John Fitzgerald GB 04 Great Bra (3 page)

Sweyn knew when he was beat. He helped himself to a chocolate bar and a peanut bar. Tom put one bar of candy in his pocket. Then he got down his suitcase and put the remaining twelve bars of candy between his clothing.

Sweyn stared at him bug-eyed. “Just what do you think you are doing?” he asked.

“If the fellows at the academy are only allowed ten cents worth of candy every four weeks,” Tom said, “I shouldn’t have any trouble selling these five-cent bars of candy for a dime each. And once I get my candy store going I’ll make a fortune.”

“Have you gone plumb loco?” Sweyn asked. “What candy store?”

Tom closed his suitcase and put it back on the rack. “The candy store I’m going to open at the academy,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll double my money on every bar of candy I sell.”

“No you won’t,” Sweyn said. “There is no possible

23

way for you to smuggle enough candy into the academy to start a candy store. And I’m not going to let you smuggle in even those twelve bars. I’ll tell Father Rodriguez they are in your suitcase.”

Tom was as flabbergasted as a duck who discovers it can’t swim. “Do you mean to tell me you would inform on your own brother?” he asked.

“I can’t help it,” Sweyn said. “I promised Mom and Dad that I would keep an eye on you. And if you get into any trouble they are going to blame me.”

Tom munched on his bar of candy while he put his great brain to work. “I sure feel sorry for you if you do tell,” he finally said. “That would force me to tetl all the kids at the academy that my big brother is a tattletale. And that, S.D., will make you about as popular as a skunk in a parlor.”

Sweyn was beat and knew it. “That’s blackmail,” he said. “But all right. I want a signed statement from you that any trouble you get into at the academy is your own fault. I’ll need it to show to Mom and Dad when you get expelled.”

“That is fair enough,” Tom said.

He got down his suitcase and removed a notebook and pencil from it. Holding the suitcase on his knees he wrote:

To Whom It May Concern:

No matter what happens to me at the Catholic Academy for Boys I take all the blame personally. T. D. Fitzgerald

He tore the page from the notebook and handed it to Sweyn. “Does that satisfy you?” he asked.

24

Sweyn read the note. “I’m satisfied,” he said.

Tom was no dummy. He handed the pencil and notebook to Sweyn. “Now write what I tell you,” he said. “To whom it may concern: I promise not to interfere with anything my brother does at the Catholic Academy for Boys. And sign it.”

Sweyn wrote the statement and handed it to Tom. “I’m not interfering,” he said. “Just giving you some brotherly advice. Every once in a while they have an inspection at the academy. The priests search your locker, desk, suitcase, and any other place you might hide candy or magazines we aren’t supposed to read or anything else that might be forbidden.”

“That is my worry now, not yours,” Tom said. Then he took the three silver dollars from his pocket and began jingling them in his hand.

“Where did you get all that money?” Sweyn asked, as astonished as could be.

Tom told him about the marked deck of cards and the poker players. Sweyn couldn’t help feeling a little envious. Tom had made a neat profit of four dollars and twenty cents on his first train ride and twenty-five cents of that was formerly Sweyn’s money. Papa had often said when a person starts to envy another person the devil is right there to whisper in his ear. Right then the devil was whispering to Sweyn how he could get even.

“The money won’t do you any good at the academy,” he said. “There is no place to spend it.”

“What’s the matter with spending it outside the academy?” Tom asked.

“We only get outside the walls one day every four weeks,” Sweyn said. “Father Rodriguez or one of the other

25

priests is always with us even then. And all you can spend is ten cents for candy.”

“If you can’t spend any money, where do you go?” Tom asked.

“Sometimes the priests take us on a nature-study hike or a picnic,” Sweyn said. “Sometimes we just go sight-seeing or to the museum or art gallery. And once in a while as a treat we get to go to the Salt Lake Theater. Buy-ing a ticket to get in is the only way you can spend any money.”

“What about sports?” Tom asked.

Sweyn was really enjoying the look of dismay on Tom’s face. “What sports?” he asked. “The only athletics at the academy is one hour of calisthenics in the gymnasium on school days. And the gym is nothing but an old barn with a hardwood floor.”

