The Great Brain (13 page)

“Your desk is right behind Muriel’s desk,” Mr. Standish said. “If you didn’t do it, you must have seen who did.”

“I no see,” Basil said, so frightened I thought he was going to start jabbering in Greek.

“I think you did,” Mr. Standish said. “Now you either tell me who did it if you didn’t do it or come up here and take a paddling.”

Basil walked to the front of the classroom as Mr. Standish got the paddle from the corner.

Tom stood up. “You can’t paddle Basil,” he said. “He didn’t do it.”

Mr. Standish looked at Tom like a cat at a mouse. “If you know for a fact that Basil didn’t put the frog in Muriel’s desk,” he said, “then you must know who did. I want the name of the boy who did.”

Tom folded his arms on his chest. “I’m no tattletale,” he said defiantly.

Mr. Standish told Basil to return to his desk. Then the new teacher ordered Tom to the front of the classroom.

“You will tell me who put the frog in Muriel’s desk or take a paddling yourself,” Mr. Standish said.

“You can’t paddle me for something I didn’t do,” Tom said, glaring at the teacher.

“But I can paddle you for not telling me who did it.” Mr. Standish had an answer for everything.

“I’m not going to tell, and I’m not going to take a paddling,” Tom said defiantly.

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Standish said as he grabbed my brother and threw Tom across his knees.

I felt tears come into my eyes as I watched Mr. Standish give Tom ten hard whacks with the paddle. The tears weren’t for the pain I knew Tom was suffering. I knew my brother could stand pain like an Indian without crying. The tears were for the humiliation I knew Tom was enduring.

“Maybe that will teach you to respect your teacher,” Mr. Standish said as he let Tom go.

I was proud of my brother. There were no tears in his eyes as he glared at the new teacher.

“You’ll be sorry for this,” he said.

Mr. Standish pointed at Tom. “You keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll give you another paddling” he threatened.

It was the rawest deal a kid ever got from a teacher. I couldn’t wait for school to let out so we could tell Papa and Uncle Mark. Finally the school day was over and I walked home with my brother.

“When we tell Papa that Mr. Standish paddled you for nothing,” I said, “he will write an editorial and get the new teacher fired. And when we tell Uncle Mark, he will arrest Mr. Standish and put the new teacher in jail. There must be some kind of a law against a teacher paddling a kid for nothing.”

“We aren’t going to tell Papa or Uncle Mark or anybody,” Tom said to my surprise. “I can take care of myself. Mr. Standish will rue the day he paddled me because I wouldn’t be a tattletale.”

My brother sounded like a prophet of doom. I felt a chill come over me.

“What are you going to do?” I asked breathlessly.

“I’m going to put my great brain to work on getting rid of Mr. Standish,” Tom answered.

“Oh boy!” I shouted. “I’d hate to be in his shoes.”

“When we get home,” Tom said “I want you to sneak the bottle of liniment out of the medicine cabinet without Mamma seeing you and bring it up to our room. You can rub it on my behind. I’ll bet it is black and blue.”

I was disappointed when a whole week passed without my brother’s great brain devising a scheme for getting rid of Mr. Standish. The new teacher paddled several kids the second week of school. He didn’t paddle Tom or me because he had no reason for doing so.

Saturday came. Tom and I did our chores. Then Tom went up to his loft in the barn to put his great brain to work on getting rid of Mr. Standish. He stayed up in his loft all day.

That night after supper Tom sat on the floor in the parlor, staring into the fireplace. I knew his great brain was working like sixty because his forehead was wrinkled. Just before it was time for our Saturday night baths, he got up and walked over to where Papa was reading the
New York World
.

“What does a schoolteacher have to do to be dismissed by the schoolboard?” he asked.

Papa laid aside the newspaper. “Is Mr. Standish that bad?” he asked. “I know some parents have complained that the new teacher uses the paddle quite freely.”

“All the kids hate him and want Miss Thatcher back,” Tom said.

“I’m afraid, T.D.,” Papa said, “they are going to have to put up with Mr. Standish for at least the rest of the school year. And it is in his contract that he can use the paddle or any other means he wishes to keep discipline in school.”

“There must be something a teacher can do that will make a schoolboard dismiss him,” Tom said.

“There are several things,” Papa said. “A schoolteacher must maintain a reputation that is beyond reproach. Now, a teacher who drank or gambled or used profanity, for example, would be considered too immoral to be in charge of children. But your Mr. Standish does none of these things.”

