“Well... he lives up that way,” said Eddie slowly, pointing in the general direction of Grandfather’s apple tree and the planet Martinea.
“Now I’ll tell you what you do,” said his grandmother. “Tomorrow morning never mind about the berries. I’ve enough to start my canning. You go up to see that boy and let me see.... Here now, why don’t you take him to the Boy Scout Jamboree?... Remember you said Mr. Pearson invited you, even though you are a New York City Boy Scout. I’m sure he’d not mind to have another boy.... I’ll put up a lunch for you both....”
Eddie sat and thought a while.
“Maybe that is a good idea,” said Eddie. “I’m not too sure he’ll come along, but I’ll ask him.”
“That’s it. You ask him,” said Eddie’s grandmother. “I’m sure Marty will enjoy the fun — the marshmallow roasts and all.”
And after saying good-night to his grandmother, Eddie went to bed wondering how you ask a Martinean Scientist Explorer to come along to roast marshmallows at a village Boy Scout Jamboree.
Early next morning Eddie found the little man sitting glumly at the entrance to his space ship.
“Hi!” said Eddie, as he stood at the edge of the gully in back of Grandfather’s apple tree.
The little man nodded and said nothing.
“Can I come aboard the disk?” asked Eddie.
The little man nodded again and pointed to a strong branch which rested on the edge of the gully with its other end resting on the entrance to the space ship.
“Walk!” he said. “No waste Secret Power Z for helicopter.”
Eddie balanced himself carefully and walked along the branch till he got to the disk entrance. He sat down on the rim and looked down into the space ship.
“Say, it’s dark in there,” he said.
The little man nodded.
“No Zurianomatichrome Power. No light from wall,” he said.
“You mean to tell me you’ve been coming up here and going to sleep in the dark every night?” exclaimed Eddie in a shocked voice. Then after a moment of silence he suggested hesitantly, “I can lend you an old stable lantern... if you don’t mind something that uses kerosene in your space ship.”
The little man looked off into the distance and said nothing.
“Lookit here,” said Eddie. “You’ve gotta cheer up or something. Lookit, my grandmother says.... Well, say, do you remember that man, Mr. Pearson, the scoutmaster we met in the general store? Remember, he says we could come to the Boy Scout Jamboree?... D’you wanta go?”
The little man still said nothing.
“Listen,” said Eddie, impatient with the little man’s silence. “If you’re gonna mope around here like this, all right, but it seems to me you said you came here to explore America. Well, you can’t do any exploring just sitting around like this. And you won’t know anything about America if you don’t know more Americans. You know just me and Grandma and her goat and the goose and the cow... and... well, all the Boy Scouts are Americans and you could...
Eddie talked on for some time. And it seemed after a half hour or so either his arguments convinced the little man, or he was just tired of listening to Eddie’s voice, for he stood up suddenly and said,
“Yes... I go!”
8. The Boy Scout Jamboree
THE Boy Scout Jamboree was in full swing by the time Eddie and the little man arrived. Eddie wore his Scout uniform and his grandmother had found Eddie’s old Cub Scout shirt for the little man to wear, so he would not feel out of place at the Jamboree.
There were three tents pitched in the pasture alongside Miller’s Pond. Each tent had a cardboard sign pinned on its front flap, which gave the number of the Scout troop using the tent for its headquarters. And each tent had a troop flag flying from a pole. Eddie found Mr. Pearson, the scoutmaster, blowing a whistle in front of Troop 333’s tent. He took the whistle out of his mouth long enough to greet Eddie and the little man, with a cheery “Hello, Scouts” and a snappy three-fingered salute.
“All right, Scouts,” shouted Mr. Pearson. “Troop 333... All the Scouts of Troop 333 gather round here, please.... No fooling around now, fellows, we are ready to begin the races.”
The Scouts of 333 came from all directions to gather in a circle around Mr. Pearson. The four patrol leaders helped quiet the twenty-five members of Troop 333 with their whistles. It took a few minutes before the hubbub quieted down and Mr. Pearson could be heard.
“Now, Scouts,” he said, “this year I’d like to see Troop 333 walk off with the honors. Last year, you will remember, we did not do as... well, let’s not dig up... Let bygones be bygones. Let’s forget last year, Scouts. Let’s remember this year. I want you to go out there and win. Now let me see. Who signed up for the three-legged race?”
A few of the Scouts raised their hands.
“Here, here,” said Mr. Pearson. “We can make a better showing than that. What about you, Blubber, and you, Curly? You’ll make a good three-legged team.... And Eddie, since you’re a guest of Troop 333, sign up for the three-legged with your friend here. You ought to team up fine.”
Eddie looked at the little man and started to say something but Mr. Pearson went on talking. “The hundred-yard dash — who’s in the hundred-yard...?” he went on. And in a very few minutes Mr. Pearson had arranged teams and cajoled a number of the laggards in Troop 333 to sign up for a lot of running, jumping, swimming and other contests which many of the modest village boys were sure they could never win.
Eddie found he was committed to three foot races, four swimming races, a cooking contest, a putting-up-and-taking- down-a-tent contest, a first-aid contest, and was one on the team (along with the rest of the troop) in the big tug-of-war that would end the athletic program that afternoon.
The little man had a lighter burden to bear. Perhaps because he wore Eddie’s Cub Scout shirt Mr. Pearson thought he was younger and less experienced than the others. But the little man was assigned to the three-legged race (teamed with Eddie), the hundred-yard dash, the potato-sack race, the tracking-and-stalking contest, the tug-of-war and one swimming race, “the underwater free style” (whatever that was). Eddie promised the little man he would find out and explain it to him before the race began.
