Ginny dug her fists into her hips.
“Sir, please. Would you count them now? They are so many to carry and tomorrow we hope to have more,” I pleaded.
Dr. Roberts sighed again as he slipped his gloves back on.
I emptied the first pail on the table. Dr. Roberts counted and counted. Ian hoisted up the second pail and Ginny dumped her bag. The speed at which the health officer lined up the creatures, marked them off and swept them into the bushel bucket was astonishing. Still it took him a good three quarters of an hour. Finally, he spoke: “Twenty-two thousand one hundred.”
“And?” Ginny asked him.
“And what?” Dr. Roberts returned.
“Was that the highest score today, sir?” I asked.
“No, I believe Mr. Leckie had thirty thousand.”
Ian whistled. Finnigan barked. Bea moaned. All that work, the whole day through, and we still hadn’t beat Fred.
“You have four days,” Dr. Roberts offered kindly as he removed his gloves again. “Anything can happen by then.” He winked at us.
And anything did happen.
When I arrived home that night, I found another box of flies from Rebecca with a note:
Sorry we disagree about your new method. I’m still on your side.
Never forget that.
With admiration,
Rebecca
That word admiration made me want to rush to my manure piles and stomp all over the maggots. But I also knew from Ginny that the market was closed on Wednesdays. Tomorrow we couldn’t possibly kill as many flies. I might need those babies under the screen.
Mercifully, I did not dream about anything that night. I slept like a dog, barely twitching when Father shook me awake for breakfast.
“You have a visitor,” Mrs. Swanson told me before I could even sit down. She raised her eyebrows at me.
I turned to see Ginny at the door. “Can she come in, Mrs. Swanson? Could she have some breakfast?” I put my hands together as if begging her and smiled.
The cook rolled her eyes, but ladled out another bowl of porridge for Ginny.
I brought her in.
“Blimey, Will. I think I’ve died. Could you show me around after?” Ginny spooned even more sugar on her oatmeal.
“No. Absolutely not. We can’t wander the mansion.”
“Just a little tour, no one has to know,” she whispered.
I shook my head.
“Please, Will.
“No!” I snapped.
But after Father left for the stable I guided her through the kitchen, showed her the storage room with the Hoover O in it, our room, and the dumbwaiter. “Now we better go before the master catches us.”
Ginny began climbing the stairs.
“Not that way! Ginny!”
She put her finger to her lips and, just to keep her out of further trouble, I followed her up. Luckily, none of the family was about and I dragged her through the hall as quickly as possible. The walls were papered with swirls of flowers and ivy, the dark oak floor carpeted with a deep red and gold tapestry.
“Ah, Will, to be wealthy like this,” she said when she saw the drawing room with the fireplace and mirror. A large chandelier shimmered rainbows of sunlight everywhere.
“Let’s just leave. Please. Or my Father won’t have a job and we’ll be even poorer.”
I breathed fast and heavy when we finally made it outside. My heart hammered at my chest.
Finnigan yapped at me from the post where he was tied up. Ginny untied him and he leaped up happily on her and then me.
“Where’s your brother and sister today?”
“Sorry, Will, they’re fed up. Tom’s taking them to the beach today.”
“Of course. I’m fed up too. They’ve been marvelous to work so hard for so long for me.” I frowned, missing the rest of my newfound family.
“Let’s do the trash bins today, shall we?” Ginny suggested brightly.
“Yes, but we can start with our stable and garbage shed first.”
In my own backyard, I found an almost empty bottle of tomato sauce with a couple of flies struggling in it. “We’ll have to leave that and see if we can catch more. Then I’ll smash it to get them out,” I told Ginny.
We took along a rolled newspaper and a fly bat and walked through the back alleys. By lunchtime we’d barely filled a pail. Still, Finnigan was happy with all the table scraps we’d turned up in the trash.
We tried the shops on King. I visited Mr. Souter and he let me use his vacuum cleaner along the window corners.