Mamma came into the parlor at that moment and said it was time for our baths. I was the youngest and so I had to go first.

Monday morning during recess I saw Tom talking to Jimmie Peterson. I also saw him hold whispered conversations with several other kids during the afternoon recess. He didn’t tell me what was going on until we were on our way home from school that day.

“I’ve called a meeting in our barn of all the kids who aren’t Mormons,” he told me.

“Your great brain has figured out a way to get rid of Mr. Standish!” I cried with excitement.

“Mr. Standish will rue the day he paddled me,” Tom said.

“But why no Mormon kids?” I asked. “They hate him as much as we do.”

“You’ll find out why later,” Tom said.

A short time later fourteen kids besides Tom and me were assembled in our barn. Tom climbed up the rope ladder to his loft. He came right back down carrying the skull of the Indian chief that always sat on an upturned keg in the loft. He placed it on a bale of hay.

“My great brain has figured out a way to get rid of Mr. Standish,” he announced. “But before I tell you about it, I want you all to take an oath on the skull of this dead Indian chief.”

Danny Forester had never been up to Tom’s loft. “How do we know it is the skull of a dead Indian chief?” he asked.

“Because my Uncle Mark who gave it to me says so,” Tom answered. “He is the marshal and a deputy sheriff and his word is the law. Now do you believe it?”

“If your Uncle Mark says so,” Danny answered.

“Now line up,” Tom said. “Come forward one at a time and place your right hand on the skull of this dead Indian chief, and swear you will never tell anybody what we are going to do to get rid of Mr. Standish.”

One by one we all took the oath never to tell.

Tom then raised his hands over his head. “I call upon the ghost of this dead Indian chief to come back to earth and cut out the tongue of anybody who tells,” he chanted. Then he looked at us and said in his natural voice, “And just to make sure, I will personally give two black eyes and a bloody nose to anybody who does tell.”

Tom then picked up an empty gunnysack and held it up. “Behold, the first step in Mr. Standish’s downfall,” he said.

Basil took a step forward. "Me no understand,” he said.

“It is only the first step,” Tom said. Then he looked at Sammy Leeds. “Can you sneak out of your house after curfew tonight?” he asked.

"Sure," Sammy answered.

"Meet me here,” Tom said. "Wait until you hear the curfew whistle blow and then leave your house. The rest of you meet me here tomorrow after school. I will tell you then of the rest of my plan and why no Mormon kids were invited.”

I watched Tom remove the screen from our bedroom window that night right after the curfew whistle at the powerhouse sounded. He leaned out the window and grabbed a limb of the elm tree by the side of the house. He went hand over hand down the limb to the trunk of the tree. I watched him shinny down the trunk and disappear into the darkness. I was sure I wouldn’t fall asleep until he got back, but the next thing I knew it was morning.

“Did everything go all right last night?” I asked.

“Perfect “ Tom answered.

I thought that school day would never end. It just seemed to drag on and on. Tom and I and the other fourteen kids were on our good behavior all day so nobody would be kept after school.

The moment we had been waiting for finally came as we all trooped into our barn after school let out. Tom removed a gunnysack from beneath some hay. Something in it made a tinkling sound.

“Last night under the cover of darkness,” Tom said, “Sammy and I, with the stealth of Indian scouts, made our way to the rear of The Whitehorse Saloon. There we obtained part of the evidence that will get rid of Mr. Standish.”

I watched breathlessly as Tom removed two empty quart whiskey bottles and two empty pint whiskey flasks from the gunnysack.

“The plan my great brain devised for getting rid of Mr. Standish is to convince the schoolboard that he is a secret drinker,” Tom explained. “With Jimmie’s help we will plant evidence in Mr. Standish’s room.”

I thought I saw through the plan. “Jimmie will put the empty whiskey bottles in the teacher’s room?”

“Not empty ones,” Tom said.

I didn’t understand. “How are kids like us going to get whiskey?” I asked.

“My great brain has thought of everything,” Tom said confidently. “That is why I didn’t let any Mormon kids in on this. The Mormons can’t drink whiskey because it’s against their religion. Now how many of you have fathers who drink whiskey or keep it in the house for medicinal purposes?”

P

Twelve kids raised their hands.

“Good,” Tom said. “Now how many of you think you could sneak just one drink out of the bottle?”

