John Fitzgerald GB 04 Great Bra

by Great Brain At the Academy

  for making him back down when I wanted to fight him,” Tom said. “I saw he was the last one in the dining room for breakfast this morning. He just waited until everybody was out of the dormitory and then mussed up my bunk like he did before.”

  Jerry scratched his head. “How did he plant the textbook in the library?” he asked.

  “He waited until everybody had left the dormitory that morning,” Tom said. “Then he took the textbook and hid it. And he probably sneaked it into the library during the noon hour. It I get five more demerits I can be expelled. We’ve got to stop Rory.”

  “I’ve got it,” Jerry said. “Let’s wait until he goes to sleep tonight and then take all his clothes and soak them in water and tie them in knots. That will get him demerits for showing up late for breakfast.”

  Tom shook his head. “He would only do the same to me while I’m asleep,” he said.

  “How about putting rocks under his mattress?” Phil asked, picking up a rock.

  “He would just put rocks under my mattress,” Tom said. “But you have given me an idea, Phil. I’ll put my great brain to work on it.”

  Tom’s great brain had a plan all figured out by Saturday. He had to take the entire seventh grade into his confidence to make it work. This didn’t worry him because he knew none of the kids liked Rory and class spirit would make them cooperate. He marched down to the dimly lit chapel with his classmates for confession. They sat down on their side of the chapel and the eighth graders sat on the opposite side.

  “Now remember,” Tom whispered, “you go first,

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  Jerry, and make it the shortest confession on record. Then you go. Tony, and make it the longest confession on rec-ord. If I’m not back by the time you come out of the confessional Phil will go and make his confession a good long one.”

  The tinkle of a bell in the seventh-grade confessional was heard. Jerry got up and walked toward it just as the tinkle of a bell was heard on the eighth-grade side. Tom watched an eighth grader start for the confessional and then dropped down on his hands and knees. He crawled along the aisle on the seventh-grade side to the rear of the (hapel and from there into the hallway.

  Everything now depended upon split-second timing. Tom ran up to the third floor. He got the key from under the statue of Saint Francis and unlocked the storeroom door. Then he went to the dormitory and removed the bed clothing from Rory’s bunk. He carried Rory’s mattress into the storeroom, locked the door, and returned the wooden key to its hiding place. Then he went back to the dormitory and made up Rory’s bunk without a mattress. From there he crept down the stairway.

  Jerry was in the hallway and motioned to him that the coast was clear. Tom ran to the chapel, crawled on his hands and knees down the seventh-grade side, and took his place beside Phil before Tony came out of the confessional.

  Tom didn’t receive any heavy penance from Father O’Malley this time, because he could honestly say he hadn’t broken the fourth commandment and that he didn’t dislike Father Rodriguez anymore. He came out of the chapel with Larry Williams and told him he was going to the library.

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  Tom and his three friends had been sitting in the library for about fifteen minutes when Willie Connors came running into the room.

  “Somebody stole Rory’s mattress,” he said. “You had better get up to the dorm, Tom, before he takes yours.”

  Tom and his three friends and half a dozen other kids ran up to the dormitory. They arrived just as Rory was pulling the covers from Tom’s bunk.

  “Just what do you think you are doing?” Tom asked.

  “I know you fellows took my mattress,” Rory said, “so I’m going to take yours until you give me mine back.”

  “No you won’t,” said Tom.

  “You bet you won’t,” Jerry said.

  “Better not try it,” added Phil.

  Sweyn had come from the chapel and was listening. “Why would anybody want your mattress when they’ve got one of their own?” he asked. “Are you sure it is gone, Rory?”

  “Look for yourself,” Rory said.

  Tom walked over to Rory’s bunk with Sweyn and his three friends.

  “It is gone,” Tom said, looking as surprised as a dog who finds its buried bone is missing.

  “It sure is,” Jerry said.

  Phil shook his head as if bewildered. “Why would anybody want to take Rory’s mattress?” he asked.