“Blimey, isn’t that the most marvelous thing,” Ginny said.
I told her how I’d used Mr. Moodie’s Hoover O in the stable out back and how I had confessed when Fred threatened to tell.
“And you promised Mr. Moodie you wouldn’t use it again? You didn’t even cross your fingers. Psht,” she said in disgust.
“He seems like a very nice man, Ginny. I couldn’t use it again even if I had crossed them.”
By the end of the day, we had a pail and three quarters. Sixteen thousand was all it amounted to.
“Nobody caught too many,” the other health officer on duty explained. “I think the city is finally running out of flies. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Wonderful,” I grumbled, knowing I shouldn’t feel unhappy about the shortage. Didn’t it mean children were safer, after all? “What did Fred Leckie catch?” I asked.
The officer scanned his papers. “Fourteen thousand.”
I grinned as we left. “Two more days of it, Ginny. If we go full out, I know we can win.”
Friday it rained for the first time since Father and I had arrived in Canada. A steady stream shush-shushed down, making the flies in the market stable dozier and easier to catch. Ian and Bea came back to help and Finnigan was in fine form.
“He’s gets a little too lively when he can’t run around outside,” Ginny explained as Finnigan leaped up a wall for a fly.
I just laughed. On the way out, we walked closer to the building so we could stay dry. The rain cooled the air a little and I felt relaxed. I wasn’t paying attention to what Bea and Ian were doing. They had been warned of pinching anything before they stepped inside the market and I trusted them. They walked by the baskets of fruit and vegetables without touching anything.
Suddenly, Finnigan bolted.
“It’s a rat!” Bea called out.
Sure enough. A gray animal as big as Father’s hand leaped ahead of the dog by a tail’s length.
“Finnigan, stop!” Ginny called as she ran after him. The dog didn’t even slow down. I followed with Bea and Ian.
The rat scrambled up and into a basket of potatoes. Finn scrambled after it, his hind legs sending spuds spraying across a chicken crate. The rat scurried down as Finn knocked into the crate. Chickens squawked and feathers floated out of it.
At least the chickens didn’t get loose, I thought as the farmers yelled after them.
Still, carrots, lettuce, and leaves of all shapes spilled as the hunt continued.
As the rat tore across a pigpen, its back legs suddenly dropped through the slats. Its front legs held onto a rung for a second before they gave out and it dropped onto the pig’s back.
The pig squealed as if it were being butchered. Finnigan leaped into hysterics, his paws scraping madly at the door of the wooden cage. Somehow his strength and persistence opened the door and the pig escaped too.
The farmer chased after the pig, I dove for Finnigan.
Perhaps I should have let the dog keep running, because that’s how the cops finally caught up with us.
Chapter 24
Off in a little room in the market building, I answered the police constable’s question. “I paid for that orange. That was two days ago! Yes, we bargained the price down but the man agreed. We would have returned the fruit if he hadn’t.” The constable was the same one who had caught us in the water fountain the other day.
“We never stole nothin’,” Bea huffed in a
greement.
The policeman raised his eyebrows at the orange vendor sitting across from them. He was the person who had sent the cops after us over Finn’s rat hunt. Strangely, not the man whose pig was still on the loose out there.
“True enough. But why are they carrying those disgusting dead flies through a food market? And how can they let a vicious dog run loose like that?”
“Sir, these flies were caught in the market. We’re doing the farmers a great service, getting rid of all those germ carriers,” I explained. “And, frankly, sir, we were disgusted to discover a rat on the premises.”
“If you ask me you should be giving Finnigan a reward for getting rid of it,” Ginny said.
“He likes a nice pork hock,” Ian suggested helpfully.
The constable slapped his hand on the table for silence. He looked around at all of us. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You children are going to promise not to come to the market anymore.”
“Aw, that would be too bad. I was planning to buy a whole bushel of oranges this week once my father got paid,” Ginny said.
