weaving baskets, grinding corn, weaving rugs, playing games--or just
standing, being Indians.
"Where did they find so many Indians to stuff?" asked Andy.
Jerry barely stopped himself from giving a loud ha-ha. He decided not
to laugh at his little brother. After seeing so many stuffed animals
it was a natural thing for Andy to think the Indians were also
stuffed. They certainly looked real.
"They don't stuff people," Jerry explained kindly. "The Indians are
sort of statues, only some of them have more clothes on."
Andy seemed a bit disappointed that they were not real Indians.
After a quick trip upstairs to see an enormous whale, Jerry and Andy
were through with the museum. Having had nothing to eat since
breakfast, they were naturally half-starved, so, although it was now
only eleven-thirty, they decided to have lunch. Their mother had given
them lunch money. There was no lunchroom near the museum. They had to
walk way up to Pennsylvania Avenue before they found a cafeteria.
Then they had a satisfying lunch of hamburgers, milk, lemon pie, and
chocolate layer cake.
Being downtown gave both boys a sort of holiday feeling and they were
in no hurry to go home. For Jerry it was a reprieve from his worry
about the charge account, which by now had become a burden. Once
having picked it up, he had to go on carrying it. Here in town with
Andy, the weight seemed less heavy.
"While we're so near, we may as well go take a look at the cherry
blossoms," suggested Jerry.
Andy did not much care about flowers he was not allowed to pick but he
let himself be persuaded. On their way to the Tidal Basin, where the
cherry blossoms were, they were not far from the Washington Monument,
with its circle of flags blowing in the breeze. Andy teased to go up
in the Monument but Jerry said there were too many people waiting in
line.
"We'll do it some other time," he promised.
It pleased Andy that he was doing something with Jerry again. He took
big steps to match Jerry's.
Near the Tidal Basin there were people taking pictures of each other
under the flowering trees. Along the path close to the water, men,
women, and young people were walking. There, the cherry trees bent
over the basin to see themselves reflected in the quiet depths.
Andy sniffed the air. "Smells nice," he said.
Jerry could understand why so many people came to Washington to see
the cherry blossoms. "They're really something," he said.
"The pinky trees look like strawberry ice cream cones," said Andy,
which for him was high praise. Strawberry was his favorite ice cream.
It was nearly four before Jerry and Andy got home. The house next door
to theirs had been vacant so long that they were surprised to see a
moving van in front of it.
"Well, what do you know? Somebody must have bought the house. Wonder
what they'll be like," mused Jerry.
They stood and watched the movers take in a long green sofa, a table,
and several cartons.
"I want something to eat," said Andy.
So did Jerry. It was a long time since lunch. "What can we have to
eat?" he called to his mother just as soon as he was in the back door.
He and Andy went looking for their mother and found her sitting by a
window in the living room, which overlooked the house next door. She
was watching the moving.
"We saw all the quiet animals and Dip and the pretend Indians," Andy
informed his mother. "I'm hungry."
"You can have cookies and a glass of milk but don't touch the cake.
That's for dessert tonight."
"Where's Cathy?" Jerry thought to ask.
"Seems as if she said something about looking for something up attic,"
said Mrs. Martin.
Jerry forgot his hunger. It seemed to him a sneaky thing for Cathy to
do, to go searching the attic while he was out of the house. Had she
found Mr. Bartlett's money? If she had she would have been downstairs
with it. But any second she might find it. Jerry rushed for the
stairs.
Breathless, he arrived at the top of the second flight.
The attic was unfinished--low under the two gables. Against one of the
high walls hung a row of garment bags. Mr. Bartlett's money was in the
third one. Jerry tried to keep from looking at it. Cathy was smart
enough to watch where he was looking. She was busy tossing stuff out
of the bottom drawer of an old chest of drawers.
"What do you think you're doing?" Jerry asked her.
"Mummy's going to house-clean up here Monday. I'm helping by clearing
out drawers."
"You mean you're snooping around to see what you can find."
Cathy stopped pawing in the drawer. "So you _are_ hiding something up
here. I knew it. I knew it."
Too late Jerry realized he had said too much. He had made Cathy more
suspicious of him than ever.
Cathy picked the stuff up off the floor--it was mostly cloth saved for
mending and for rags--and crammed it in the drawer, shutting it
crookedly. She blinked her blue eyes at Jerry. "Tell me what you're
hiding up here. Cross my heart I won't tell on you."
[Illustration]
It irritated Jerry to have Cathy blink her eyes at him.