Basil stepped forward. “Why only one drink?” he asked.

“Because if we take any more our fathers might get suspicious,” Tom answered.

“My pa,” Danny Forester spoke up, “keeps his bottle in the pantry. I could sneak in there when Ma isn’t in the kitchen, but how am I going to carry it?”

“J.D.,” Tom said to me, “go up to the loft and get that old hot water bottle of Mamma’s.”

I scooted up the rope ladder to the loft and back down with the hot water bottle.

“Now watch me closely,” Tom said as he took the hot water bottle. “You open your shirt and put the hot water bottle under it and down in your pants. Then you unscrew the top like this.” He picked up one of the empty quart whiskey bottles. “Now pretend this is your father’s bottle of whiskey. You take the cork out and pour a drink from the whiskey bottle into the hot water bottle. You screw back the cap on the hot water bottle like this. You can button up your shirt and if you hold in your belly you can walk right by anybody without them getting suspicious.”

“What a brain!” Danny Forester shouted. “We can go to my house right now. Pa is at work and Ma is over helping my Aunt Sarah do some canning.”

“All right, Danny,” Tom said with a grin, “We’ll begin Mr. Standish’s downfall with you.”

One of the greatest whiskey raids ever made took place after school during the rest of the week. Papa’s bottle was short a couple of ounces along with the bottles belonging to the fathers of twelve other kids. When the raid was over, there was enough whiskey in the hot water bottle to pour about three ounces of whiskey into each of the pint bottles and about six ounces into one of the quart bottles.

The success of Tom’s plan to get rid of Mr. Standish depended a great deal on Jimmie Peterson. Tom met with Jimmie and Sammy Leeds in our barn on Saturday morning. I was permitted to attend the meeting.

“I printed this note,” Tom said as he handed Sammy an envelope. “Tomorrow night after curfew you sneak out of your house and slip the note and envelope under Calvin Whitlock’s front door. Got it?”

“Got it,” Sammy said as he put the note in his pocket.

“Now, Jimmie,” Tom said, “tonight after curfew I’ll sneak out of the house. I’ll hide the pint flask and quart bottle with whiskey in them in your woodshed where I showed you. You’ve got all day tomorrow to wait for just the perfect chance to sneak them up to your room and hide them. Monday morning after Mr. Standish leaves for the schoolhouse, it will be up to you to hide the pint flask under his pillow and the quart bottle in his clothes closet. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jimmie said, grinning.

“Tomorrow night after curfew,” Tom said, “I’ll sneak out of the house again and put the empty quart bottle in Mrs. Taylor’s trash can where she will be sure to see it Monday morning when she goes to the backhouse. And I’ll plant the other pint flask with whiskey in it in Mr. Standish’s coat pocket at school Monday morning.”

Everything went without a hitch that weekend, and on Monday morning Tom’s plan for getting rid of the new teacher went into action. Jimmie was in the kitchen where his mother was preparing breakfast for her boarders when Mrs. Taylor knocked on the back door. Jimmie’s mother opened the door.

“teacher went into action. Jimmie was in the kitchen where

his mother was preparing breakfast for her boarders when

Mrs. Taylor knocked on the back door. Jimmie’s mother

opened the door.

“I’ll thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” Mrs. Taylor said as she waved the empty quart whiskey bottle that Tom had planted in her trash can, “to tell your boarders that I do not want them throwing their empty whiskey bottles in my trash can.”

“So, it is Mrs. Peterson instead of Jenny is it?” Jimmie’s mother said. “Well, I’ll thank you, Mrs. Taylor, not to be accusing my boarders of doing such a thing. None of my boarders ever touches a drop.”

“Where else could this bottle have come from?” Mrs. Taylor demanded. “You and your boarders are the only people in the block who aren’t Mormons, and you know us Mormons never touch alcohol.”

“Then you must have a backslider in your midst,” Jimmie’s mother said. “I would not take in a boarder who drank or smoked.”

And with that, Jimmie told us later, his mother slammed the door in Mrs. Taylor’s face.

After eating breakfast, Jimmie waited in his room until he saw Mr. Standish leave for the schoolhouse. Then he slipped into the teacher’s room and put the pint flask under the pillow and hid the quart bottle in the clothes closet. And for an added touch that Tom had thought up on Sunday, Jimmie placed an open package of Sen Sen, which had cost my brother five cents, on the teacher’s dresser.