The constable raised his eyebrows at her now.
“We promise,” I answered for everyone. Ian repeated the promise. Bea and Ginny mumbled after him.
“And in return,” the policeman faced the vendor now, “you’re going to let the charges drop. No harm done, eh? Someone could put the health officer on to checking if you have a rat infestation, maybe.”
“I’ll drop the charges,” the orange vendor said and stood from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my stand. I have my customers to attend to.”
We shuffled out of the room too, the coppers leading the way.
“No more trouble out of you kids, eh?” the constable said as he followed us away from the market.
“Count on it,” I promised as I sighed with relief.
But the interview with the policeman made us even later for the official Friday fly catch count-in. As we stepped inside the building, Dr. Roberts had already gone and the only health officer left was grabbing his umbrella to head out himself.
“Sorry, children. We’re finished for today. You’re not the only ones who didn’t make it in this rain. Come back tomorrow. We’re opening for an extra hour so we can count everyone’s catch.”
I frowned down at my soggy flies.
Finnigan gave a little half growl that ended on a whine. He made me smile again and I bent down to pat him.
His tail wagged and he licked at my face. Finally, I straightened and we all trudged out of the building into the pouring rain. “I don’t know how we’re going to come in with a win tomorrow. We’re not even allowed near the market.”
“What about your manure flies? The rain would have killed them for you today. All you have to do is collect those,” Ginny said. “Can you get gloves somewhere?”
“I don’t think so.” Being rained on did nothing to make me feel more optimistic about the competition. When I arrived at home, I locked up my flies in the stable cupboard just to be sure. Then I swatted some more.
“Are you in there?” Rebecca’s voice floated to me like music in a dream. She stepped into the stable.
“Hello,” I called. She wore a plain brown dress and bonnet, but on her brown looked rich, like melted chocolate.
“I bet your horses are glad they aren’t plagued by those awful creatures,” she said as she looked at my evening catch.
“I suppose.” I told her all about the rat race in the market.
“But that’s terrible,” she said. “Rats carry the black plague, you know. Well, the little fleas on their backs do.”
“Perhaps the Spectator should have a rat-catching contest next.”
“Or a flea-catching competition.” She smiled and I thought I could feel the clouds leaving the sky. “Another can of flies for you.” She handed it to me.
“Do you think I will win tomorrow?” I asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Either way, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.” She reached over and kissed me on the cheek. “See you tomorrow. Make sure you don’t let the little dog waylay you again.”
“I won’t.” For one long moment, I didn’t care about who won the contest either. I touched my cheek where it still felt warm, smiled as I stowed my latest catch in the cupboard, and then headed back to the house. I was starving and thought it might be supper time.
Next morning, with a clothes peg on my nose, garden gloves on my hands, and tweezers between my thumb and forefinger, I went to collect my manure flies.
First, I removed the garbage weights and then I peeled the screen back. I smiled. The manure was covered in blue and black bodies. Most lay still on their sides but some lay on their backs, their threadlike legs still twitching. They would make a fine catch, the winning one. As I plucked the flies from the manure, I thought about Father’s criticism when I had told him this plan: “Don’t fool yourself. This has nothing to do with avenging anybody’s death anymore. This is strictly about winning, about beating that fellow you don’t like.”
Father was probably right, but he simply didn’t know how awful Fred was. “One hundred and two, one hundred and three.” I counted the bodies as I plucked them from the dung and dropped them into the bag, concentrating so I wouldn’t throw up. As I cleared off each mound, I shoveled the heap back into the larger pile that would be taken away Tuesday.
I did want to beat Fred Leckie, to show him he couldn’t just use people and treat them like the manure under his feet.
“William!” Father called from the house. “Come in now for breakfast and mind that you wash your hands.”
As I pumped the cold water over first one hand and then the other, I thought about how I would finally prove myself to Fred. He would know that I wasn’t just some poor boy living in a borrowed room. I was somebody to be reckoned with.
