In came Andy, an imaginary pistol in each hand. "Bang!" he cried, shooting his mother. "Bang! Bang! You're all dead. Aren't there any pancakes?"

"Come eat your cereal. I'm keeping your eggs and bacon hot for you out in the kitchen," said his mother. "Tuck your napkin under your chin. I don't want you to spill milk on your clean shirt. You should be thankful you have such a good breakfast. Plenty of children would be glad to have less."

"I'm not plenty of children. I'm me." Andy looked up and met Jerry's accusing gaze with a wide smile. Andy never remembered yesterday's mischief. Each day was brand-new to Andy.

"It will be harder than ever to get him to own up to what he did over at the Bullfinches'," thought Jerry.

Andy knew the way to school and usually Jerry walked to school with boys his own age while Andy poked along alone or with one of his fellow kindergartners. But today when Andy had kissed his mother good-by and had come out the back door, Jerry was waiting for him.

"I've got to hurry. I don't want to be late," said Andy, whose lateness had seldom worried him before.

"We've got loads of time. Now, look here, Andy. I'm in a jam and you're the only one who can help me."

Being talked to as his big brother's equal pleased Andy. "What you want me to do?"

Jerry described vividly how unjustly Mr. Bullfinch had blamed him for getting into his house and breaking the Sousa record. "He's awfully down on me now," said Jerry. "Do you think it's fair for me to be blamed for something I didn't do?"

"Just tell him somebody else must have done it," suggested Andy.

"I did but he didn't believe me."

"Then he's a bad, bad man."

"It burns me up to be blamed for something I didn't do. You wouldn't like to be blamed for breaking a window if Tommy Jenks did it, would you, Andy?"

"Tommy and I can't throw a ball hard enough to break a window."

"I give up," cried Jerry. "I might have known you wouldn't lift a finger to get me out of trouble. Save your own skin, that's all you care about. And I was meaning to give you something nice when I get it," said Jerry, thinking of the candy he would receive from Bartlett's store.

"What were you going to give me?"

"Never you mind. Whatever it is, you won't get any."

"Please, Jerry."

"Nope."

"I didn't mean to break that old record. It wasn't my fault. It slipped right out of my hand," remarked Andy.

Jerry breathed a sigh of relief. Andy's resolution not to tell had begun to give. "I'll go right to the door with you if you'll fess up to Mr. Bullfinch what you did," he offered.

Andy was not in the mood for an early morning call on Mr. Bullfinch. It took a lot of persuasion and the gift of two large rubber bands, an old campaign button, and two feet or so of good string before Andy let Jerry take him by the hand and lead him to the Bullfinch front door.

"You ring the bell," said Jerry. He knew Andy liked to ring doorbells.

Andy did not care to ring Mr. Bullfinch's bell just then. Jerry pressed it hard. He hoped Mr. Bullfinch would answer the bell in a hurry before Andy changed his mind about telling.

"I'll tell him I'll help you pay for the record," said Jerry.

"I don't want to pay money for an old broken record. It's no good," said Andy, trying to pull away from Jerry.

Just then Mr. Bullfinch opened the front door. He was wearing a dark blue bathrobe with a red plaid collar. He looked sleepy and not at all pleased to see his visitors.

"Did you have to come so early?" he inquired.

"It's almost time for school. Andy has something he wants to tell you."

"No, I don't," said Andy.

"Come on, Andy, you promised you'd tell."

"I've changed my mind."

"I wish you'd say whatever you came to say and be off. I find small boys hard to take before I have a cup of coffee," said Mr. Bullfinch.

"I'll give you the first nickel I find rolling uphill. Or downhill either," Jerry promised Andy. "Go on, tell him." Jerry gave Andy a gentle poke in the back.



Andy looked up at Mr. Bullfinch. "You shouldn't leave your cellar window unlocked. A real burglar might have gotten in instead of me. And that record must have been cracked. I dropped it very easy, honest," said Andy in a rush of words. "It wasn't Jerry, it was me," he added.

Mr. Bullfinch stopped looking displeased. "Well," he said, not sounding at all cross with Andy, "I must say I admire a young fellow who will step right up and confess he's been into a little mischief."

"Little mischief!" thought Jerry. Last night at the door Mr. Bullfinch had sounded as if he had considered getting into his house a real crime. Still, Jerry was glad Mr. Bullfinch was not being hard on Andy.

"Good-by," said Andy.

"Just a minute," said Mr. Bullfinch. "When something is broken it has to be paid for. I think you owe me something for that record, even if you think it was cracked."

"I'll help pay for it," offered Jerry, without great enthusiasm.

"I'm saving my money to buy a space helmet," said Andy.

"Let's see," mused Mr. Bullfinch. "How are you boys at mowing lawns?"

"Not bad," said Jerry, not remembering that his mother often remarked that it was like pulling teeth to get him to mow their lawn.

"I can't mow but I can rake real good," said Andy.

"Then if you'll come over after school this afternoon and take care of my lawn, we'll call it quits," said Mr. Bullfinch. "And I owe you an apology, Jerry, for misjudging you. Sorry I had the wrong Martin boy by the ear. I hope you'll bring back that little something you've been keeping over here."

"I may at that," said Jerry.

Mr. Bullfinch looked at Andy sternly. "It's wrong to go into a house when nobody's home. Don't you let me hear of your doing that again."

"I won't," promised Andy, giving Mr. Bullfinch one of his beaming smiles that showed his dimple.

"Come on, Andy, we can't stand here all day or we'll be late for school. I'll be seeing you," Jerry told Mr. Bullfinch, glad that they were friends again.

Andy chattered happily on the way to school. Nothing got Andy down, Jerry thought, envying his carefree little brother. He should be feeling relieved about getting his guilt off his chest. But Andy had not seemed at all downhearted before. "Anyway, I got it out of him," Jerry thought with satisfaction. Yet Jerry was grateful to Andy. He had known him to be far more stubborn.

"Only nine more days before I get that candy from Bartlett's," Jerry thought. "And when I do, Andy not only gets the first piece; I don't care if he takes a whole handful."

Jerry noticed that Andy almost had to run to keep up with him. He slowed down. Jerry felt like being very nice to Andy even if it meant that they would be late for school.



8

The Auction

"School going all right, Jerry?" asked his father.

Jerry was at the dining room table after dinner doing homework. He had a list of geography questions and was supposed to write down the answers. That meant either looking them up in the book or asking his father. Jerry's dad knew a good deal about geography, yet after answering a few questions he was likely to say, "How can you expect to learn if you don't find out for yourself?" He seemed to be in a good humor tonight. Jerry thought he might be good for answers to at least three questions of the ten.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not failing anything at school," said Jerry.

"Glad to hear it. I thought you've looked lately as if something were worrying you. If your arithmetic is giving you trouble again, maybe I can give you a little help."

"Arithmetic's not so hard after you get the hang of it. I got a hundred in an arithmetic test day before yesterday."

"Good for you. Keep up the good work. I expect you to be good college material, you know, and that's not too many years ahead."

The words "college material" weighed Jerry's spirits. It seemed such a long stretch of school before he would be ready for college. And all that time he would be expected to do good work, good the rest of this term in order to be good in junior high, even better in junior high to be good in high school, and then you had to be a regular whiz on wheels in senior high to be good college material. So much excellence expected of him made Jerry feel tired.

