“But they didn’t drown,” Tom protested. “And I risked my own life to save them. Don’t I get any credit for that?”
“If you hadn’t shamed them into going on the raft with you,” Papa said, “there would have been no need for you to risk your life to save them. Now, I’ve just about had it with you and your great brain. So I am giving you fair warning. If you don’t reform, I will send you to the strictest military academy in the United States. So you damn well better reform. Now go to bed.”
It was the first time I’d ever heard Papa swear in front of Mamma and Aunt Bertha. I guess that shows how angry he was with Tom. I scooted back upstairs and was starting to undress when Tom entered the room.
“You listened,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “And boy, oh, boy, did Papa lay it on you good.”
“You told him everything,” Tom said with an accusing look. Then he shrugged. “I guess you had to after what happened. And even if you hadn’t told him, he would have found out all about it anyway.”
“Well?” I asked.
“Well, what?” he said.
“Are you going to reform like Papa said?” I asked.
“Papa is just a little upset,” Tom said. “But he will
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get over it, just as he has in the past. What is the sense in having a great brain if you don’t use it?”
“But if you don’t reform,” I said, “Papa will send you to a military academy.”
Tom sat down and took off one shoe. “You sure are dumb when it comes to parents,” he said.
“And just how do you figure that?” I asked because no kid likes to be called dumb unless he knows why.
“You didn’t hear Mamma say one word. did you?” Tom asked.
“What has that got to do with me being dumb?” I asked.
“Papa told Mamma he was going to lay down the law to me,” Tom said. “She knew it was something he had to get off his chest. But Papa knows as well as I do that Mamma would never let him send me away to a military academy. And speaking of academies, I have a proposition for you before I go back to the Catholic Academy in Salt Lake City.”
“Not me,” I said. “I may be dumb but not dumb enough to make any more deals with you.”
“Have it your way,” Tom said, “I can sell the basketball and backstop to some other kid before I leave.”
That made me change my mind. “What do you want for them?” I asked.
“Let me keep the dollar and ten percent commission money Papa said J had to give you,” Tom said, “and you can have the basketball and backstop.”
I knew the basketball and backstop cost a lot more than that. And when I owned them, I was a very popular fellow because I didn’t charge the kids to play.
“It’s a deal,” I said.
“Shake on it,” Tom said.
We shook hands to seal the bargain. I went to bed that night knowing that The Great Brain had no inten-tion of even trying to reform. But in spite of his money-loving heart and the many times he had swindled me, Tom was my brother, and I loved him. The Jesuit priests at the academy had failed to reform him. Papa and Mamma couldn’t make him reform. So it was up to me to make Tom turn over a new leaf. I knew I had to do it for his
own good.
Tom had taught me to think about a problem before
going to sleep and my subconscious mind would solve it. I was thinking very hard of a way to save Tom from himself when I fell asleep.
CHAPTER TEN
The Trial of the Great Brain
THAT TRICK TOM TAUGHT ME of making the subconscious mind solve a problem while you are asleep sure worked. When I woke up in the morning, an idea popped right into my head of a way to make Tom reform. If The Great Brain got a taste of what it would be like to go on trial as a confidence man, swindler, and crook, maybe that would make him reform. I would get the kids to put Tom on trial in our barn.
After the morning chores were over I got my bike and went to Smith’s vacant lot. Most of the kids our age were there. I explained my idea to them. They all thought it was a peach of an idea. The only trouble was that all of
i en
them wanted to be witnesses against Tom. I couldn’t find one kid who wanted to be on the jury. I decided to have Tom tried just by a judge, the way Judge Potter often tried cases in court. But I couldn’t find one kid impartial enough to be a judge. They all said Tom was guilty.
Then I happened to look across the street. Harold Vickers was sitting on his front porch, reading a book. Harold was always reading. He was the son of the district attorney and sixteen years old. He had something the matter with his eyes and wore glasses with thick lenses. I walked over to the front porch, explained everything to Harold, and asked him to be the judge.
“You’ve come to the right person,” he said, looking at me over his glasses. “I am going to be a lawyer when I grow up. That’s why I spend most of my time reading about the law, or in court listening to my father try cases. It will be a pleasure to act as judge and put that smart aleck brother of yours in his place.”
I didn’t think what Harold said was prejudiced because he had never been swindled himself by The Great Brain. And Harold agreed that making myself district attorney wasn’t prejudiced either. Even though he was my brother, Tom had swindled me more times than any kid in town. That made me impartial.
It was lunchtime when I got home. I was pretty dam sure every kid in town my age and Tom’s knew about the trial. After eating, I sneaked some evidence I would need into the barn without Tom seeing me. Then I joined Tom, who was playing basketball by himself.
“I thought there would be a gang of kids here to play basketball,” he said, “now that they don’t have to pay to play.”
“They will all be in our barn at two o’clock,” I said.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“You are,” I said. “You are going on trial for being a swindler, confidence man, crook, and anything else we can think of.”
“What kind of a joke is this?” he asked, laughing.
“It is no joke,” I said, “And it you want to try to de-fend yourself, you be in the barn at two o’clock.”