"Whatever gave you the idea I was hiding anything up here or
anywhere?"
"I'd tell you if I had something to hide."
"Yeah! You would not."
"I would, too. You're mean. You're the meanest boy I ever knew."
"I'd a darn sight rather be mean than snoopy. You're just a sneaky
snooper, that's what you are."
"I hate you."
"See if I care."
Cathy's eyes blazed with blue fire. Then Jerry was surprised to see
them fill with tears. She got to her feet and rushed toward the
stairs.
"Want me to wipe away your tears?" called Jerry, as she clattered down
the stairs. The instant the words were out, he was a little ashamed of
them. He had not meant to make her cry. Why did she have to cry so
easy? She hadn't used to.
Jerry couldn't figure out what had gotten into Cathy lately. All this
caring about how she looked. All this fussing about clothes. And the
way she blinked her eyes at boys. It was enough to make a person sick.
Less than a year ago he had heard Cathy say that girls who used powder
and lipstick were dopes. Now she herself was carrying a lipstick in
her handbag. Jerry guessed she had not sunk so low she used eye makeup
but he wouldn't put it past her almost any time. Not long ago he and
Cathy had liked to do the same things, liked the same things. Now they
didn't even agree about movies. Cathy actually didn't mind love in a
picture. She even liked pictures in which the hero kissed a girl, and
Jerry could hardly bear to see a cowboy kiss a horse. Jerry missed the
Cathy he used to know. The way she was now made him mad.
One thing was sure. The attic was no longer a safe place for Mr.
Bartlett's money. Not with Cathy snooping around, for she was a good
finder. Jerry went to the garment bag, got the money out of the white
shoe--my but there was getting to be a lot--and put the bills in one
pants pocket and crammed the silver into another. He would have to
find another hiding place. But where?
Jerry went downstairs. Cathy had joined her mother and Andy at the
window. They were watching the movers.
"Usually you can get an idea about what people are like by their
furniture," Jerry heard his mother say, "but I never saw such a
conglomeration go into any house. Our new neighbor's name is Bullfinch
and he's a retired college professor. His having a lot of books I can
understand but why a jungle gym? He doesn't have any children. There
are just he and his wife."
Jerry would have avoided being near the family until he had found a
new hiding place for Mr. Bartlett's money if Cathy had not exclaimed,
"Look at that! Assorted sizes of cages."
Jerry had to come and look, too, then. He saw one of the movers going
in the house next door with a small gilded cage in one hand and a
picture frame in the other. After him came the other moving man with a
cage so large it was all he could carry.
"The smaller one could be for a bird but what on earth could the big
one be for?" Mrs. Martin was puzzled.
"Maybe he has a chimp for a pet," Jerry contributed.
"Heaven forbid!" gasped his mother.
"But chimps are wonderful pets. Remember reading about that chimp that
does finger painting? Her owner sells the pictures. Actually gets real
money for them. That's more than old Andy gets for _his_ finger
painting," said Jerry.
"Not if I wanted to," said Andy.
Several large oil paintings were carried into the house next door, but
they were too far away for Jerry to judge if they had been painted by
a chimp. He guessed not. Pictures painted by chimps weren't usually
put in heavy gold frames. In went a tall grandfather clock, a
full-length mirror with a gold eagle on top, an immense old-fashioned
roll-top desk.
"I never saw such a mixture of good antiques and trash," said Mrs.
Martin.
"Say," said Jerry, "if Mr. Bullfinch does have a chimp for a pet,
maybe Andy and I can teach him finger painting. Then if we sold the
pictures Mr. Bullfinch would give us part of the money."
[Illustration]
Cathy made a noise that showed what she thought of that idea.
"You and your schemes!" said Mrs. Martin. She turned away from the
window and smiled at Jerry. Then one of those especially noticing
looks came over her face. "What on earth do you have in your pants
pocket that drags it down? You shouldn't stuff heavy things in your
pockets. You'll tear them and they're hard to mend."
The next thing would be to ask him to take out whatever was weighing
down his pocket. Jerry could sense it coming. "I just thought of
something," he cried, and rushed from the living room. A few seconds
later the back door slammed behind him. He had made it safely
outdoors.
"Whew, that was a narrow escape!" he thought. But he felt Mr.
Bartlett's money as not only a heavy weight in his pocket but on his
mind. "I won't dare take it back in the house, with Cathy sniffing all
over the place. Even if she wasn't, the money wouldn't be safe up
attic, not after my mother gets to house-cleaning up there. She
doesn't miss a thing. And the cellar would be no good. My father is
always hunting around down there for screws and paint and stuff he's
put away and can't remember where. But what the heck am I going to do
with Mr. Bartlett's money now?"