"Guess I'll do the rest of this tomorrow morning before school," he said.

"Finish it now," ordered his father. "You know you never have time to do homework before school."

"Could be a first time," said Jerry, but he bent over his paper again. "What are the chief products of Central America?" he asked.

"That's rather a large question," said Mr. Martin. "Let's see."

While his father was calling to mind the products of Central America, Jerry was thinking of the pleasant fact that there were only a few more days before he could settle the bill at Bartlett's store. And what a relief it would be to have that charge account off his mind! Jerry thought how surprised his father would be if he knew the cause of his improvement in arithmetic. Jerry had not realized at first that all that adding and subtracting when he made change was helping his arithmetic, but now he could tell that he could add and subtract much faster. After bringing his mother the wrong change just once and having to pretend to go back to the store when he went only as far as Mr. Bullfinch's, Jerry had learned that it paid to be accurate.

"Bananas, coffee, and some silver," said Mr. Martin.

With difficulty Jerry's mind came back to geography. But he had forgotten which question he had asked his father. "Is that the answer to number four?" he asked.

"If you can't keep your mind on your work I'm not going to help you. Look up your own answers. How can you expect to learn if you don't find out for yourself?" Mr. Martin took the evening paper into the living room.

Cathy, who was sitting at the other end of the dining room table reading, looked up and laughed. "You didn't get much out of Daddy this time, did you?"

Jerry saw that the jacket of the book Cathy was reading had a picture of a girl and a boy walking together, with the boy carrying a lot of books. Hers as well as his, Jerry guessed. Catch him carrying a girl's books. "I suppose you have your homework all done," he snarled at Cathy.

"Of course, bird-brain."

"Bird-brain! If I have the brains of a bird you haven't any more than a—than a cockroach," said Jerry, which was the worst he could think of to say just then.



"Boys aren't supposed to be so rude to girls. You're the limit. The utter, utter limit."

"Who says so?"

"I say so."

"You!" Jerry packed so much scorn into the word that Cathy looked at him in surprise.

"What's eating you lately?" she asked.

Jerry gathered his books and papers together. If Cathy began being nice to him for a change he might find himself confiding to her. It had made him uneasy to be alone with her ever since he had started that charge account business. He would be safer now up in his own room.

"I can't study here where you keep jawing at me," he complained.

"Well, I like that. I hardly opened my mouth and now you—"

"Like it or lump it," cried Jerry from the doorway. "Today is Thursday," thought Jerry, as he ran upstairs. "Monday will be the first. That will be the day. All I have to do is hold out till the first of the week."

On Friday, Mrs. Martin for once did not need anything at the store. Of course she had a big order for Saturday morning. So much that she thought of taking the car, with Jerry going along to help with the carrying, but Jerry said he could manage perfectly well with his cart.

"No sense wasting gas when you have me to go to the store for you," he said.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" asked his mother. "I can't think what has gotten in to you to be so obliging. But it's nice to have a boy so willing to run errands," she said, giving Jerry the grocery list. "Sure you can manage?"

Jerry was sure.

When he stopped by at the Bullfinches' on his way back from the store—he had to get change from a twenty this time—Mr. Bullfinch was getting ready to go to an auction out in Rockville.

"How'd you like to come with me?" he invited Jerry. Mr. Bullfinch had been especially cordial to him lately as if to make up for having suspected him of housebreaking. "If you've never been to an auction you might find it interesting."

Jerry liked the idea. He said he would be right back as soon as he took the groceries home and asked his mother if he could go.

"Fine. Hope you can go. I'll be glad of your company," said Mr. Bullfinch.

Ten minutes later Jerry and Mr. Bullfinch were on their way to Rockville. Jerry had never ridden in Mr. Bullfinch's car before. It was not the car that was jerky, Jerry discovered, but Mr. Bullfinch. Still, he was a careful driver except when he got to talking. Then he seemed to forget his was not the only car on the road and the other cars honked at him. Yet Mr. Bullfinch was good at missing the other cars. At the very edge of collision he was a marvelous driver. Jerry held on to the door pull most of the time.

It was not a long drive to Rockville. They made it by five after ten, Jerry noticed by a clock over a bank near where Mr. Bullfinch parked the car.

"This is one of the smaller auction houses," explained Mr. Bullfinch, as he led the way into a place that looked to Jerry like a secondhand furniture store. "But sometimes the most interesting items are put up at small auctions."

Jerry jingled the small change in his pocket. His entire wealth at the moment was forty-seven cents, hardly enough to buy either a usual or unusual item. He noticed that Mr. Bullfinch looked less calm and dignified than usual. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes, an intensity in his voice. Jerry could tell that Mr. Bullfinch felt the same about auctions as Jerry did about going to baseball games out at Griffith Stadium.

Folding chairs had been set up in the middle of the big room where the auction was being held. Furniture and stuff was jammed all around, even at the back of the platform where the auctioneer stood. He was a thick-set, big-mouthed man wearing a blue and red plaid sport shirt.

"That's Jim Bean. He always puts on a good show," said Mr. Bullfinch.

As Mr. Bullfinch and Jerry took seats in the back row, the auctioneer was holding up a table lamp.

"Now here is something really beautiful," he was saying in a slightly hoarse yet persuasive voice. "This lamp has a base of real Chinese porcelain. Old Chinese porcelain and that's the most valuable, as all of you here know. Probably should be in a museum. Shade's a bit worn but it's easy enough to get one of those. Now I hope I'm going to hear a starting bid of ten for this exquisite piece of antique Chinese porcelain. Worth every cent of fifty or more but I'm willing to start it at ten."

"One dollar," said Mr. Bullfinch.

"That bid," said the auctioneer, "was too low for me to hear."

"Two," snapped a lady in the front row.

A man two seats to the left of Jerry held up a finger.

"Three I'm bid. Who will make it five?" said Mr. Bean.

"Three-fifty," said Mr. Bullfinch.

"Come, come," said Mr. Bean, "I can't accept bids of peanuts. Three-fifty I'm offered. We're just starting, folks. Do I hear five?"

Jerry could not tell for sure but somebody in the front row must have indicated a bid of five, for now Mr. Bean was droning, "Five I have. Who will make it ten? Worth many times more. Five I have for this museum piece. Five I have."

The lamp was going to be sold for five, Jerry thought, when Mr. Bullfinch sat up straight and snapped, "Six!" His eyes shone. He was really enjoying himself.

It was like a game, Jerry thought, and wished he dared risk a bid. Better not, he decided, for there was always the chance that nobody would bid higher and he would be stuck with something he did not want and could not pay for. Better be on the safe side and let Mr. Bullfinch do the bidding. That was almost as much fun as doing it himself.

The lamp was finally sold to the lady in the front row who had first bid against Mr. Bullfinch. Sold to her for nine dollars, which Mr. Bean said was giving it away.

"Glad I didn't get it. We already have too many lamps," Mr. Bullfinch said in a low voice to Jerry, which proved that he had been bidding for the sport of it.

