Alvin had to get up early each morning to deliver his papers. He received $2.26 a week for delivering the papers before seven o’clock, and he promptly spent it for springs, wire, bolts, radio tubes, washers, light bulbs, and old clocks for his inventions.
Alvin always considered himself a Great Inventor, capitalized. In fact, Alvin’s mind always capitalized his great inventions. He thought of himself as another Thomas Alva Edison (though, to himself, he always said Thomas Alvin Edison). And, like all Great Inventors, Alvin’s mind was continually working on some kind of a problem.
This particular morning his magnificent brain was working on the problem of the Sure Shot Paper Slinger. Would it work? The first real test would come this morning on the paper route. Alvin was so intent on the problem that he didn’t notice anything wrong until he saw himself standing slantwise in the mirror. Then he discovered that he’d put on one shoe and one ice skate, which he’d been kicking around the closet floor since last winter.
Alvin was a short, freckle-faced twelve-year-old who didn’t care much how he dressed, anyway. As a matter of fact, except for Sunday school, he hadn’t had on his good pair of pants since the last day of school, and here it was the middle of the summer. Alvin hated to see the summer go by so fast because fall meant school, and schoolwork didn’t leave him enough time to invent. He lived in Riverton, a middlesized town in Indiana, and even the adults in town knew that Alvin was a Great Inventor.
They’d never forget the time, three years ago, when he “motorized” his sister’s tricycle, put her on the seat and started the gasoline engine. She’d rolled down Hickory Street, gradually picking up speed, sailed around the corner into the business district, zoomed past the Cashway Hardware Store, crashed through the door of McAllister’s Drug Store, and ended up in a heap beside the soda fountain. When Mr. McAllister picked her up to see if she was hurt, she ordered a chocolate sundae. Her trip made headlines in the local paper, and from that moment everyone in town knew that Alvin was a Great Inventor.
Alvin kicked the skate back into the closet, found his other shoe, and put it on. He had to struggle to pull on his pants because the pockets were so bulgy, but that was nothing unusual for Alvin’s pockets. He put everything on the dresser, making a pile that included a screwdriver, knife, three pennies, a jelly sandwich left over from the previous afternoon, an old bike pedal, three keys that didn’t fit anything, a chain of paper clips, and several bolts of various sizes. Everything went back into his pockets except the sandwich.
Alvin flipped the switch that turned on his Foolproof Burglar Alarm and slipped quietly out the door, closing it behind him. In the bathroom he washed his face and brushed his teeth.
At the top of the steps the Pest was waiting, fully dressed, her football clutched in her arms. Actually, the Pest was Daphne, his little sister. But the Pest was what Alvin had called her as long as he could remember.
“You go back to bed,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re not supposed to get up when I do.”
“I’m coming along, Alvin.”
“No you’re not. You’re going back to bed. Now get out of my way. I have an important invention to try out.”
He stepped around her and ran down the steps two at a time. As he held the front door so it wouldn’t slam, she slipped out, her golden curls brushing his arm.
Daphne was only eight years old, and she was small for her age. She was as quick and graceful as a kitten, and she managed to pop up in the most unexpected places. Usually they were places where Alvin didn’t want her to pop up. He was always complaining to his parents that she stuck the freckles on her turned-up nose into business where the freckles on her turned-up nose didn’t belong.
Because she worshipped Alvin, Daphne wished she was a boy. Whenever her mother would let her, she dressed in Alvin’s outgrown blue jeans. And, although she had a dozen dolls with complete outfits, she hid them away in her closet and insisted on carrying around an old football wherever she went.
“You go on back,” Alvin insisted.
“I want to watch.”
From years of experience Alvin knew that it was useless to argue with Daphne. He walked on out to the garage.
In the open door he paused a moment for a good look at his latest great invention. There it was, fastened to the rear wheel of his bike. Man, oh man, it looked good! Why, he’d probably make a million dollars on it, besides helping every paperboy in the world. It was a genuine, never-before-invented Sure Shot Paper Slinger.
The invention stood out on one side of the rear wheel. There were a lot of complicated parts, but mainly it was made of a broom handle, an inner tube rubber, two screen-door springs, and a tube made of cardboard that was big enough to hold a rolled-up paper. The levers on the handlebars operated the invention.