5
New Neighbors
Jerry thought of burying Mr. Bartlett's money somewhere in the yard.
He gave up that idea when he considered the complication of digging it
up every time he came back from the store and had to make change.
Besides, this time of year his mother was likely to be planting
flowers all over the place.
Jerry decided he might as well watch the moving in next door while he
was trying to think of a safe hiding place for Mr. Bartlett's money.
Better keep out of sight from the front window of his house, though.
Jerry climbed the picket fence that separated his yard from Mr.
Bullfinch's. Then, crouching low, he ran from bush to bush and took
his stand in front of a weigela bush that screened him from being seen
by his family.
The movers were big, brawny men. Jerry saw them lift a huge wardrobe
as if it were light as a feather. Nearly as light, anyway. As they
took it in the house, a man came out. He was tall and thin and
slightly stooped, with a thatch of silver-gray hair. Must be Mr.
Bullfinch, Jerry thought, and wondered if he shouldn't leave before
being asked to. Jerry had learned that you never can tell about
people wanting you or not wanting you in their yards.
Mr. Bullfinch saw Jerry and walked toward him. He smiled with his
whole face, especially his eyes, and Jerry smiled back a bit shyly. "I
like to watch people moving in," Jerry said.
"So do I except when I'm the one being moved. Live around here, do
you? Seems a pleasant neighborhood."
"Next door. It _is_ a nice neighborhood. A few cranky people on this
street but not many. Say, what a whopper of a chair!"
The movers had taken an enormous brown leather chair out of the van
and were taking it in the front door.
"I have to tell them where I want it put. Come on in," Mr. Bullfinch
invited Jerry.
Jerry always enjoyed going in a strange house. He tagged after Mr.
Bullfinch as he directed the movers to deposit the big chair in front
of the fireplace in the den.
"Some chair! Is it for you to sit in?" asked Jerry.
"It's a remarkable chair. It does tricks. Runs by electricity," said
Mr. Bullfinch, taking an electric cord from the seat and unwinding it.
He looked around and found an outlet and put in the plug. "Want to try
it out?" he asked Jerry. "Sit down in the chair and press the button
on the right arm and see what happens."
Jerry was not at all sure he wanted to try out the tricks of the
chair. "I don't know if I have time right now," he said. Mr. Bullfinch
did not look like the sort of man who would install an electric
chair, the kind they have in penitentiaries, in his house and begin to
execute his neighbors the first day he moved in. Still, better be safe
than sorry, Jerry reasoned.
"I'll show you how it works," said Mr. Bullfinch, sitting down in the
chair. He pressed a button to the right, and the back of the chair
went down and the part that hung down in front came up, making what
looked like a narrow cot.
"That's not half of it," said Mr. Bullfinch, punching another button.
Jerry gasped as the right arm of the chair swung over and began to rub
Mr. Bullfinch's stomach while the whole contraption jerked up and
down.
"Takes plenty of power to do that," said Mr. Bullfinch from his
reclining position. "I shudder to think of what my electric bill will
be if I use it often." He laughed heartily. "It tickles." Then he
pushed the button that stopped the jerking and massaging and the one
that made the chair regain its chair-like appearance. And there was
Mr. Bullfinch sitting up again, looking just the same except that his
hair was a little rumpled.
"It's supposed to reduce you if you're too fat and build you up if
you're too thin. It's an exerciser and health builder. Trade name for
it is the Excello. Believe I'll call it the Bumper. It does thump and
bump a bit, you know. Now do you want to try it?"
It was nice of Mr. Bullfinch to forget that Jerry had just said he
didn't have time to try it out. Jerry warmed to his new neighbor. So
now he sat in the big chair and pushed the buttons, roaring with
laughter when the right arm of the chair began to massage his stomach.
"You have hardly enough middle to rub," said Mr. Bullfinch. He didn't
hurry Jerry. He let him try out the chair for as long as he wanted to.
When Jerry got up out of the chair the paper bag containing all of Mr.
Bartlett's change fell from his pocket. The bag broke and the money
rolled in all directions.
Mr. Bullfinch helped Jerry pick up the money. Not having another paper
bag at hand, Mr. Bullfinch gave Jerry a worn tobacco pouch to put the
money in. He did not ask why Jerry happened to be carrying so much
money in his pocket.