Mr. Bullfinch did not open his mouth when the next few items were sold. After starting the ball rolling he was content to let others keep it rolling for a while. Besides, a bed, two French chairs, and a worn oriental rug were not unusual enough to interest him. Such items came up, he explained to Jerry, at nearly every auction held in Washington or its suburbs. But when Mr. Bean was handed a large cage with a large bird in it by one of his helpers, Mr. Bullfinch sat up straight on the edge of his chair again.

"Never knew a parrot to be auctioned off before," he told Jerry.



"Diplomat leaving the country says, 'Sell everything,' and that included this handsome bird. Speaks Spanish, they tell me. Wish Polly would oblige us by saying something in Spanish, but he—I understand it's a male—is too shy to speak before strangers. He's been well taken care of. Wonderful gloss to his feathers," praised Mr. Bean. "Beautiful color. Give an accent to any decor, modern or traditional, besides being a wonderful pet. Now who is going to be the lucky owner of this gorgeous bird?"

Jerry was surprised that Mr. Bullfinch did not begin the bidding, which started at a disgusting low of fifty cents. Mr. Bullfinch did not speak until the bidding rose to three dollars. Then, "Five dollars," he said in a firm voice that dared anybody to bid higher. Since nobody did, the parrot was Mr. Bullfinch's for five dollars.

"Guess I could have had it for four," Mr. Bullfinch said to Jerry. "Thought it would go to seven."

Jerry was very glad that Mr. Bullfinch's had been the winning bid. It would be interesting to have a Spanish-speaking parrot next door, though Jerry would have bid for the parrot himself if he had had the money. The only pet the Martin family had was Bibsy. "Wish we had a parrot," thought Jerry.

Jerry rather lost interest in the auction after the high spot of selling the parrot. Mr. Bullfinch put in a bid once in a while but let his bid be topped.

Since Mr. Bullfinch already had a parrot cage, he could keep one cage in the house and the other out in the yard, Jerry was thinking, as a mahogany sewing table was lifted to the auctioneer's platform. Neither Jerry nor Mr. Bullfinch was interested in mahogany sewing tables. Jerry's eyes wandered. He hardly heard Mr. Bean praise the sewing table and accept the first bid. Jerry turned his head and looked around and there was Bill Ellis, a classmate of Jerry's in the sixth. The man beside him was his father. Jerry had seen him enough times to recognize him.

Bill saw Jerry and grinned and Jerry put up a hand in greeting.

"Sold for three dollars to the young man in the red jacket in the back row," said the auctioneer.

Horrified, Jerry realized that his raised arm had been interpreted as a bid and that he had just bought a mahogany sewing table. "I don't want it. It was a mistake," he wanted to say, but before he could get the words out, Mr. Bean was extolling the beauties of a large oil painting. Jerry had missed his chance to speak up.

"Be a nice present for your mother," said Mr. Bullfinch.

Jerry was sunk in despair. He thought that if you bought something at an auction you had to keep it. What was he going to do when he and Mr. Bullfinch went up to the desk near the door where you paid and what you had bought was brought out to you?

"Forty-seven cents isn't any three dollars," thought Jerry dismally. Nor did he have any more at home.

Suddenly Jerry thought of a place where there was plenty of ready money. In Mr. Bullfinch's grandfather clock. Suppose he told the man at the desk that he did not have enough money on him but would be right back with some. Then he could borrow enough to pay for the sewing table—minus forty-seven cents. Of course it was Mr. Bartlett's money, not his, but as soon as he got back from paying for the sewing table Jerry could go around the neighborhood and get a lawn or two to mow and get money to pay back to Mr. Bartlett. But suppose nobody wanted a lawn mowed? And how would he get back and forth between Rockville and Washington? On a bus, maybe.

"I believe I've had about enough of this," said Mr. Bullfinch, and he led the way to the desk where the paying for and delivery of goods took place.

Jerry did a lot of thinking as he followed Mr. Bullfinch. He remembered reading a story about a man who worked in a bank and took money, expecting to pay it back, only he couldn't. If Jerry borrowed some of Mr. Bartlett's money, that wouldn't be much different from what the man in the bank did. And he had gone to jail.

"Anyway, it wouldn't be honest," thought Jerry, and knew he couldn't get money to pay for the sewing table that way. What the man at the desk would say to him when he had to confess he couldn't pay, Jerry dreaded to find out.

Mr. Bullfinch paid for his parrot. Jerry moved up toward the desk. He was pale behind his freckles. He could see a man bringing over the mahogany sewing table. Just then, somebody touched Jerry's arm.

"I'll give you a dollar more than you paid for that sewing table," said a woman in a red hat.

Color rushed back into Jerry's face. He beamed at the woman. "Pay the man three dollars and you can have it," he said.

On their way out to the car—and Mr. Bullfinch very kindly let Jerry carry the cage with the parrot in it—Mr. Bullfinch explained that it would have been quite all right for Jerry to have made a dollar on the sewing table. "If somebody offers you more than you have paid it's all right to take it. But what made you decide you didn't want the little sewing table?"

"My mother has a sewing table," said Jerry.

"Good thing then you got rid of it," said Mr. Bullfinch. "Sometimes I'm not so lucky at getting rid of something I've bought and don't need. I get a bit carried away when I get to bidding."

Mr. Bullfinch looked calm and dignified again, but Jerry remembered how thrilled he had looked at the auction.

"Did you enjoy going to an auction?" asked Mr. Bullfinch.

"I enjoyed most of it," said Jerry. But nobody would ever know, he thought, slightly swinging the heavy cage, how relieved he had been to get rid of that mahogany sewing table. He rather wished now, though, that he had accepted that extra dollar.



9

As Good as a Watchdog

It was time for lunch when Jerry got back from the auction. He was eating his second big waffle and his fourth sausage—the Martins always had an especially good lunch on Saturdays since it was the one weekday they were all home to lunch—when there was a knock at the back door.

Mr. Martin went to the door, and the family heard him say cordially, "Come right in."

Into the dining room came Mr. Bullfinch, parrot cage in hand. The parrot was head-down, holding onto the perch with his feet.

"He speaks Spanish," Jerry said, although he had already informed his family of that fact. "Make him say something in Spanish, Mr. Bullfinch."

Mr. Bullfinch refused to sit down but he did put the parrot cage on a chair. "Say 'Buenos dias,'" he urged the parrot. "That is 'Good day' or 'How do you do' in Spanish," he explained. But the parrot said nothing in any language.

By this time Jerry and Andy were kneeling on the floor by the cage. "Pretty Polly. Polly want a cracker?" crooned Andy.



"He's not a she, he's a he," said Jerry.

"Don't put your finger near the cage. He might bite," Mrs. Martin warned Andy.

"He wouldn't bite me. Parrots like me," said Andy.

"Where did you ever get acquainted with a parrot?" asked Cathy, who had come over to admire the big green bird.

"Somewheres."

"You just dreamed you did." Cathy gave her small brother a hug, against which he pretended to struggle. He bumped into the cage and the parrot gave a loud squawk.

"Look out," cried Mrs. Martin.

"I've come to ask a big favor," said Mr. Bullfinch in his polite voice. "I didn't realize until I got home that my wife is violently allergic to parrots. She had a severe sneezing fit when it had not been in the house more than five minutes. So, I'll have to dispose of the bird. Fine specimen it is, too. Well, it's too late now to get a 'for sale' notice in the paper before Monday, and if I keep the bird in the house until then my wife might have an asthma attack. Would it be too much of an imposition for me to ask you to keep the parrot over here until Monday?" he asked.