Ginny showed up in time for oatmeal. “I figured I’d leave Finn with the kids back at home. Seeing as he caused so much trouble yesterday.”
I told her about my painfully early morning fly harvest, which netted 2,310 flies.
“You know they just round up or down to the nearest hundred, right?”
“Yes. Are you ready? Today will make the difference between winning and losing.”
“I know. Here’s our catch from the outhouse near us.” Ginny handed me a large can full of flies. “The toilet had overflowed so the pickings were good.”
I winced. “Thank you. Thank you for all your help.”
“It was the least we could do after I stole your flies for Fred. You’re better than he is, you deserve to win.”
Better than Fred. I savored the thought. It sounded much nicer than “No better than Fred,” which was what Rebecca had said when I’d told her about the manure pile. Our target, we decided, would be every garbage bin, outhouse, horse livery, and fish market we came to. We would aim for three large cans full or stop at three o’clock, whichever came first. With that catch we would return to Blink Bonnie, pick up the stowed manure flies and assorted cans from yesterday, and head for the health department. We certainly didn’t want to miss the deadline today.
First, I smashed the tomato-sauce bottle in the Moodie garbage bin for the ten flies I had trapped with it. We swatted for a bit there and then walked down the hill to King Street. As we neared the first fish market, Mr. Souter waved to us from his store.
“I heard you are a high contender in the fly-catching competition,” he said. “I want to loan you something. Wait here.” He ran to the back and wheeled out a wagon. On it sat his Hoover O. Taped around the Hoover was a sign that read “Souter’s Amazing Fly-Catching Machine.”
Ginny’s eyes about popped out of her head.
“Now all I ask is that you bring the wagon to the health department today. I hear there will be all manner of dignitaries there and the Hamilton Spectator will be taking photos.”
I grinned at Ginny. What a stroke of luck! We were certain to win the contest now.
<
br /> Chapter 25
Ginny and I took turns with the Hoover O. A disadvantage of the machine was that we couldn’t tell how many flies we caught as we went along. As she vacuumed, I continued to swat. One pail was full by lunch time.
We walked to Corktown to eat lunch with her brother and sister. It was the first time I had visited Ginny’s home, and I was shocked. Their building was more worn and blistered than Madame Depieu’s rooming house. We climbed to the fourth floor to the room that all six of the Malones lived in. It was only slightly larger than the one I shared with Father.
No flies buzzed around the pot of soup on the stove. Bea and Ian had caught every last one in the building for me today. I dumped their small bag into the second can. It would all help.
I didn’t think I could refuse a bowl of the potato soup Ginny heated up for them. Ginny didn’t finish hers. She offered what was left to Finnigan.
Then we headed off together again up the back alleys where the garbage drew tons of flies. No way to connect the Hoover here. Finnigan was in great form, though. Ginny had trained him to spit the flies directly into our tin on the wagon.
At two thirty, we emptied the flies from the vacuum cleaner into the can. We had two full cans now. “Is it enough?” I wondered out loud.
“Surely with your manure flies it will be,” Ginny offered.
Bea and Ian agreed, but I knew they were just exhausted. And so was I. After today, I never wanted to see another fly in my life.
We pulled the wagon to Blink Bonnie and filled it with the containers from the cupboard in the stable. I hesitated over the bag containing my home-raised manure flies, frowning at it. Things changed somehow knowing that both Rebecca and Father disapproved. Something about these flies didn’t feel right.
“Let’s go, Will,” Bea pleaded. “I heard they’re going to take our picture for the paper.”
I owed it to the Malones, now, didn’t I? To do everything in my power to win? With a grimace, I squeezed the bag in behind the Hoover O.
Back down the hill we went.
Even though the lineup was the longest ever, there was a party-like feeling in the air. Everyone talked and laughed. Many of the parents had come down to City Hall.
Revenge on the Fly Page 14