"Ever go to auctions?" asked Mr. Bullfinch, as Jerry crammed the
tobacco pouch in his pants pocket. The pocket tore slightly. His
mother would be after him for that, Jerry thought worriedly.
"Double darn!" said Jerry. "I'm not talking to you--I'm just sorry I
tore my pocket," Jerry said to Mr. Bullfinch.
"Well, 'double darn' seems an appropriate remark for a torn pocket,"
said Mr. Bullfinch. "Did you say you'd ever been to an auction?"
Jerry hadn't and said so.
"Auctions are my hobby," said Mr. Bullfinch. "People need to have a
hobby when they retire and mine is auctions. Greatest sport I know
of. Course you're likely to pick up a few things you haven't any
immediate need for but at least you get something for your money. Mrs.
Bullfinch scolds me sometimes for what I buy but I can't resist the
fun of bidding. Up to a point, that is. I set myself a limit on what
I'll spend at an auction. Guess I do get stuck with some strange
objects once in a while. You should have seen Mrs. Bullfinch's face
when I brought home a job lot of empty cages."
"Don't you have pets to put in any of them?" Jerry's face showed his
disappointment. If not a chimp he had hoped for a parrot or at least a
canary.
"Not a one," said Mr. Bullfinch. "Guess I'll have to wait till they
auction off some of the animals in the Washington zoo."
"They'll never do that."
"I was only joking. Do you have any pets?"
"Just a cat named Bibsy because she has a white front. Like a bib, you
know."
"Well, if I see a mouse around here I hope you'll lend me Bibsy."
"I will." Jerry sensed that Mr. Bullfinch thought it was time for him
to be leaving. And Jerry was about to when a woman screamed loud as a
fire siren.
"My wife!" cried Mr. Bullfinch and rushed toward the back of the
house, Jerry following him.
Out in the kitchen, standing on a high stool, was Mrs. Bullfinch.
She was a small plump woman wearing a pink apron. She looked
terrified.
[Illustration]
"A spider!" she gasped. "I had a broom and was making sure there were
no spiders around the ceiling when the biggest spider I've ever seen
in my life ran down the broom handle. It ran right across my arm." She
shuddered till the stool she was standing on shook. "I brushed it off.
It was horrible. I didn't see where it went but it's in this room
somewhere. And I won't get off this stool until it's found and
killed."
"Better get down, dear," said her husband. "There are two of us here
to protect you." He looked around the room for the spider, opening
cupboard doors to see if it had run in a cupboard. "It's taken off for
parts unknown by this time," he said soothingly. "Come on, get down.
You'll want to tell the movers where to put the piano."
"It's still in this room. I know it. If I get down it might run up my
leg. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
She was pretty heavy for that stool, Jerry thought, expecting one of
its legs to crack any minute. She's like Little Miss Muffett, afraid
of spiders--only she climbed a stool instead of being frightened away.
He glanced down at the broom on the floor where Mrs. Bullfinch had
thrown it. A large hairy spider was just crawling out of the
broomstraws.
Jerry had never moved more quickly. Three steps and he had brought his
foot down hard. Jerry did not enjoy killing even a spider but this
time it seemed necessary, though he carefully refrained from looking
at the dead insect.
"Good boy!" said Mr. Bullfinch.
Mrs. Bullfinch, with a little help from her husband, got down from the
stool. She thanked Jerry earnestly and effusively.
"I'll not forget this. Someday I hope to do something for you. You
don't know how obliged to you I am. That spider might have killed me."
Jerry did not think that the spider had been the kind that would have
a bite that killed. Being thought a hero was pleasant, however. "Think
nothing of it," he said, looking more cocky than modest in spite of
his words.
"Where you want the pianer?" shouted one of the movers, and Mrs.
Bullfinch bustled off to the living room.
There did not seem to be any reason for Jerry to stay any longer. He
had a feeling that Mr. Bullfinch, though still very polite, had things
he wanted to see to. So Jerry murmured something about having to get
home and Mr. Bullfinch told him again that he was indebted to him for
killing the spider.
"I never knew anybody as afraid of spiders as Mrs. Bullfinch," he
said. "Everybody has something he's afraid of, I guess. With Mrs.
Bullfinch it's spiders."
Jerry didn't know if he should leave by the back or the front door but
Mr. Bullfinch led the way to the front. Jerry admired the grandfather
clock in the front hall. On the glass above its face there was a
painted globe in pale green and yellow. Jerry had almost reached the
front door when the clock struck five--long, solemn sounds of great
dignity.
"That sure is a big clock," said Jerry.
"I didn't buy that at an auction, it was in the family," said Mr.