"Not at all," said Mr. Martin heartily.

"I'm not sure we could trust Bibsy to let the parrot alone. You know how it is with birds and cats, Mr. Bullfinch," said Mrs. Martin.

"Say, do you think any cat could get the best of a bird with a beak on him like that?" cried Jerry. "Anyway, Bibsy is good about leaving birds alone. You know she is. Besides, having a parrot who can speak Spanish in the house will teach us a little Spanish. I heard you say that the reason people in the United States are so poor at speaking foreign languages is because they don't start young enough to learn one. Here's our chance."

"The amount of Spanish you'd learn from a parrot over a week end won't be likely to make you very proficient in the language," said Mrs. Martin. Then she turned to Mr. Bullfinch and told him she would be glad to keep the parrot until Monday. "But only till Monday," she said, looking at Jerry.

After Mr. Bullfinch had expressed his thanks and left, all three of the Martin children begged their mother to buy the parrot from Mr. Bullfinch. Jerry rashly promised all his allowance for May. Cathy wouldn't go as far as that but she would spare a dollar. And Andy trotted off for his piggy bank to contribute his pennies.

"I better run after Mr. Bullfinch and tell him he needn't phone in that ad for the newspaper," said Jerry.

"You'll do no such thing," said his mother. "I agreed to keep the parrot over the week end. I meant over the week end and no longer."

When their mother spoke in that tone of voice, her children had learned it was no use to argue.

"I've always wanted a parrot for a pet and here is a good chance to get one and you turn it down," grumbled Jerry.

"What's the parrot's name?" asked Mr. Martin.

Jerry didn't know. "Can you ask him what his name is in Spanish?" he asked his father.

Mr. Martin didn't think that would do much good but he could and did ask the parrot in Spanish what his name was.

There was no response from the parrot.

"Guess you'll have to give him a name," said Mr. Martin.

"Let's call him Pete," suggested Andy.

"Pete's not a Spanish name. He ought to have a Spanish name," said Cathy.

"I think Pedro's the Spanish for Pete," said Jerry, remembering a story he had read about a Spanish donkey.

They agreed on Pedro. They all addressed the parrot by name but he only glared at them with his beady eyes and kept silent.

"Maybe he's dumb," said Andy.

"Maybe he's too young to know how to talk," said Cathy.

"He's not that young," said Jerry.

They were eating dessert—pineapple upside-down cake—when the parrot beat his wings and said in a strong, hoarse voice, "Caramba!"

"What does that mean?" Jerry asked his father.

"It's a Spanish word that they use the same way we say 'Gosh!'"

"Caramba!" repeated Jerry.

"Caramba!" Andy tried to say, only it came out more like "Carimba!" The way he said it made it sound like a swear word.

"Oh, dear, I hope that bird won't teach the children any bad language," said Mrs. Martin.

"I somehow doubt if he'll teach them to swear in Spanish over the week end," said Mr. Martin, with a twinkle in his eye.

Then there began an argument about where the parrot's cage should be hung. Cathy said it should be in her room because the parrot's color would go so well with her bedspread and curtains. Jerry said that naturally the cage should be in his room. He had known the parrot longest, hadn't he?

"He likes me best. I know he does," declared Andy. "I want him to sleep with me."

"Maybe the recreation room would be more appropriate," suggested Mr. Martin.

Mrs. Martin knew where there was a big hook which could be screwed in over one of the windows. "You can spend as much time down there with him as you want to," she told the children.

"If we turn the TV on good and loud, that might teach him a little English," said Jerry. "We teach him English. He teaches us Spanish."

"Fair enough," said Mr. Martin.

Later in the afternoon Jerry was taking his time about mowing the lawn, and wishing there was stuff to put on grass to make it stop growing instead of all that fertilizer his father put on to make it grow, when his mother called and asked him to run to the store for a package of raisins. She wanted to make raisin sauce for the ham they were having for dinner that night.

Jerry never minded having to stop mowing the lawn. Now if his father had a power mower that would be different. But Jerry's father refused to buy a power mower until he decided that Jerry was old enough to run it. In Jerry's opinion, he was old enough now. He threw down the despised hand lawn mower and started for the store, walking, not taking his bike this time. His mother was in no immediate hurry for the raisins and Jerry was certainly in no hurry to finish mowing the lawn.

This probably would be his last trip to the store before the happy time of going to pay the bill on Monday, Jerry thought, making a slight detour in order to jump two low hedges in a neighbor's yard. Over without touching, he was pleased to note. May Day would mean the end of all that rigmarole of the secret charge account. And what a relief that would be! In his thoughts Jerry had shied away from applying the word deceit to his charging groceries and keeping Mr. Bartlett's money over at the Bullfinches', but he had not been able to get away from an uneasy feeling about what he had been doing. It was his nature to be open and aboveboard. The past month had been a strain.

"Now it's all over but the payoff," thought Jerry, waiting for Mr. Bartlett to make out the grocery slip. The candy in the showcase next to the cash register looked luscious. Jerry wondered how many pieces there were in a half pound and thought of asking but decided against it. Jerry was still hopeful that Mr. Bartlett would at least make it a heavy half pound when the bill was paid.

This time Jerry had to get only change for half a dollar from the grandfather clock. He stopped to visit a few minutes with Mr. Bullfinch, who had a fireplace fire burning in his den.

"Had a man here last week to give the furnace its summer hookup," said Mr. Bullfinch. "Should have had more sense. I forgot that it's possible to half roast and half freeze on the same day. This morning felt like June and this afternoon's more like March. That's Washington spring weather for you."

Jerry agreed that the weather had turned chilly. He watched the flames lick the charcoal briquets in the fireplace.

Mr. Bullfinch had a grate shaped like a cradle in his fireplace and burned charcoal or coal instead of logs. It would be a wonderful fire for a cook-out, Jerry thought. Only he guessed that if you cooked a meal over an open fire indoors, it should be called a cook-in.

Mr. Bullfinch inquired after the parrot's health, and Jerry said that as far as he could tell, it was good. Jerry said he had wheeled the television set over so the parrot could watch the ball game.

"I would have been looking at it, too, if I hadn't had to mow the lawn and then go to the store."

"I can see that you are a busy lad," sympathized Mr. Bullfinch.

"I probably won't be over here so often after Monday," said Jerry, after replacing the tobacco pouch in the grandfather clock.

"That so? We shall miss having you run in every day or so. Hope you won't be too much of a stranger."

Mr. Bullfinch did not ask why Jerry's visits would be less frequent after Monday. That was one of the nice things about Mr. Bullfinch, his showing no curiosity about Jerry's affairs. Jerry was so grateful to him for not asking embarrassing questions that he found it hard not to break down and tell him all about the charge account. But that was a temptation Jerry had already successfully resisted several times and he now did again.

"After I get the candy Monday I'll give him some and tell him all about it," Jerry vowed.

Jerry was pleased to find his father finishing mowing the lawn.

"At the rate you were going I thought you might not get it done before dark," his father greeted him.