Harold Vickers came at one thirty, as promised-He helped me move bales of hay inside the barn to make a bench for the judge, a witness stand, and a place for the district attorney and defendant to sit. There were about forty kids in the barn before two o’clock. Tom was still playing basketball by himself in the alley. I went to the barn door and opened it.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” I shouted. “Court is about to be-gin!”
I saw Tom put the basketball in the woodshed and start for the barn. I knew his curiosity would make him come.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded.
Harold picked up Papa’s wooden mallet. He rapped it on a block of wood we had placed on the bale of hay serving as the judge’s bench.
“Silence in the court,” Harold ordered. “This court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Harold Vickers presiding.” Harold had spent so much time in court that he sounded like a real judge.
I stood up. “I call the first case. Your Honor,” I said. “The kids of Adenville against Tom Fitzgerald, alias The Great Brain.”
Harold looked at Tom over his thick glasses. “Does
the defendaat have an attorney?” he asked.
“I’ll defend myself,” Tom said smugly.
“You are charged,” Harold said, “with being a confidence man, a swindler, a crook, and a blackmailer, and with the attempted murder of Jimmie Peterson and How-ard Kay. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” Tom said confidently.
I could tell from the look on Tom’s face that he had decided to play along with the trial, believing his great brain would make fools out of all of us.
Harold pointed the mallet at me. “Call your first witness, Mr. District Attorney,” he said.
Tom held up his hand. “Just a minute. Your Honor,” he said. “I demand
a jury trial.”
This time Harold pointed the mallet at Tom. “How can you have a jury trial when every kid in town is against you?” he asked. “Now sit down and shut up or I’ll fine you for contempt of court.”
I called Danny Forester as my first witness. I made him place his hand on an old Bible and swear to tell the truth.
“Now, Danny,” I said, “tell the judge what happened to you after the defendant swindled you out of your infielder’s glove.”
Tom jumped up, “I object. Your Honor,” he said. “Danny made a bet with me and lost. There is no law against betting in Utah.”
I had expected this. I got seven tin cans from where I’d hidden them and placed them on a bale of hay. I then explained to Harold how Tom had swindled Danny and Jimmie.
“And if that isn’t a swindle, Your Honor,” I said as
I finished, “I don’t know what you would call it.”
“The court rules,” Harold said, “that it was an out-and-out swindle. Proceed.”
“Now, Danny,” I said, “tell the judge what happened afterward.”
“My Pa gave me the worst whipping oŁ my life,” Danny said. “And he told me that I could never have another baseball glove.”
“Cross-examine,” I said to Tom.
Tom walked confidently to the witness stand. “When you made the bet, Danny,’* he said, “you thought you were going to win two dollars and a quarter from me, didn’t you?”
“I guess so,” Danny answered.
“And, after seeing four other kids win twenty-five cents from me,” Tom said, “‘you thought you had a sure thing, didn’t you?”
“I guess so,” Danny said, looking almost ashamed.
“In other words,” Tom said, “you thought you had a sure thing and I thought I had a sure thing. So how can you say I swindled you withouUadmitting that you tried to swindle me?”
‘Oanny gave me a helpless look. I didn’t know what to do so I passed on the helpless look to the judge. Harold pointed the wooden mallet at me.
“I would like to point out to the district attorney,” he said, “a flaw in the defendant’s line of reasoning. The witness only thought that he had a sure thing. The defendant knew that he had a sure thing. So the court rules the witness was swindled. Call the next witness.”
Boy, oh, boy, was I glad I’d picked Harold for the
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judge. I called Jimmie Peterson to the witness stand and put him under oath.
“Now, Jimmie,” I said, “tell the judge what happened to you after the defendant swindled you out of your baseball with the same confidence trick.”
“My ma gave me a whipping,” Jimmie said, “and told me that I could never have another baseball because I’d let that Fitzgerald kid cheat me out of mine.”
“Now, Jimmie,” I said, “tell the judge why you got on that raft for the last trip, when you knew there was a flood coming down the river.”
Again Tom stood up. “I object, Your Honor,” he said- “The witness couldn’t possibly have known there was a flood coming down the river. The water in the river has turned muddy many times before without there being any flood.”
Harold looked at me. I just stared back at him because I didn’t know what to say. Then he peered over his glasses at Tom.
“You are right about the water in the river becoming muddy without there being a flood,” he said. “But this has only happened when it was raining in and close around Adenville and not in the mountains. Every time it rains all day or all night in the mountains and the water in the river starts turning muddy, there has been a flood. So the court rules that when he saw the muddy water on that day, he knew a flood was coming down the river.”
Boy, oh, boy, Harold was turning out to be as smart . when it came to law as his father.
“Now, Jimmie,” I said. “Answer the question.”
Jimmie pointed at Tom. “I got on the raft,” he said,
“because Tom said anybody who didn’t go was a fraidy-cat. And I didn’t want the other kids to think I was a coward.”
“Cross-examine,” I said to Tom.
The Great Brain stared at Jimmie. “Is this the thanks I get for saving your life?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t have had to save it,” Jimmie said, “if you hadn’t shamed me into going on the raft.”
