I’d better take the stolen money back to the bank now,” he said.
I ran back to the barn to tell Tom that the first edition of the Bugle was a big success. I found my brother sitting behind his desk with his green eye shade pushed up on his forehead and his thumbs hooked under his armpits.
“You did it, T.D.!” I shouted. “People are buying the Bugle like they never bought the Advocate. You proved to Papa you are old enough and smart enough to be a journalist.”
Tom nodded modestly. “Papa has often told us about the wars between rival newspapers in Utah,” he said. “If he doesn’t give me a job on the Advocate now, it will be war between the Bugle and the Advocate. And I’ll scoop him every week.”
Just then Sammy, Danny, and Jimmie came running into the barn. They told Tom they were sold out.
“We’ll print another hundred copies,” Tom said. “J.D., you run down to the Advocate office and tell Papa I’ll need some more newsprint.”
I ran all the way to the Advocate office but didn’t go inside because I couldn’t. There was a big crowd on the wooden sidewalk and in the street in front of the office. Papa was standing in the doorway looking as if he wished he was on a deserted island. He was holding a copy of the Bugle in his hand. I couldn’t blame Papa for the way he looked. Tom had really scooped him good.
And you never saw such a commotion. Mrs. Haggerty was shouting insults at Papa. Sarah Pickens was crying. Mrs. Lee was hysterical, with two other women trying to quiet her down. The Widow Rankin was screaming she was going to sue Papa. Mr. Bates and Steve Andrews were fighting. Danny’s father, Mr. Forester, and his brother-in-law, Dan Thomas, were taking off their coats and getting ready to fight. The rest of the crowd were laughing like it was all a big joke.
Then Uncle Mark, who must have just returned from the bank where he’d taken the stolen money, pushed his way through the crowd to Papa’s side. He took out his Colt .45 and fired a couple of shots in the air. Everybody shut up and stared at him.
“You men stop that fighting and arguing and you women stop that shouting and crying or I’ll throw all of you in jail for disturbing the peace,” Uncle Mark said.
Everybody in town knew Uncle Mark never made idle threats. The fighting stopped and there was complete silence.
“If any of you have complaints to make,” Uncle Mark said, “you will act like law-abiding citizens and come to my office and sign a complaint. If any of you think you have grounds for a libel suit, you will consult your attorney and act on his advice. I will not tolerate a mob. Now break up this crowd and go about your business.”
“Just a moment,” Papa said. “I have something I would like to say. I cannot condone what my son has done and assure you who are concerned that he will be severely punished. But the fact remains that he and Basil Kokovinis did solve the bank robbery. If it had not been for these two boys, many of you who are depositors at the bank would have lost your money.”
That made the crowd think, as many began to nod their heads. Then Papa held up a copy of the Bugle.
“As for the local news column,” he said, “none of it is really news except for the pups the Winters family have to give away, and the kittens the Carters have to give away, and the item about the boys in town clearing the weeds from the Smiths’ vacant lot. Nothing else in this local news column is news because they are things that people in this town have known about for some time. All my son has done is to bring out into the open what has been said over backyard fences. I admit it was a cruel thing to do, and in very bad taste, but he is only a boy and didn’t know any better. I apologize to each of you for what he has done and will make him apologize to each of you. Thank you for listening to me.”
The crowd broke up, but Papa looked to be as angry as a burro with a cocklebur under his pack saddle. He walked so swiftly toward our house that I had to run to keep up with him. He didn’t slow down or stop until he entered our barn, where Tom and the reporters were waiting.
“Where is the newsprint?” Tom asked as if surprised.
“I’ll newsprint you,” Papa said, and I thought from the way he said it that Tom was due for the first whipping of his life. Then Papa sort of swallowed a couple of times. “Ask your friends to leave,” he said.
All the reporters left except me.
Tom leaned back on his nail keg chair and pushed his green eye shade up on his forehead. “What is the idea?” he asked as if just curious and not scared at all.
Papa’s face turned red and his cheeks puffed up like a squirrel with a jawful of nuts. He sat down on a bale of hay. Finally he spoke.
“You have caused your mother and me more anguish and embarrassment in one day than all the kids in town put together could cause their parents in a year,” Papa said.
To my astonishment Tom grinned. “Are you sure you aren’t just upset because I scooped the Advocate, Papa?” he asked.
“Solving the bank robbery was good journalism,” Papa admitted. “You and Basil did the community, and especially the depositors at the bank, a great service.”
Tom nodded wisely. “I guess that proves I’m old enough to learn how to run the Washington Press and help you at the Advocate,” he said.
“I haven’t finished yet,” Papa said. “Your local news column except for three items wasn’t news fit to print. In the first place it wasn’t news at all because every adult in town already knew about the Haggertys, Sarah Pickens, Mrs. Lee’s brother, and all the rest of it. In the second place it was a type of journalism that feeds on scandal, that hurts people, and is in very bad taste.”
Papa paused for a moment to let this sink in. “A good journalist doesn’t deliberately hurt people just to sell newspapers,” he said. “It is true a good newspaperman seeks to expose evil when that evil is a threat to the community. If a public official is corrupt, it is the duty of a newspaper editor to expose that official as being corrupt, because a newspaper is thereby performing a good service for the community. But when you print that Mrs. Haggerty’s nagging drives her husband to drink, and all the other scandal in your local news column, that is an invasion of their privacy and subject to libel laws. Moreover, it performs no useful service for the community. Y
our mother and I do quarrel on occasions as you are well aware. It is a part of married life. But how would you like it if somebody printed in a newspaper that your mother and I were fighting like cats and dogs all the time?”
I’d never seen Tom’s face so dejected as he bit his lower lip. “I was only trying to prove to you that I wasn’t just a kid anymore,” he said in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”
“I got the message in your editorial,” Papa said. “But the only thing you proved to me was that you are too young to do anything for me at the Advocate except to deliver it.”
Then Papa stood up. “You have done a terrible thing and must be punished for it,” he said. “You will never have the opportunity to publish another edition of the Bugle. I’m going to have the Ramage Press and type crated and taken back to the Advocate office. That will be only part of your punishment. You will do your chores without any allowance for the next four weeks and your mother and I will impose the silent treatment for the same period of time. And tomorrow, you will go around and personally apologize to everybody slandered in the Bugle.”
I sure felt sorry for Tom but guess I must have looked sort of relieved because I wasn’t included in the punishment.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, J.D.,” Papa said. “For your part in this, you are also included in the silent treatment.”
“But Papa—” I started to protest I was an innocent victim but he just walked out of the barn. The silent treatment had begun.
I looked at Tom. “Your great brain sure got us into a mess this time,” I said, putting the blame where I felt it belonged.
“Beat it, J.D.,” he said. “I want to be alone.”
I left the barn and shut the door. I walked part way across our corral and then sneaked back and peeked into the barn through a knothole. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Tom sat at his desk with his head cradled in his arms, and his shoulders were shaking. Even outside the barn I could hear the muffled sobs coming from his throat. The Great Brain was crying! I couldn’t ever remember seeing him cry before. Even when he fell one time while we were playing follow-the-leader and had broken his arm, he didn’t cry.