That was the way parents were. Instead of being grateful for what you had done, they bawled you out for not finishing the last bit. "I would have done it," said Jerry.

Jerry raked up the grass clippings before he took the box of raisins in to his mother. "Where's Cathy?" he asked.

"I think she's down looking at TV."

Jerry ran down to the recreation room. The TV had been turned off. Cathy was standing close to Pedro's cage.

"Cathy. Cathy. Cathy," she repeated. "Say Cathy."

Jerry was indignant. While he had been hard at work on the lawn and then running to the store, Cathy had been trying to teach the parrot to say her name.

"You quit that," ordered Jerry.

"I'd like to know why."

Jerry did not come right out and say that he wanted Pedro to say his name first.

"Seems pretty conceited for you to think your name is the most important word in the English language," he said. "Pretty conceited. Naturally Pedro should learn the most important words first."

"What is the most important word in the English language?" asked Cathy.

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"If you could answer as many questions as you can ask, you'd be more than half bright."

"Jerry Martin, are you calling me a moron? You know I get better grades in school than you do."

"Who called you a moron?"

"You did."

"I did not. I didn't say how much more than half bright you'd be if you could answer as many questions as you ask."

"You're—you're impossible."

Jerry turned the television on. As a singing commercial came on, the parrot laughed a raucous laugh.

"Say, he may not know how to speak English but that parrot's got sense," said Jerry admiringly.

A door above opened. "Jerry," called his mother from upstairs, "you come right up here and get that snake off the hall table."

"It's only a little green snake I found when I was cutting the grass," grumbled Jerry. "I was going to catch flies for it. It's a perfectly harmless snake."

"Snakes—ugh!" said Cathy.

"Say, what's got into you? I've seen you let a little green garter snake wind around your wrist like a bracelet."

"I did, didn't I?" Cathy was suddenly on Jerry's level again. Then she looked up at her reflection in a mirror over the television set and smoothed her hair at the sides. "I used to do a lot of silly things when I was young," she said.

She seemed to be insinuating that she was more grownup than Jerry, even though they were twins. Jerry was furious with her. He was angry because they were no longer the companions they used to be, though he did not realize it. He missed the old Cathy, who reappeared only now and then. They were so seldom really together nowadays and it had not been long ago that they had been two against anything or anybody which threatened one of them.

"I wouldn't be a girl for a million dollars," he said. "Little pats of powder, Little daubs of paint, Make a little girly Look like what she ain't," he quoted.

"Why Jerry Martin, I wouldn't think of using rouge. Mummy wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

"Cathy," called her mother from upstairs. "Come set the table for dinner."

Cathy, with one of her movie-queen looks, sailed past Jerry and went upstairs.

"Girls are nuts," Jerry said.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Pedro.

"You are a smart bird," said Jerry and tried in vain to teach the parrot to say "Jerry." Pedro said "Caramba" again and a few Spanish words Jerry did not understand, but that was all.

He certainly was a handsome bird. Jerry looked at him with affection. "Give you time and you'll learn to speak English," said Jerry. And, "Gosh, I wish you really belonged to me." Then, having been called twice, Jerry went up to dinner.

Jerry went to the neighborhood movie that night with his mother and Cathy, so he was later getting to bed than usual. He was dropping off to sleep when he heard what he thought was a car backfiring outside. Then, at the very edge of sleep again, Jerry smelled smoke. He rushed to the window. By moonlight he could see the Bullfinch house almost as plain as day. There was smoke coming out of the chimney. There was also smoke rising from the roof.

"Fire!" bawled Jerry. "Fire!" he shouted all the way down the stairs.



"The Bullfinch house is on fire!" he yelled at the door of the living room where his father and mother were sitting.

"What?" cried his father.

"Is this one of your ideas of a joke?" asked his mother.

Jerry did not stop. The front door slammed behind him. "Fire!" he kept shouting all the way to the Bullfinch house, as if a phonograph needle had been stuck at that word in a record.

"I've got to get that grocery money out of there. I've got to," Jerry thought, so excited and driven that he did not know he was shivering with cold.

Jerry rang the Bullfinch doorbell hard with one hand while he pounded on the door with the other.

Mr. Bullfinch came to the door. He looked only a little excited.

"Your house is on fire!" cried Jerry.

"I know. I know. I've called the fire department," said Mr. Bullfinch. "Won't you come in?" he asked politely, as if it were not strange to invite a person to come in a burning house.

Jerry was glad to get Mr. Bartlett's money safe in two pockets of his pajamas. There was too much of it for one.

"Want me to help carry out things?" he asked Mr. Bullfinch.

Mrs. Bullfinch was fluttering about, wondering what should be saved first, when sirens screeched and fire engines arrived on the scene.

By this time a small crowd had gathered to watch the fire. Jerry's mother brought out a jacket for him to put on over his pajamas. He was glad of its warmth and also because he could transfer Mr. Bartlett's money into larger pockets where bulges would not be so conspicuous.

It was not much of a fire. It was soon out. All that had burned was part of the eaves near the chimney. Jerry heard his father ask Mr. Bullfinch if he knew how the fire had started. And Mr. Bullfinch seemed slightly embarrassed as he explained what he thought must have happened.

"I have only my own carelessness to blame," said Mr. Bullfinch. "You see, I burn charcoal in the fireplace in my den. I keep a big sack of charcoal briquets out in the garage. Well, soon after I put fresh charcoal on the fire—I often read late you know—there was a sharp series of bangs and I realized what had happened."

Then all that banging hadn't been a car backfiring, thought Jerry.

"There is a shelf in the garage over the sack of charcoal," Mr. Bullfinch continued, "and there was a box of cartridges on the shelf. It must be that a few cartridges spilled into the charcoal and they went off when I put them on the fire. Lucky they fired up the chimney instead of in the room. Loosened a few bricks in the chimney and burned a bit of the eaves. No great damage, I'm thankful to say."

"That's the most unusual cause of a fire I ever heard of," said Mr. Martin.

"I don't want the fire to be out so soon," mourned Andy, who had been waked up to come to the fire.

"I'd better get that child to bed," said Mr. Martin.

Jerry would have followed his father but Mr. Bullfinch wanted to thank him for coming over to rescue them, even though they had not needed to be rescued. "But if I hadn't still been up you might have saved our lives," he told Jerry. Then he told Jerry something else that filled Jerry's heart with joy. Jerry was so grateful he could hardly speak.

Jerry kept his cause of gratitude to himself until the family were in the kitchen having a bite to eat.

"Mr. Bullfinch has given Pedro to me," he said, putting a thick layer of grape marmalade and peanut butter on a slice of bread. "A five-dollar parrot and he's worth much more than that and Mr. Bullfinch gave him to me for almost saving his life."

"Oh, no!" said Mrs. Martin.

"Fire!" bawled a loud hoarse voice from the cellar.

"It's Pedro. He's said his first English word." Jerry was beaming with pride. "He'll be as good as a watchdog. Don't miners sometimes take parrots into mines with them to warn them against poisonous fumes?"

"A canary I've heard of—not a parrot," said Mr. Martin. "And we're really in very little danger from poisonous fumes. But I guess we can't risk offending a neighbor by refusing a gift."

"Taking care of a parrot can be a lot of work," said Mrs. Martin.