“Oh, Alvin,” said the Pest. “It’s beautiful.”
“May not work,” he replied. “May not work at all. You never can tell about an invention until you test it.”
“Test it.” Daphne frequently repeated whatever she heard. “Oh, Alvin! It’s so beautiful. Let’s test it quick.”
The Pest thought all his inventions were beautiful. All except the Foolproof Burglar Alarm which kept her from sneaking into his room.
As Alvin wheeled out the bicycle he saw Shoie trotting up the driveway.
“Hi!” said Shoie. “All ready to try it out?”
Shoie — his name was Wilfred Shoemaker, but all the kids called him Shoie — was Alvin’s best friend. He was taller than Alvin and he could run lots faster and jump much higher. In fact, Shoie was considered the mightiest athlete in all of Roosevelt School.
“Hi, Shoie,” said Alvin. “Let’s go pick up the papers and try out this good ol’ Sure Shot Paper Slinger.”
With his left foot on the pedal, Alvin shoved off and started to swing his right foot up over the seat. Instead, he caught it in the Paper Slinger, lost his balance and crashed into Shoie. Immediately there was a tangle of arms, legs, and bike on the driveway.
The Pest looked down at them. “What did you do that for, Alvin?” she asked.
“Don’t just lie there,” Alvin shouted at Shoie. “Get off, so I can see whether or not we ruined the Paper Slinger!”
Apparently there was no damage to the invention.
“Come on. Help me get on the bike and I’ll wait for you at the corner.”
But the Mighty Athlete was so fast on his feet that he was balancing on his head on top of the pile of papers when Alvin came riding up. A moment later the Pest showed up, out of breath. Each morning the delivery truck dropped off a pile of papers on this corner, and it was Alvin’s job to see that they were delivered. Usually Shoie came along just for the fun of it.
The boys rolled each paper into a tight bundle and dropped it into the wire basket in front of the handlebars. At last they were ready for the big test.
“Excuse me for asking,” said Shoie, as he steadied Alvin on the seat, “but how come you made this Paper Slinger? Can’t you throw them just as good with your arm, old bean?”
Alvin and Shoie always called each other “old bean” and “old man.”
For a minute Alvin acted as though he wasn’t even going to answer. Then he said in a disgusted tone, “It’s plain to see that you’ll never be an inventor. Anything that your arm can do, a machine can do better. Why, lots of times I throw papers on roofs and everywhere else, but I’ll bet this Paper Slinger will throw them exactly the same place every time.”
Alvin thought a minute. Then he added, “Besides, you don’t know how sore my arm gets slinging these papers day after day.” (Alvin knew this wasn’t quite true. He’d never had a sore arm except the time he’d hurt it throwing a rock at the big old bull out on Maldowski’s farm. And Shoie probably knew it, too, because Shoie usually slung just as many papers as he did.) “Just think of it. There are a million, maybe two million paperboys all over the United States. And every day every one of them gets a sore arm just from slinging papers. If they throw with bo
th arms that’s maybe four million sore arms every day. And if this invention works, there won’t be a single sore arm on a paperboy anywhere.”
“My brother’s the best thinker in the whole world,” said the Pest. No matter how Alvin treated her, she always stood up for him.
“Everybody quiet,” said Alvin. “It’s time for a scientific test.”
With that he shoved off and started pedaling.
As he approached Mr. McRobert’s house — the first house on his route — Alvin took one of the papers out of the basket, reached around and slipped it into the cardboard tube on the Paper Slinger. Then he grabbed the special cocking lever on the handlebars. He had to pull so hard to get it cocked that he almost crashed into the curb. Finally, he was ready for the big test.
Alvin could feel his heart beating faster as he came up to Mr. McRobert’s house. It was the same feeling he always had when he was about to test a great invention. He took a deep breath and reached for the special release trigger.
Just as he wheeled past the house he gave a quick jerk. The two springs slammed against the rear wheel of the bike, and for a moment Alvin thought he’d been hit by a truck. The instant before he crashed, he heard a whistling sound behind his ear. With the bike on top of him, he twisted around and looked toward the house. High in the air, high above the peak of the roof, the paper unfolded with a snap and pages went fluttering in all directions.