Tom walked back and sat down on a bale of hay. For once in his life a kid had stunned him into silence. I called Howard Kay as my next witness-
“Now, Howard,” I said, after swearing him in, “tell the judge why you went on that last trip on the raft.”
“Same reason as Jimmie,” he said. “I didn’t want the kids to think I was a fraidy
“Then the defendant actually forced you to go,” I said.
“He sure did,” Howard said.
“In other words,” I said, “Tom Fitzgerald, alias The Great Brain, is guilty of attempting to drown you and Jimmie.”
“I object!” Tom shouted. “Howard knows that I couldn’t attempt to drown him and Jimmie.”
Harold pointed the wooden mallet at Tom. “You-used words which forced both the witnesses to get on the raft,” he said, “which is the same as if you had used physi-cal force, in the eyes of the law. The court rules that because you didn’t cancel that last trip, you are guilty of the attempted murder of Howard Kay and Jimmie Peterson. Proceed, Mr. District Attorney.”
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind by this time that
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Harold Vickers would one day be a member of the Supreme
Court of the United States.
“One last question, Howard,” I said. “Are you willing to forgive the defendant?”
“Shucks, no,” Howard said. “I hate him.”
“Cross-examine,” I said to Tom—
I’d never seen such a bewildered look on Tom’s face as he walked to the witness stand.
“Do you really hate me, Howard?” he asked. “You sure as heck haven’t given me any reason to like
you,” Howard answered.
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Tom as he slumped down on a bale of hay. But I couldn’t stop now. It was up to me to make Tom reformno matter how much it hurt me or him. I called Parley Benson to the stand. I didn’t know if I should ask him to take off his coonskin cap in court or not. I decided to let him wear it.
“Now, Parley,” I said, “please tell the judge how
you lost your King air rifle.”
“Tom said he had a piece of magnetic wood,” Parley
said. “He claimed he could throw it into the air and make it come back to him, using a magnet. I knew nobody could magnetize wood and that’s why I bet him.”
I brought out Papa’s big dictionary and opened it to the page with a picture of a boomerang. I showed the picture to Parley.
“Is that what the piece of wood looked like?” I asked.
Parley stared at the picture. “Yeah,” he said. “That
looks just like it.”
“Your Honor,” I said, “according to this dictionary,
this is a picture of a boomerang, which is described as a
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bent or curved piece of wood originally used by the aborigines of Australia. By shaping the piece of wood a certain way, it can be thrown and will return to the person who threw it.”
“Let me see that,” Harold said.
I gave him the dictionary and then turned to Parley. “Now, Parley,” I said, “if you had known the piece of wood was a boomerang, would you have bet?”
“Shucks, no,” Parley said.
“What happened because you lost the air rifle?” I asked.
“My pa horsewhipped me,” Parley said. “But that wasn’t the worst part. Pa had promised me a twenty-two rifle when I was fifteen. But he said that if I couldn’t take care of an air rifle then I couldn’t take care of a twenty-two. I guess I’ll be lucky if Pa ever lets me have a real rifle now.”
“Cross-examine,” I said to Tom.
The Great Brain walked to the witness stand. “You are under oath to tell the truth.” he said. “Now, isn’t it a fact that you thought I’d gone crazy when you made the bet?”
“Well, yeah,” Parley admitted.
“And isn’t it a fact that you thought you were taking advantage of an insane person to win two dollars?” Tom asked.
Parley looked helplessly at me as if he expected me to answer the question. I sure as heck didn’t know how to answer it without making Parley guilty and Tom not guilty. But Harold did.
“The defendant is confusing the issue,” Harold said. “The court rules that the defendant pretended to have a
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magnetic stick and feigned insanity for the sole purpose of swindling the witness. Call your next witness, Mr. District Attorney.”
Boy, oh, boy, if I hadn’t picked Harold for a judge, Tom would have been found not guilty on all charges. I called several more witnesses who had been swindled by Tom. The Great Brain didn’t cross-examine any of them. I saved Frankie for my last witness.
“Now, Frankie,” I said. “Tell the judge how Tom tried to make a blackmailer out of you.”
“Tom made you give him your basketball and backstop,” Frankie said, “for not telling Papa and Mamma you said he wasn’t a Christian. He told me to make you give me something for not telling. I made you give me your jackknife. Then you called Tom and me blackmailers. I didn’t know what it meant until I asked Papa. He told me a blackmailer was one of the most lowdown crooks there is. I didn’t want to be a lowdown crook so I gave you back your jackknife.”
“Now tell the judge,” I said, “how Tom played a lowdown joke on you and made you run away from home.”
“I didn’t want to run away,” Frankie said. “But when you and Tom didn’t try to stop me, I was sure Papa and Mamma didn’t love me anymore. So I runned away.”
I was sorry I’d asked the question. I wanted Frankie to put all the blame on Tom. I thought for sure Tom would cross-examine to let everybody know it was as much my fault as his fault that Frankie had run away. But he just sat there staring at Frankie and shook his head when I said, “Cross-examine.”
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