"I'll help," offered Cathy. And Jerry was grateful to her.

"Fire!" the parrot kept bawling. "Fire!"

"Go down and put something over his cage or we'll not get any sleep," Jerry's mother told him. "Yes, you can keep him. I might have known when I saw that parrot come into the house that he would stay."

As Jerry galloped down the stairs to the recreation room with a scarf to put over Pedro's cage, he wondered if he would have hurried quite as fast over to the Bullfinch house if it had not been for the money in the grandfather clock. He had slipped in and put it back there before coming home. Fire was not likely to strike twice in the same house, he had thought.

Pedro was making gentle, clucking noises.

"Good night, old bird," said Jerry, after he had put the scarf over the cage. "I wonder if parrots eat candy," he thought on his way upstairs to bed. "When I get that candy from Mr. Bartlett tomorrow I'm going to try Pedro on a piece of a lime mint. They're almost the same color as the feathers near his throat."

Joy of ownership of a handsome green parrot made Jerry's steps light on the stairs. He went to bed by moonlight. There seemed to be a glow on everything.



10

May Day

"How nice that today is pleasant, so you can have your May Day exercises outdoors," Mrs. Martin said, as she bustled about getting her children's breakfast on the table.

"Did you finish hemming my dress?" asked Cathy. She was to be crowned May Queen and was so worried about looking exactly right that she could hardly eat her breakfast.

"It's all packed in a suit box," said Mrs. Martin. "I put in Andy's costume under it. Be surer of getting there if you carry it."

"Do I have to wear that silly sash?" Andy was to help wind the Maypole and was to wear yellow cambric shorts, a white blouse, and a yellow sash around his middle.

"You must dress as your teacher told you to," said his mother. "Be careful with that glass of milk, Andy."

Jerry was thankful that his only part in the May Day festival was to help seat the parents. And that all he had to wear different from usual was an armband. Jerry's mind was not on the May Day exercises. He had something far more important to think about. Today was the day he had so long looked forward to. Today he would pay the bill at Bartlett's store. The store wouldn't be open early enough so he could tend to it before school, but the minute he could get away from the May Day exercises that afternoon he would race to Mr. Bullfinch's, get the money from the grandfather clock, and go pay the bill. Thinking of the candy that would then be presented to him made Jerry grin.

"You're looking mighty pleased with yourself this morning, Jerry," said his mother, passing him the bacon.

"Who? Me? It's Cathy who's the big shot today. Hi, Queenie! You feeling squeamy?" he teased his sister. "Won't you look like something—all dressed up like a circus horse, with a tinfoil crown on your head? Yes, your majesty. No, your majesty. After this you'll expect everybody to bow down to you. Not me. I'm not forgetting this is a democracy."

"All I hope is that you won't do anything at the exercises that will disgrace the family," said Cathy.

"Call me a disgrace to the family, do you? Well, I like that."

"There isn't time for you two to squabble. You should be leaving for school in less than five minutes," said Mrs. Martin.

"I won't say a word if Cathy'll leave me alone," said Jerry.

"I leave you alone! Why it was you who started—"

"I don't care who started what. It's finished," said Mrs. Martin with firmness.

Jerry gave Cathy a mocking smile. He was really proud that she had been chosen May Queen. He would never let on to her all the votes he had rounded up for her. Not Jerry. He kept it a dark secret that he thought her the prettiest girl in their class. No need of making her more stuck on her looks than she already was.

Lessons at school were brief that day. By ten-thirty, four boys from the sixth grade were helping the custodian put up the Maypole. Then there were two chairs from the principal's office to be draped with gold-colored cambric, throne chairs for the King and Queen. As soon as lunch period was over, Jerry helped carry chairs from the cafeteria out to the yard, where they were arranged in rows facing the throne. The exercises were to begin at one, but a few parents came before all the chairs were in place.

A phonograph on a table behind a tree furnished music for winding the Maypole. Jerry, standing with his classmates behind the chairs—there were chairs only for the parents—saw that Andy looked very earnest and a little scared. He got to going the wrong way once but was quickly turned around by his kindergarten teacher. Jerry was glad for Andy's sake when the Maypole dance was over.

Now came the crowning of the King and Queen. Cathy wore a white billowy dress and her mother's pearl necklace. She was flushed and her eyes shone.

"What a little charmer she will be in a few years," Jerry heard one of the mothers say.

"Yeah! A snake charmer," Jerry thought. He knew though that that was not the kind of charmer meant. Jerry did not want Cathy to charm anybody, especially boys. It made him mad if he saw her look moony at a boy. "Mush" was what Jerry called a certain way some of the girls and boys looked at each other. It was definitely not for him.

Jerry managed to slip away before the exercises were quite over. A spring song by the combined fourth and fifth grades rang in his ears as he left the schoolyard. Everybody would be free to go home at the end of the song, but Jerry wanted to get a head start. He wanted to surprise the family with the box of candy the minute they got home.

He ran all the way to the Bullfinches'. "In an awful hurry. See you later," he said, rushing in and grabbing the tobacco pouch of money from the grandfather clock. Then he was off for the store, running as if chased.



Mr. Bartlett, for once, was alone in the store.

"I came to pay the bill," gasped Jerry, and he emptied the contents of the tobacco pouch on the counter.

"Bring the bill with you?" asked Mr. Bartlett.

What bill? Jerry did not know anything about a bill. But he had saved all the grocery slips. He had gone over to the Bullfinches' the night before and added and added. He was sure the money was the right amount.

Mr. Bartlett looked up the amount due in a ledger. He was a bit grumpy about having to count so much chicken feed, as he called it, as he counted the change. "It's all here," he said finally.

For an awful moment Jerry was afraid he was not going to get a bonus for paying the bill. It was with enormous relief that he saw Mr. Bartlett reach for a half-pound pasteboard box.

"It was a fair-sized bill and I'll give you a full half pound," said Mr. Bartlett. "Anything you prefer?"

Jerry said he would like a few pink and green mints. With pleasure he watched Mr. Bartlett arrange a row of varicolored mints and fill up the rest of the box with chocolates—so full that the cover would hardly go down.

Jerry thanked Mr. Bartlett with great heartiness. Fond though he was of candy, Jerry didn't take even as much as a taste on the way home. He would show it to his mother and Cathy and Andy but he would save it untouched until his father got home from work.

"I wanted to prove to you that having a charge account pays off," he would tell his father, offering him the open box, after Andy had had the first piece—Jerry remembered that Andy was to have the first piece. "Where else can you get something for nothing except by charging your groceries at Bartlett's store?" That was what Jerry would say to his father. Or something else that might occur to him later. His father would be sure to see the advantage of charging groceries as soon as he cast an eye on all that free candy.

Jerry whistled gaily most of the way back from the store. "Bet you can't guess what I have," he cried, as he opened the kitchen door and saw his mother and Cathy sitting at the kitchen table. Further cheerful words died in his throat when he saw that both his mother and Cathy had been crying.

"What's the matter?" Could something terrible have happened to his father? Or to Andy? What awful thing could make his mother and Cathy look so sad? There were envelopes and letters on the table. His mother had been opening her mail. The bad news must have come in a letter, then.

"Is Grandma Martin sick again?" Jerry asked.