  “That is a good question,” Tom said, “because it gives us the answer. Nobody would want to take Rory’s mattress, which means he must have got rid of it himself.”

  Sweyn stared at Tom with a dumb look on his face. “Why would he want to get rid of his own mattress?” he asked.

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  “I don’t like to say what I think happened in front of all you fellows,” Tom said.

  “Go ahead and say it!” Rory shouted.

  “Well,” Tom said, “I think you wet the bed last night and didn’t want any of the fellows to see the stain. You were so ashamed, you knew you had to get rid of the mattress. And you remembered the old junkman who passes by every Saturday night. So you threw the mattress out the window, knowing the junkman would pick it up.”

  Rory looked as if he were going to explode. “I didn’t wet the bed!” he shouted. “I haven’t wet the bed since I was a baby! And I didn’t throw my mattress out the win-dow!”

  “All right,” Tom said with a straight face. “No sense in getting all riled up about it. Some of your eighth-grade friends are probably playing a joke on you. Did you look in the washroom?”

  “That is the first place I looked,” Rory said.

  “Did you look in the classrooms and washroom on the second floor?” Tom asked.

  “I looked there too,” Rory said.

  Tom shook his head. “I’m sure nobody would carry your mattress all the way down to the ground floor to hide it,” he said. “That leaves only one conclusion.”

  “What conclusion?” Rory demanded.

  “That I was right in the first place,” Tom said. “Maybe it isn’t too late.” He walked over and looked down into the street. “Too late,” he said. “The junkman has already picked it up.”

  Rory doubled up his fists. “I didn’t wet the bed and I didn’t throw my mattress out the window!” he shouted. “I know you took it and I’m going to make you tell me where

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  you put it. I would rather be expelled tor fighting than let the fellows think I wet the bed.”

  Tom spread out his hands. “How do you like that, fellows?” he said. “Rory wants to fight me because he wet the bed. I sure as heck didn’t make him wet the bed.”

  AH the kids began to laugh except Rory. Then Tom’s face became serious.

  “I’ll fight you now or any time you want,” he said. “And you might as well get expelled for fighting because when Father Rodriguez finds out you wet the bed and threw your mattress out the window for the junkman he will expel you anyway.”

  Sweyn stepped between them. He knew The Great Brain better than Rory and the other kids. “This has gone far enough,” he said. “All right, T.D., where is the mattress? All Rory has to do is to tell Father Rodriguez that you took it and you’ll be the one who is expelled.”

  Tom looked as innocent as a newborn baby. “That is a stupid thing to say,” he said. “Rory’s mattress was here when I went down to confession with the other seventh graders. They will tell you I was in the chapel until after my confession. And Larry Williams will tell you that I came out of the chapel the same time he did and went straight to the library. I wouldn’t have any trouble convincing Father Rodriguez that I couldn’t possibly have taken the mattress.”

  Tom’s innocent act convinced Sweyn that The Great Brain knew where the mattress was. He decided to appeal to Tom’s money-loving heart. “Let us assume you didn’t take the mattress,” he said. “What is your price for putting your great brain to work to solve the mystery?”

  Tom considered tor a momen
t. “I just might do it if

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  all you eighth graders raise your right hands and swear never to do anything that will make any seventh grader get any demerits.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sweyn asked.

  “Who do you think mussed up my bunk twice and got me ten demerits?” Tom asked. “And who do you think took my textbook and planted it in the library to get me another five demerits? Nobody but Rory Flynn.”

  Sweyn turned to face Rory. “That was a dirty lowdown trick to pull,” he said. “And if I’d caught you at it you would be missing more than a mattress. You would be missing a couple of teeth.”

  “Listen to who is talking,” Tom said, really enjoying himself. “The same brother who doesn’t want me to get into a fight.”

  Rory looked as guilty as a fox caught in a chicken coop. “I was just playing a joke on him,” he said to Sweyn.

  “Making a fellow get demerits is no joke,” Sweyn said.