Bullfinch. "When I was a little boy I once hid inside when we were
playing hide and seek. That was the time I stopped the clock," he
chuckled.
Suddenly Jerry thought of a safe hiding place for Mr. Bartlett's
money. What Mr. Bullfinch had said about hiding in the clock had given
him the idea.
"Say," he said with barely controlled excitement, "would you mind if I
kept the money I have on me in your clock?"
Mr. Bartlett gave Jerry a long appraising look. Then his eyes lit up
in one of his nice smiles. "Not at all. Not at all," he said
cordially.
"I may need to come and get some out or put some in now and then. If
that would not be making too much trouble."
"Not at all. Not at all. Come any time you like. I've never run a bank
before. New experience for me."
Jerry could tell that Mr. Bullfinch was almost making fun of him.
Never mind, he was letting him keep Mr. Bartlett's money in the bottom
of the clock. And how grateful Jerry was to Mr. Bullfinch for not
asking any embarrassing questions about the money! Even before he had
shut the clock door on Mr. Bartlett's money and had started for home,
Jerry had decided that he liked his new neighbor, Mr. Bullfinch. He
liked him a lot.
6
"The Stars and Stripes Forever"
Jerry found it a relief not to have to worry about Cathy's snooping,
now that he was keeping Mr. Bartlett's money next door in the
grandfather clock. The only trouble was that stopping off at the
Bullfinches' on his way home often took considerable time. If Mr.
Bullfinch had been to an auction--and besides attending a weekly
auction in town he now and then went to one in nearby Maryland or
Virginia--Jerry always had to be shown what treasure Mr. Bullfinch had
acquired. One day it was a worn Oriental rug, another, an incomplete
set of fine English porcelain. The prize purchase as far as Jerry was
concerned was an old-fashioned phonograph with a horn like a big blue
morning glory flower. Jerry's father had a hi-fi which made records
sound as if the musicians were right in the same room with you, but
Jerry enjoyed the faintly mechanical sound that accompanied music
played on the old phonograph. It was like preferring canned peaches to
fresh ones. Nice for a change anyway.
Jerry liked to stay at the Bullfinches' long enough to listen to a
record or two. He was not so happy about being delayed by Mrs.
Bullfinch. She was a great talker. She told Jerry very much more than
he cared to know about her family, Mr. Bullfinch's family, and every
college town they had lived in while Mr. Bullfinch was teaching. He
had, it seemed, been a Latin teacher until the demand for Latin had
grown so small that he had thought best to switch to teaching English.
"It was teaching Freshman English that turned his hair gray," said
Mrs. Bullfinch. "Having so many students come to college without
knowing how to write a grammatical sentence was a great sorrow to
him."
Jerry's opinion was that Mr. Bullfinch's hair had turned gray from old
age. Mrs. Bullfinch's hair was gray, too, and she hadn't taught
Freshman English. Jerry would have asked her what had turned her hair
gray if he had not been afraid it would have been too long a story.
Not that Jerry disliked Mrs. Bullfinch even though she was
long-winded. She was kind and she made good cookies. Jerry usually
went home from the Bullfinch house munching an oatmeal cookie.
[Illustration]
"You took long enough getting back from the store to have gone and
come back twice," scolded Jerry's mother an afternoon when he had
stopped to play "The Stars and Stripes Forever" on Mr. Bullfinch's
phonograph on his way home from the store. It was Jerry's favorite
record, with John Philip Sousa leading his own band. One reason
Jerry liked this particular march was because he had shaken bells to
it in the rhythm band at school. Next summer Jerry was going to take
lessons playing a horn. He had already picked out the instrument he
wanted to learn to play, a giant tuba in Kitt's music store downtown.
By fall he would be ready to play in the junior high band.
Jerry was thinking of playing in a band and was not paying much
attention to his mother's scolding, when she said something that
shocked him into alertness.
"Next time I want something from the store in a hurry, I'll send
Cathy," she said.
"Honest, next time I'll come home like the wind," Jerry promised. It
wouldn't do at all to have Cathy go to the store. Mr. Bartlett knew
her. He might ask her if she wanted the groceries charged before she
got the money out to pay for them. And good-by then to Jerry's secret
charge account. "You said running errands was my chore," he reminded
his mother. "You haven't heard me gripe about having to go to the
store, have you?"
"Not recently," his mother acknowledged. "It's something to have you
so willing. But why can't you come right home with the groceries? Now
I was going to make Bavarian cream for dessert tonight but you're too
late getting back with the whipping cream."