By the time Shoie came running up, the morning paper was spread all over the top of Mr. McRobert’s house.
Preview of Alvin Fernald’s Incredible Buried Treasure
Chapter 1
An after-midnight spring shower had drenched the town of Riverton, and morning had brought a cooling breeze that now wafted through the windows of Alvin Fernald’s bedroom. The moving air carried the gentle odor of a neighbor’s cut grass, reminding Alvin that today was the day that he was supposed to cut the Fernald grass.
Alvin was seated on a folding chair at one end of his Inventing Bench. The bench occupied a place of honor in the center of his bedroom. His bed was situated in one corner. The other furniture consisted of a battered chest of drawers, a full length mirror nailed to one wall, and two other rather decrepit folding chairs.
His sister Daphne, who was two years younger than Alvin, had been taking yoga lessons, and was now in the process of assuming the lotus position on the floor across from Alvin. She was a lithe little bundle of energy, with a radiant head of golden hair which she wore in two pigtails that seemed to bob continually, even when she was only talking. Her cheeks were bright pink, as though she were wearing makeup. Makeup, though, was the last thing she wanted to wear. At the moment she was wearing jeans and one of Alvin’s old shirts. She worshipped her brother, and wanted to be just like him.
“What shall we do today?” she asked, moving from the lotus position to stretch her right leg up across the back of her neck.
Alvin groaned at the thought of such pressure on his own leg. “Not we, Pest. Me.” He called her the Pest because that’s what she was. Always trying to join him and Shoie in anything that was happening.
Something was scratching about in his pocket, tickling his thigh, so he thrust his hand in to find out what it was. At the same time he said, “I’ll give you 50 cents to mow the lawn today.”
“You know Mom and Dad won’t let me use the power mower.”
She was right so he didn’t pursue the point. Instead he brought his hand out of his pocket and dumped the contents on his Inventing Bench. This was difficult because the Bench was covered with an old lamp, a washing machine motor, parts from a model airplane, a coil of wire, two expired balloons, one of his father’s cufflinks, a broken eggshell, the belt from Mom’s vacuum cleaner, and a myriad of other useful items. He shoved some of them aside, and dropped the items in his hand, one by one, on the bench top. There was a baseball trading card, a chewed stick of gum, half a dozen BB’s, a short length of fish line with a hook on one end and a dehydrated worm on the hook, a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich wrapped in foil, and a skeleton key. At last he found the item that had been scratching about in his pocket—a live grasshopper.
He’d forgotten about the grasshopper when he came home from Durkin’s Pond yesterday afternoon. Now he went to the chest, pulled open the top drawer, and drew out an empty pill bottle. He had already punched air holes in the lid so the pill bottle could be used as a grasshopper house. Carefully he eased the grasshopper into the bottle and screwed on the lid.
At that moment the bedroom door swung violently open, and Shoie walked in.
Shoie had been Alvin’s best friend since kindergarten, when they had been running around a corner of the school building in opposite directions, and absolutely clobbered each other. They managed to stagger to their feet, put up their fists, and then both started laughing. They’d been laughing together ever since.
Shoie was half a head taller than Alvin, and had a pair of broad shoulders that Alvin envied. He had a well deserved reputation as the best athlete in Roosevelt School. His black hair stood out in all directions like the end of a dust mop, and his nose slanted off to the left. It had been broken when he fell out of a tree last summer.
After kicking the door closed behind him, Shoie made his usual entry. He took one running step, performed a perfect cartwheel, and landed on Alvin’s bed.
“What’s up, Old Man?” he said. He and Alvin frequently called each other “Old Man” and “Old Bean.” He looked at Daphne. “Hi, Pest.”
“Gotta mow the lawn,” said Alvin. “And make the bed. I’ll do that right now, while I’m thinking of it.”