His mother sobbed, and Jerry couldn't remember ever seeing his mother cry. "How could you, Jerry? How could you do such a dreadful thing?"

"He didn't do it. I know he didn't to it!" cried Cathy. "Tell her you didn't do it, Jerry. Tell her it must be a mistake."

"To think that a son of mine would be a thief!" said Jerry's mother. And the face she turned toward him was full of hurt and disappointment. It tore Jerry inside.

"I haven't done anything. Anything wrong," he said.

"You stand there and tell me that you haven't been charging groceries at Bartlett's store for a month?"

"Sure I did but—"

"Oh, Jerry!" Cathy burst into tears.

"What did you do with the money?" demanded Jerry's mother. "Mischief can be forgiven but stealing is a crime. When I opened an envelope and found a bill for the month of April from Bartlett's store, I hoped against hope that there must be a mistake. But now you confess you've been deceiving me and charging the groceries that I gave you money to pay for. I never thought I would be so ashamed of you, Jerry Martin." The look she gave him was worse than a blow.

So she thought him a thief—was ashamed of him—believed the worst of him before giving him a chance to explain. Jerry felt such a deep hurt he felt like crying but he wasn't going to let anybody see him cry. And if that was what his mother thought of him, he wasn't going to stay around here. Not after she had looked at him as if she wished he did not belong in her family.

Jerry slammed the box of candy so hard on the table that the cover opened and some of the candy fell out.

"I paid the bill with the money. Ask Mr. Bartlett if you don't believe me. I was going to surprise you by showing you the bonus he gives for charging a month's groceries. I didn't spend a cent of your old money. I—" Jerry suddenly could not endure being there a second longer. He rushed out, slamming the door behind him.

Rage sent Jerry hurrying down his street and out to Massachusetts Avenue. He was so hurt and angry he could hardly see straight. He would run away from home. He would leave Washington. He would go somewhere a long way off. He would go where nobody would be likely to accuse him unjustly of being a thief. He walked rapidly, almost running in his hurry to leave home.

Where should he go? Jerry did not have even the bus fare to go to town, let alone get out of the city. But he had two feet, didn't he? Maybe after he decided where he was going he would hitchhike. Jerry knew his mother disapproved of hitchhiking but why should he pay any attention to that now, after she had believed him to be a thief? Jerry made no effort, however, to hitch a ride. He walked and walked.

There were azaleas in bloom in some of the yards he passed. Bushes of faded lilacs. Bright beds of tulips and pansies. Jerry did not notice them. He was in no mood to enjoy flowers. He was about a mile from home when he remembered hearing a guest say to his mother, "Florida is really delightful in the spring. And after the winter visitors have left the prices go down."



Jerry thought it might be a good idea to go where the prices had gone down. Be easier for him to earn enough to live on. A lot of people went fishing off the coast of Florida. Maybe he could help out on some fishing boat. Jerry liked to fish and he liked boats. That idea appealed to him. But he realized that it was a long, long way to Florida from Washington, D. C. It was even a long way—five miles at least—from Jerry's house to Memorial Bridge, over which he would cross the Potomac into the state of Virginia.

As Jerry went along the part of Massachusetts Avenue which has many foreign embassies, it occurred to him that he might be seeing Washington for the last time. So he looked hard at the white Venezuelan Embassy and at the red brick British Embassy. Those were his two favorites, and he wanted to remember how they looked.

There were several circles to go around and a bridge to cross over Rock Creek Park before Jerry was anywhere near Memorial Bridge. He missed his direction a little when he left Massachusetts Avenue, but he was finally in sight of the Lincoln Memorial and the bridge was near.

Jerry yielded to an impulse to take a last look at the Lincoln Memorial. He climbed the steps and stood and gazed up at the seated figure of Abraham Lincoln, with so much sadness and kindness in his face.

Having paid his respects to Abraham Lincoln, it didn't seem quite right to be leaving town without doing the same by George Washington. Weary though his legs were, Jerry trudged over to the Washington Monument.

There were not many people waiting in line to go up in the Monument. Jerry was the only one who walked up instead of riding to the top in the elevator. Jerry did not know why he wanted to climb all those eight hundred and ninety-eight steps, but he did. He did a lot of thinking and remembering on his way up. That was the way you did when you were leaving home, he guessed. He thought of school and home and playing baseball—things like that. And some about George Washington. Jerry greatly admired all he had read about him. He was glad they had named the capital of the United States for Washington.

Jerry had been at the top of the Monument many times, yet it was always a thrill to go from window to window and see each scene below. From this one he could see the Capitol and the greenish dome of the Library of Congress. From another window he looked down on a crowded part of the city. Jerry thought that if he knew just where to look, he might see the hospital where he had been born.

The window that overlooked the White House was one of Jerry's favorite views. He remembered Easter Mondays when he had gone to roll eggs on the White House lawn. He remembered a time when he was five, younger than Andy—a time when he had gotten separated from his mother—had been lost. A Girl Scout had taken him to a place where lost children waited to be claimed. A lady played games with them while they waited, but a few of the children had cried. Jerry had not cried. He somehow felt more like crying now. And even more lost.

Well, he must be on his way. He would take the elevator down, for he felt his legs would not last for all of those steps going down. Yet he was reluctant to leave the top of the Monument. Each window gave a picture postcard view of the city he was leaving. It was up here that he was really saying good-by to Washington, D. C.

Why did he have to think just then of the honesty of Lincoln? Or of how Washington had stayed with his soldiers through the hardships of the winter at Valley Forge? They were not men who had run away from the hard things of life. Jerry tried to close his mind against thoughts of Lincoln and Washington. They were dead and gone and had nothing to do with him. It was no use. It had been a mistake, Jerry realized now, to revisit the Memorial and the Monument. Something in both places had pulled against his wanting to run away. Suddenly Jerry realized that he couldn't do it. He no longer even wanted to run away. He wanted to go home.



11

Welcome Home!

It was growing dark by the time Jerry reached home. By now his family would know for sure that he was no thief, but Jerry knew it was possible that his father would be angry about the charge account, in spite of the free box of candy. For a moment Jerry hesitated outside the door. Then he squared his shoulders and went in.

The whole family were in the kitchen. Jerry saw every eye turned toward him—every face light up with relief.

"Hi, Jerry, where've you been?" cried Andy.

"I told you he'd come back," said Cathy.

Jerry was so grateful to Cathy for having believed in him even when things looked bad that he thought he would never again tease her about reading lovey-dovey books or admiring herself in mirrors.

"Oh, Jerry!" cried his mother.

Jerry read the relief and welcome in her face—the love for him. He found that he was no longer angry with his mother. Somewhere on the long, long walk, his anger had died. He could understand that it had been no wonder she had believed the worst of him—getting that bill in the mail and all.

"Got anything to eat?" he asked her.

"We were too worried to eat. None of us has had a bite of dinner." Mrs. Martin rushed to the stove and clattered pots and pans as she put things on to reheat.

His father's clear blue eyes were on Jerry. "After dinner," he said, "you and I will have a little talk."

Jerry did not look forward to that talk, yet it took more than dread to spoil his appetite. His mother said that the onions and asparagus were not as good as when they had been freshly cooked more than two hours ago. But they tasted fine to Jerry. Nor did he mind that the pot roast and rolls were reheated. He slathered butter on three rolls and would have eaten a fourth if he had not seen the necessity of saving room for a piece of apple pie.