  Tom touched Sweyn on the arm. “If I’d really put my great brain to work on it,” he said, “and was willing to do such a lowdown thing, I could have got Rory expelled in one week.”

  “I won’t do it again,” Rory promised.

  “You can bet you won’t,” Sweyn said, “because you and all of us eighth graders are now going to take an oath that we will never do anything that might get a seventh grader demerits.”

  Tom couldn’t help chuckling to himself as he heard all the eighth graders take the oath.

  “All right, T.D.,” Sweyn said. “Where is Rory’s mattress?”

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  “How should I know?” Tom asked. “I only promised to put my great brain to work on the mystery. But don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll solve it before Father Rodriguez’s inspection tomorrow morning.”

  Rory pointed at his bunk. “You mean I’ve got to sleep on those hard boards tonight?” he asked.

  Tom shrugged. “I sure as heck don’t know where else you can sleep,” he said. “These bunks aren’t big enough for two fellows.”

  That was one night when everybody in the dormitory had something to say after lights-out. Tom started it.

  “Boy, oh, boy,” he said. “This mattress sure feels nice and soft.”

  “Mine too,” Jerry said.

  “I’m sure glad I’m not sleeping on boards,” Phil said.

  Larry Williams patted his pillow. “A fellow never really appreciates a good mattress until he has to sleep without one,” he said.

  And poor old Rory had to lie there on hard wooden stats listening.

  Tom remained awake until he was sure all the other kids were asleep. Then he awakened Jerry. They got the mattress from the storeroom and placed it on the floor be-side Rory’s bunk. Both of them fell asleep chuckling to themselves.

  When the six o’clock bell rang in the morning, Rory got up, rubbing his sore muscles. When he saw the mattress he almost jumped out of his nightgown.

  “Look at that!” he shouted. “My mattress is lying right there while I’ve been getting black and blue sleeping on those boards.”

  Then Rory walked over to Tom’s bunk. “I’m not go-

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  ing to fight you,” he said, “and I’m not going to mess with your great brain anymore. You leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Tom pawned and stretched. “That sounds fair

  enough,” he said.

  Tom didn’t get any more demerits right up to the time he and Sweyn came home for the Christmas vacation. I was sure glad to see my brothers but couldn’t help feeling a little jealous of Tom. Our foster brother Frankie had thought I was just about the greatest fellow in the world until he met Tom. Now he followed The Great Brain around adoringly like a little puppy.

  Papa got Tom alone in the parlor the first thing. He gave him a good dressing down for that first month’s bad report and the fifteen demerits he received in November. And having got that out of his system Papa said we could all enjoy the holidays.

  I knew I would enjoy them because Papa told Tom to help me with the chores. I could tell from the look on Tom’s face that he didn’t like the idea of having to do chores on his vacation. That first night Mamma allowed Frankie and me to stay up until nine o’clock. Then we went up to the room we shared with Tom. The Great Brain sat on a chair and pulled off a shoe.

  “What’s new in town?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I answered.

  “You must be mistaken,” he said. “There must be something new in town since I’ve been away.”

  “I’m not mistaken,” I said. “I’ve been right here in Adenville all the time and it’s just the same as it was when you left for the academy.”

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  “I’ll bet I can prove there is something new in town,” he said. “If I can’t, I’ll do your share of the chores while I’m home. If I can, you do my share. Is it a bet?”

  This was one bet I knew I was going to win. “It’s a bet,” I said.

  Tom pointed at Frankie. “We didn’t have an adopted brother when I left for the academy,” he said. “And that makes Frankie something new in town.”

  I felt as stupid as a donkey trying to fly. Tom had been home less than one day and he had already connived me into doing his share of the chores—

  Frankie came over to my bed. “I’ll help, John,” he

  said.

  “The only one who can help me,” I said sadly, “is the fellow who invents a muzzle for human beings like they have for dogs to keep my big mouth shut.”

  That made Tom and Frankie laugh but I didn’t think it was funny.