After a great deal of argument, Alvin had come to an agreement with his mother. They had argued so vociferously that Alvin had finally insisted that they put the agreement in writing. Thus was born “Alvin’s Bedroom Contract.” Alvin agreed to make his bed every morning, and to keep his room reasonably neat at all times. However, he had been careful to exclude his Inventing Bench from the contract. For her part, Mom agreed not to enter his room for six days in a row. Each Saturday she was permitted into the room to inspect it and to change sheets on the bed. If either person broke the contract, it would become null and void, and the disagreement would be taken to Alvin’s father for arbitration. So far, the contract had worked fairly well.
Alvin motioned Shoie off the bed, then tugged the sheet and blanket up toward the top, smoothing out some of the wrinkles. He stood back and stared at the bed. “Looks great!” he said defiantly.
The Pest immediately said, “That’s hyperbole, Alvin. Strictly hyperbole.”
“Hyper what?”
“Hyperbole. H-y-p-e-r-b-o-l-e. It means it’s so exaggerated you don’t even believe it yourself. Now make up that bed right.”
“Where did you learn that word?”
Daphne said proudly, “I’ve been reading the dictionary.”
“You’ve been what?” interjected Shoie. “You’ve been reading the dictionary?”
“Yes. I’m just past the s’s. I’ve found some very interesting words. Like aardvark, which is the first real word in the dictionary. A-a-r-d-v-a-r-k. Aardvark. See? Two a’s to start with, which puts it right at the beginning. An aardvark is a big anteater. Some call it a great ant bear. And I’m an abecedarian. A-b-e-c-e-d-a-r-i-a-n. That’s another word early in the dictionary. It means a student of the alphabet. If you read the dictionary, you’ll find all kinds of fascinating words.”
“Aardvark, huh,” said Alvin. “And abecedarian.”
“Pest, come back in from outer space,” said Shoie.
The intercom buzzer buzzed.
At the time Alvin’s Bedroom Contract had been signed, Mom had pointed out that since she was banned from the bedroom and the door would remain closed, she needed a way to communicate with him. Alvin had promptly rigged up a two-way buzzer. She could press a button in the kitchen and a buzzer installed under the Inventing Bench would sound off, meaning that Alvin should emerge from his room long enough to find out what h
is mother wanted.
Now he opened the bedroom door, stepped to the top of the stairway, and hollered down, “Yes, Mom?”
She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and said, “Alvin, your father just called from police headquarters. He said a stranger appeared there this morning asking for you. Your father found out, at least sort of, what he wanted, and sent him here. He should be here any minute.”
Alvin’s father was a sergeant on the Riverton Police Department.
There was a pause. Then Alvin asked, “What does the man want from me?”
“I don’t know for sure. Something about a buried treasure.”
Immediately Alvin was intrigued. He had a reputation in Riverton for getting involved in all kinds of crazy schemes, some of which got him and others in trouble. Often, when people saw him coming, they crossed over to the other side of the street to keep from meeting him head-on. Frequently Shoie, or the Pest, or even his father had to rescue him from an especially embarrassing situation. But always he greeted the next potential adventure with open arms.
“Okay, Mom. Let me know when he arrives.”
As soon as he returned to his bedroom, Shoie asked, “What gives, Old Bean?”
Trying to appear nonchalant, Alvin replied, “Nothing much, really. Some man wants to see me about a buried treasure.”
Neither of the other kids gave him the satisfaction of questioning him further.
Indeed the stranger was strange.
Mom buzzed again, then appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a man standing behind her.
“Alvin, this is Professor Liam O’Harra.” She pretended to sneeze, hiding her face behind her hand to keep from laughing at the name. “Professor O’Harra has some questions to ask you. Do you want to see him down here, or in your room?”
“Hi, Professor O’Harra,” Alvin said, eyeing the stranger. “Come on up.”
A wiry little man, Professor O’Harra was not even as tall as Shoie. Despite the summer heat he was dressed in a full suit, including vest. A strange little porkpie cap, bright yellow, rested atop his head. His chin was small, centered below a broad forehead, so his face appeared to be a perfect triangle. A few gray hairs poked out from beneath the cap. In one hand he carried a worn leather briefcase. In the other he brandished a very fancy walking stick, which he used to help himself up the stairs, tapping a rhythm on each step as he proceeded.
Alvin Fernald, Superweasel Page 11
