by Paul Gallico
West asked, “What does it say?”
Julian read out loud carefully and meticulously since there was some difficulty with the handwriting.
“Dear Julian, Ha-ha. I guess this will give you a big laugh. I was a boob, but it shows you are a real inventor and had a great idea only somebody beat us to it. So I was a rat for nothing. Like I said I blew all my dough so I am down here in Sheridan working in a garage. Hope you are OK. Your old pal, Frank Marshall.”
Julian finished reading, and as he had reached the end his chin and lower lip had begun to tremble and his face had screwed up curiously. He placed the letter on his workbench, tears already streaming from his eyes, put his face down on his arms and gave way to crying. For the first time since the disaster in Washington, the emotional dam had burst, his weeping was the drawing out of the agony which had so long lived in his heart.
Aldrin West looked at his son with amazement and said, “C’mon, son, what are you crying about? It serves him damn well right. He asked for it and he got it.”
Julian raised his head from his arms only long enough to shake his head in negation before he was seized by a fresh paroxysm of sobs.
His father groped, “Is it because somebody else thought of the Bubble Gun first? Look, it can happen to anyone. It shows you your invention was okay.”
Punctuated by sobs and half smothered because the small head was still buried in his arms came the words, “Who cares about an old Bubble Gun.”
West was still alarmed and bewildered by the sudden breakdown of his son, so unexpected and, too, so frightening in that, somewhere buried in the back of his mind, was the thought that it was not quite the reaction that one would expect from a child.
He asked, “Then what are you crying about?”
The muffled reply emerged from the buried head, “Marshall.”
West picked up the letter and read through it again and for the first time had one of those moments of clarity that are able to sweep away differences, stupidities, blockages and blindness and demolish all barriers between two humans. He let the letter fall back upon the workbench and put a comforting arm about Julian’s shoulder. He said, “Julian. I guess perhaps I understand. We’ll write to him. Maybe we can give him a hand.”
Julian lifted his head from his arms and looked up at his father who was standing close beside him. He looked at him and through him and in his ears rang the simple phrase that West had used in all sincerity, “Maybe we can give him a hand.” Julian put his arms about his father’s waist and his face against the rough pocket of his jacket and hugged him hard.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PAUL GALLICO was the author of twenty-seven previous novels, twelve books of nonfiction, and four books for children. Among his best-known works are his wonderful fables, The Snow Goose and Miracle in the Wilderness, the Mrs. ’Arris books, The Zoo Gang, and The Poseidon Adventure. Born July 26, 1897 – Died July 15, 1976
Table of Contents
THE BOY WHO INVENTED THE BUBBLE GUN
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
ABOUT THE AUTHOR