By this time Tom was almost wishing he had been born a Mormon or a Protestant. “You never told Papa and Mamma it was like a prison,” he said.

“I’m no crybaby,” Sweyn said. And then he really poured salt in Tom’s wounds, “Thank the Lord this is my last year at the academy, because they only have the seventh and eighth grades. Next year I’ll be going to high school in Pennsylvania and living with some of Papa’s relatives. And while I’m enjoying myself there I promise I’ll think of you often, little brother, and of how you are suffering at the academy.”

Tom felt so down in the dumps he didn’t even get angry at the “little brother” bit. Sweyn made the academy sound as if all the students had to wear striped-suits with numbers on them. He knew there was only one thing to do.

26

“No candy, no sports, no nothing,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to put my great brain to work on it and get some changes made at the academy.”

“The only thing you will change will be yourself,” Sweyn said, “from an enrolled student to an expelled student. The Jesuit priests are plenty sharp because they have been dealing with boys for years. You won’t be able to put anything over on them.”

Did that discourage Tom? Heck no. He was confident he could make life easier for himself and the other kids at the academy.

A few minutes later Mr. Walters came into the coach. “Provo is the next stop,” he called out. “There will be a twenty-minute stopover for passengers to get something to eat. The dining room is located right next to the depot.”

Sweyn stood up when the train stopped. “I’m, going to get a glass of milk and piece of pie in the dining room,” he said.

“Go ahead,” Tom said. “I’m not hungry.”

Tom wasn’t just twisting a Iamb’s tail trying to make it bark like a dog when he said he had to learn all about trains by the time he arrived in Salt Lake City. But how could he if he didn’t get to ride in the locomotive? He realized it was something every kid dreams about but only one in a million ever gets to do.

He got off the train with Sweyn and walked up to where the locomotive was preparing to take on water and coal. He had seen many locomotives in Adenville but this was the first time it had entered his mind that they were things of beauty. The locomotive had the number 205 on the round brass plate on its nose, a shiny brass bell, a whistle and headlight, a blue steel belly, and gigantic

27

wheels. With smoke coming from the smokestack and steam escaping from the cylinders it was almost as if the locomotive was a living thing.

Tom walked back and waited for Mr. Walters to come out of the stationmaster’s office.

“Think they will ever have it so passengers can eat right on a train?” he asked.

“It is coming, Tom,” the conductor said. “We already have sleeping cars on the main line invented by a man named Pullman. And a man named Fred Harvey is working on a dining car that will serve hot meals right on the train.”

“You sure have taught me a lot about trains,” Tom said. “But I’ll never know all I should unless you fix it so I can ride in the locomotive from here to Salt Lake City.”

‘T can’t do that, Tom,” Mr. Walters said. “It is against regulations.”

The conductor didn’t know it but he had walked right into Tom’s trap.

“It is also against regulations to let card sharks operate on trains,” Tom said. “This Harrison fellow could have gone on cheating passengers for years if it hadn’t been for me. And you can report how these crooked decks of cards are marked at the factory so other conductors will know how to spot them. I figure the railroad owes me something for that.”

Mr. Walters nodded. “When you put it that way,” he said, “I agree the railroad owes you a ride in the locomotive. But you’ll get your clothes all dirty.”

Tom was so happy he wanted to do a little dance. “I’ve got a rain slicker and rain hat in my suitcase I can wear.”

28

“Go get them,” Mr. Walters said. “But come up to the locomotive on the other side of the train. I don’t want the stationmaster to see you. I haven’t time to explain to him right now.”

Sweyn was back in his seat when Tom entered the coach. He stared bug-eyed as Tom opened the suitcase and put on his rain slicker and hat.

“Have you gone plumb loco?” he asked. “It isn’t raining. And even if it was you can’t get wet in here.”

“I’m going to ride in the locomotive and don’t want to get my clothes dirty,” Tom said.

“In a pig’s eye,” Sweyn said.

“Just make sure you take my suitcase off the train when we get to Salt Lake City,” Tom said.

Poor Sweyn just sat there with his mouth open as he watched Tom leave the coach.

Tom ran around to the other side of the train and up to the locomotive. He could hear Mr. Walters talking to the engineer.