Only Andy bothered Jerry with questions while he was eating. "Where did you go?" he asked.

"To the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, if you must know," said Jerry. "I walked up but I rode down in the Monument."

"Is that all you did?" asked Andy.

"I just walked around."

"Walking around gave you a good appetite," said Mr. Martin, as he cut another slice of pot roast for Jerry's plate. "A good thing you don't walk around five or six hours every day or I might not be able to pay the grocery bill."



Jerry winced. He knew his father meant paying cash for groceries, not a grocery bill. His father did not have bills—never charged things. Looking at his father's firm mouth and chin, Jerry wondered how he could have expected to win his father over to having a charge account. Parents were the way they were and stayed that way. Especially his father. It would take much more than half a pound of candy to make him change his mind about charge accounts, Jerry now fully realized.

Mr. Martin said he and Jerry would have their talk down in the recreation room. Jerry noticed his mother and Cathy looked worried. Maybe they expected his father to give him a beating. Jerry was a little worried about that prospect himself.

Jerry saw Pedro watching them as he and his father sat down on the sofa.

"Has Pedro talked any more?" Jerry asked.

"Stop gawking at that parrot and pay attention to me," said Jerry's father.

"Yes, sir."

"You had your mother worried sick."

Jerry said he was sorry.

"Did you stay out so long on purpose to worry her?"

Jerry said that had not been the reason at all. He confessed that he had intended to run away to Florida but had changed his mind and come home.

Mr. Martin's sternness softened. "A good many boys run away from home," he said. "The luckiest ones are those who come back before they have run too far. It was this charge account business you were running away from, wasn't it?"

"Partly." Jerry could not tell his father that his mother's lack of belief in his honesty had had more to do with his running away. Jerry did not want to remember how his mother had looked at him. He hoped never to bring an expression like that to her face again.

"The worst thing about your scheme for the charge account was that you were handling money that belonged to somebody else without his permission," said Jerry's father.

"You mean Mr. Bartlett. It was his money but I don't see why—"

"It was not then Mr. Bartlett's money but mine. You contracted a debt in my name and withheld money that had been entrusted to you."

The way his father put it made Jerry feel that he had done something nearly bad enough for him to be put in jail.

"I was just trying to prove that it pays to have a charge account at Bartlett's," said Jerry.

"You knew very well that I don't have charge accounts or intend to have them."

"What's the sin about charging things?"

"No sin, of course. I didn't say it was. It's a person's right to charge anything he wants to. And my right to pay cash, since I prefer to do business that way."

"I guess that wasn't a good idea of mine," said Jerry.

"Mr. Bartlett is a little to blame for what you did," said Mr. Martin. "I went to his store and told him in no uncertain terms that I did not think it fair for a storekeeper to reward credit customers and do nothing for even better cash customers."

"So is he going to stop giving candy to people when they pay their bills?"

"No. He says he's sentimental about that old family custom. But he saw the justice of my argument. He has decided to give the equivalent of a two per cent discount in produce to any customer whose cash receipts for a month are more than fifty dollars."

"What does that mean—in produce?"

"Well, it could be a bag of potatoes or a box of candy. That's entirely up to your mother."

"Not bad. Not bad at all," said Jerry.

"You can wipe that self-satisfied expression right off your face, young man," said Jerry's father. "Taking things in your own hands and deciding what I should do with my money was wrong and you know it. You do know it, don't you?"

Jerry said he could see now that it had not been the right thing to do.

"When I think of all the time and effort you put in for half a pound of candy—well, I can only hope that someday you'll work as hard at something useful."

Jerry wished his father would hurry up and say what his punishment was to be.

"Considering that there are extenuating circumstances, I am letting you off easy," said his father. "No baseball games for you for the rest of the season. Either at the ball park or on television."

"Not even the World Series on television?"

"Not even the World Series."

The punishment did not seem light to Jerry. He was crushed. "Can't I even play baseball?"

Jerry's father considered the question. "Suppose we confine the restriction to looking at professional baseball."

Jerry sighed in relief. That was not quite as bad. "What are you going to do with that box of candy?" he dared ask.

"I suppose you expected to gorge yourself on it."

"I was going to pass it around," said Jerry. "And take a few pieces over to the Bullfinches. He's been awfully nice to me."

"As long as you have it, you may as well pass the candy around," said Mr. Martin. "But remember. Don't you ever do such a deceitful thing again, Jerry Martin."

"I won't. Honest."

In the cage by the window, the big green parrot flapped his wings.

"Sometimes he does that when he's getting ready to talk," said Jerry.

The parrot remarked something in Spanish which Jerry did not understand. Then he said "Jerry" quite clearly. "Jerry!" he called in his loud, hoarse voice. "Jerry!"

The subdued look on Jerry's face was replaced by a broad smile. "I'm the first one in this family he's called by name," he said to his father.

"It's a good name," said Mr. Martin. "Your Grandfather Martin's name. He made it a name to be proud of. See that you keep it that way."

Jerry said he certainly would try. He really meant to. He and his father went back upstairs together. Weary though he was, Jerry felt the relief of having that charge account business off his shoulders. In spite of being deprived of his beloved ball games, he felt more lighthearted than he had for weeks. First, he would pass the candy box to Andy and then to the rest of the family. Then, before taking some over to the Bullfinches', he would take a green mint down to Pedro.

"If he doesn't like it, I'll eat it myself," thought Jerry.



THE Surprise OF THEIR LIVES

by Hazel Wilson

This book contains the amazing story of Mary Jo and James Dunham, who lived on Morning Street in Portland, Maine, with their father and mother and small sister Ellen.

You wouldn't expect much out of the ordinary to happen to the Dunhams. They went about their happy life—having birthdays and Halloween parties, going to school and staying after, getting into barrels and the mouths of cannons, quarreling and scolding sometimes, but being fond of each other always underneath—as if it would be that way forever.

But you would be reckoning without Lizzie Atkins and scarlet fever if you thought the sea would always stay calm with only a few ripples for the Dunhams. In fact, it was mostly due to Lizzie, whom some parents forbade their children to play with, that Mary Jo and James received just about the biggest surprise that could happen to anyone.

This is not the place to tell what the surprise was. You will have to read the book to find out.

Drawings and jacket by Robert Henneberger



HAZEL WILSON

Mrs. Wilson has written several stories with the background of her native State of Maine. Among them are THE SURPRISE OF THEIR LIVES, about the amazing adventure of a boy and girl in the days when ocean liners docked at Portland, and TALL SHIPS, an exciting tale of impressment and sea battles during the War of 1812.

In 1956, Mrs. Wilson's work for children and books, as librarian, teacher, and author, was recognized by her own college, Bates, in Maine, which awarded her its honorary degree of Master of Arts.

For JERRY'S CHARGE ACCOUNT, she has moved her background to what is now her home city, Washington, D.C. Readers will discover that this background plays an important part in helping Jerry work out his difficulties.

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Transcriber's Notes

Moved some illustrations to avoid breaking up the text. Corrected mismatched quotes.

On page 30, changed "his legs for apart" to "his legs far apart".

THE END