  The next morning I started the chores by filling up the woodbox in the kitchen. Mamma and Aunt Bertha were washing the breakfast dishes. Mamma kept looking at me with a funny expression. But she didn’t say anything until I brought in the first bucketful of coal.

  “Why isn’t Tom D. helping you?” she asked.

  I sure as heck didn’t want my own mother to know she had given birth to a son so stupid he had bet there was nothing new in town.

  “Tom and I made a deal,” I said.

  “What kind of a deal?” she asked.

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

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  “The difference is that I asked you what kind of a deal,” Mamma said. “Now you tell me.”

  “You’ll be sorry if I do,” I tried to warn her.

  “Then let me be sorry,” she said.

  “Mamma,” I said looking her right in the eye, “you gave birth to a son who is a stupid jackass.”

  I thought that would make her cry. Instead she sort of smiled.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” she said.

  I told her about the bet I’d made with Tom.

  “You tell Tom Dennis that I want to see him at once,” she said when I finished.

  I knew she was angry when she called Tom by his full name. I went into the backyard where Tom was pushing Frankie on the swing. I told him Mamma wanted to see him. I followed him and Frankie into the kitchen.

  “Tom Dennis,” Mamma said firmly, “give me a definition of a town.”

  “Why are you angry at me?” Tom asked. “And why do you want me to define a town?”

  “Just do as I told you,” Mamma said.

  “A town,” Tom said, “is a place where there are homes and places of business and people living that doesn’t have a large enough population to be called a city.”

  “An excellent definition,” Mamma said. “But you lose the bet you made with John D. and I will tell you why. Frankie came to Adenville many times with his parents and brother before they were killed in the land slide. Mr. Harmon at the Z.C.M.I. store knew him and so did a lot of other people his father did business with. So Frankie isn’t anything new in town and you lose the bet.”

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  I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to rub salt in Tom’s wounds after the way he had tried to flimflam me. I followed him down to the wood-and-coal shed.

  “In case yo
u’ve forgotten,” I said, “after you fill all the woodboxes and coal buckets, you feed and water our team and our milk cow and Sweyn’s mustang, Dusty, and the chickens.”

  I followed Tom around pouring salt into his wounds until he finished the chores. Then he said he had some important business and left. He came home for lunch with Sweyn and Papa.

  “And now,” Papa said as we all sat down to lunch, “please tell me, T.D., what you were doing reading all those back issues of the Advocate.”

  “I didn’t tell you this morning,” Tom said, “because I wanted you as a witness in front of Mamma.” Then he told Papa about the bet we had made and how Mamma had ruled in my favor.

  “It seems to me,” Papa said when Tom finished, “that your mother is right.”

  “No she isn’t,” Tom said. “According to your own newspaper six new babies have been born in Adenville since I left for the academy. And six new babies are certainly something new in town. And that means J.D. lost the bet.”

  Papa shook his head as he looked across the table at me. “I’m afraid T.D. is right,” he said. “And I hope this will teach you never to bet against The Great Brain again.”

  In spite of my having to do all the chores it turned out to be a happy Christmas. It didn’t start out as one, though. I had an old worn catcher’s mitt. I had told Papa I wanted

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  a new mitt for Christmas and had showed him the Spal-ding’s Decker Patent Boys’ League catcher’s mitt I wanted in the Sears Roebuck catalogue. I had let him know in plenty of time to order it.

  I don’t believe there was a more disappointed kid in the United States on Christmas morning than me. And I blamed it all on the fact that Papa couldn’t resist every new invention he saw advertised. Our attic was full of crazy inventions which didn’t work, like the butter churner you peddled instead of pumping by hand.

  “I thought it would tighten your work, Tena,” he had said to Mamma after discovering it wasn’t worth a darn. And having passed the buck to Mamma that gave Papa the right to order the next new invention he saw advertised. But I didn’t dream he would order some crazy invention for my Christmas present instead of the catcher’s mitt.