“Got a passenger for you. Ed, from here to Salt Lake City,” the conductor said. “He is a boy about eleven or twelve years old. He has a curious mind and will ask you a lot of questions.”

“I get it,” Ed said. “He must be the son of some big shot on the railroad.”

“I haven’t time to explain now,” Mr. Walters said. “Just make sure he gets off on the opposite side from the depot so the stationmaster doesn’t see him. You’ll find him waiting on the other side now.”

A moment later the engineer put his head out of the cab window. “Come on up to the deck, boy,” he said.

Tom was so excited he almost slipped and fell as he

29

climbed into the cab of the locomotive. The engineer was wearing blue overalls, a blue shirt, and a blue cap with a long visor. He had a red bandanna handkerchief tied around his neck. The fireman was dressed the same but his face, hands, and clothing were covered with coal dust.

“My name is Ed,” the engineer said, “and the fireman’s name is Bill. What is your name, boy?”

“Tom Fitzgerald,” Tom answered.

The engineer scratched his forehead. “Funny,” he said, “but I never heard of any big shot on this railroad by that name.”

Tom knew he’d better change the subject quickly. “Why did you tell me to come up to the deck?” he asked. “I thought only boats had decks.”

“The platform of a locomotive is called the deck by railroad men,” Ed answered. “Now stand back from the gangway so Bill can slug the firebox.”

Tom stepped back. He watched the fireman use the end of a scoop shovel to open the door of the firebox. He was surprised at the intense heat coming from the burning coal. He watched Bill stoke the firebox with coal taken from the tender.

“That ought to take care of it until we get to Salt Lake City,” Bill said, shutting the door of the firebox.

“We are going to have to pound her to make up for the few minutes we are late,” Ed said.

Tom was puzzled. “I understood ‘gangway’ meant the rear part of the deck,” he said. “And I knew when you told Bill to slug the firebox you wanted him to put more coal in it. But what do you mean by ‘pounding’ her?”

“It is railroad talk meaning we’ve got to get all the speed we safely can out of this locomotive,” Ed said. “See

30

that cord? The one on the left? It rings the bell to let passengers know we will be leaving in a few minutes. Don’t yank on it too hard or the bell will just spin around. You can tell by the feel of the cord and the sound of the bell when you are doing it just right.”

Boy, oh, boy, was Tom in his glory. He never expected they would let him ring the bell. He had heard locomotive bells many times in Adenville. But the sound of the bell on engine number 205 as he rang it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“That’s enough,” Ed said. “I’ve got to look out the cab window now so I can see when the conductor gives us the highball. ‘Highball’ is another railroad term, Tom, meaning the arm signal to start. Get your hand on that other cord that blows the whistle. Give it two quick pulls when you hear the conductor call ‘All aboard.* “

By this time Tom was more excited than a dog chas-ing a rabbit. In a couple of minutes he heard Mr. Walters calling, “All aboard!”

Tom jerked the cord twice and heard two short blasts from the steam whistle. “Do we start now?” he asked.

“Not until the conductor gives me the arm signal,” Ed said. “There it is. Now grab that handrailing so you don’t fall.”

Tom took hold of the handrailing. He watched the engineer release the air brakes. Ed turned a valve, then put his left hand on a bar about two feet long with a round handle on one end.

“This used to be called a Johnson bar,” Ed said, “but now we call it the throttle. The farther I push it forward the more steam pressure it will release to the cylinders and the faster we will go. I take it nice and easy so we

31

don’t jerk the cars we are pulling until we get under way. A steam locomotive is about the simplest machine ever invented. But each one is just a little bit different. You take this one. I have to sort of coax it and drive it by the feel of the throttle.”

The train began to move as Ed slowly pushed the throttle forward.

“Why do you say it is a simple machine?” Tom asked.

“It has a firebox into which we put coal to burn,” Ed said as the train began to pick up speed. “This heats the water in the boiler, producing steam. The steam is released to each cylinder and its pressure pushes the pistons. The pistons are attached to rods which are connected with the drivers. The steam pressure in the cylinders moves the pistons back and forth, and this moves the rods that make the drivers go around.”