The little man had accepted his assignments with no protest, to Eddie’s amazement. And when the Scouts lined up to have their names written down by one of the patrol leaders, who made a list of the contestants, Eddie had another shock. The little man stood in line in front of Eddie.
“Next Scout... you,” said the patrol leader, pointing to the little man. “Oh, you’re a Cub, huh? All right, let’s see that sleeve. I’ll copy it off. Let’s see, Den No. 1, Pack 5530. O.K., Cub... Just a second, what’s your name?”
Eddie started to interfere.
“He hasn’t been here long. He can’t speak English much,” said Eddie hastily.
But the little man brushed him aside and spoke for himself.
“Name, Marty!” he said in a clear, calm voice.
Eddie swallowed a lump. “Gosh, what d’you know,” he said to himself. “Grandma’s name stuck. What d’you know!”
After the starting-a-fire-with- two-matches contest (for tenderfoots) and after a number of other contests which had to do with scouting were run off, the athletic contests began.
This Boy Scout Jamboree was a lot different than the jamborees Eddie had attended with his own New York Scout troop. There were contests he had never seen in other jamborees. For example, there was a cow-milking contest and some of the big Scouts in the other two troops had a log-rolling contest out in the pond. It was a lot of fun and the little man seemed to enjoy everything, too, though he never laughed out loud and smiled only occasionally.
Eddie explained everything as slowly and as simply as he could so that the little man would not have to get out his dictionary box. When they finally got down to the regular athletic contests, everything was easy as far as Eddie was concerned. He did not have to explain running and jumping
. Everything went along smoothly until the potato-sack race. The little man was entered in that race. Eddie helped him into his potato sack and told him what to do, to hop, holding his sack, until he crossed the finish line.
The race was started, and all the Scouts in that contest began hopping and flopping and tumbling over, like everyone always does when they compete in a potato-sack race. There was a lot of laughter and cheers from the sidelines. It seemed everyone, both the Scouts in the race and everyone watching it, was having a good time, everyone, that is, except the little man. As he hopped and tumbled and rolled behind all the other racers, Eddie saw that the little man was getting angrier and angrier. Finally Eddie saw him reach into one of his pockets, pull out his little Radiomatic Helicopter Minature, set the wheel of it spinning, and he was lifted and swept to the finish line in an instant!
There was so much confusion, laughter and excitement no one but Eddie noticed how the little man won that race. He was cheered and seemed proud of himself when Eddie ran up to help him crawl out of the potato sack.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” whispered Eddie as he knelt down by the side of the little man. “Marty, that wasn’t fair.”
The little man lifted his eyebrows. “What means fair?” he asked calmly.
And before he could fumble out his dictionary box, Eddie stopped him.
“Don’t pull that out,” Eddie whispered. “Fair means... well, if you win because you got something to help you win no one else has... well, that isn’t fair.”
The little man frowned and did not say anything for a moment.
“Win is important — yes?” he asked in a low voice.
“Win is important — yes, if you win fair!” said Eddie. “If you don’t win fair — no!”
As they stood on the sidelines, watching some other races, Eddie explained more about playing and winning fair like a Boy Scout. At last the little man nodded his head.
“Yes, now I win fair,” he promised.
“All out for the three-legged race!” somebody shouted.
“We’re in that, Marty,” said Eddie. “Come along....”
At the starting line Eddie tied his right leg to the little man’s left leg and with their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders they were ready to begin the three-legged race.
“Remember now,” said Eddie out of the side of his mouth. “Win fair.”
The little man nodded.
Mr. Pearson blew his whistle and there was a chorus of blasts from the whistles of the other scoutmasters and all the patrol leaders.
“Quiet, everybody!” shouted Mr. Pearson, when everyone was already quiet. “Now, Scouts, in this race you three-legged teams must run from this starting line to that white birch tree, around the tree, and back here again. Is that understood?”
All the three-legged teams nodded their heads.
“All right!... One to get set,... two to get ready,... and three to go!” shouted Mr. Pearson, and with a wave of the signal flag he held, the race was on.
Eddie and the little man started off at the same clumsy pace as the other teams. But suddenly Eddie felt his right leg (the one that was tied to the little man’s left one) jerked forward, and lickety-split they had raced across the field, round the birch tree and were back to the starting line — the winners of the three-legged race!
The other teams had hardly started. None of them had hopped more than three feet from the starting line.
Deafening cheers and shouts greeted their astounding victory.
“What a team!” chortled Mr. Pearson. “I knew you would make a wonderful team!”
The little man had bent down quickly when they reached the finishing line (or starting line), the moment they crossed it, or they would have run past Mr. Pearson. Eddie bent with him and untied the string that held their legs together. He saw the little man turn back the knob on his non-gravity shoes to zero! It had been turned to the eighty-mile speed limit mark!
“That was not fair,” whispered Eddie, his face flushed with embarrassment at the wideserved cheers they were getting.
The little man scowled.
“I no turn knob to eighty-mile speed limit,” he said calmly. “Accident. You push knob with foot.”
Eddie for a moment was undecided. Should he or should he not try to explain why the little man and he could not accept the honor of having won the three-legged race? But the next race had already started (the wheelbarrow race) and no one was paying any attention to them any more.
When the swimming races came along, Eddie did pretty well. He won a first ribbon, a couple of seconds, and an honorable mention (for effort, said Mr. Pearson) in the backstroke race.
The little man won the “underwater free style”! Eddie hoped it was a clean win but he wasn’t too sure. The little man, although he did wear a borrowed pair of trunks (Eddie’s trunks, which flapped loosely around his wiry little body), looked very strange as he waited with the others for the starting signal, because he insisted on wearing his thick-soled non-gravity shoes in the race.
There was no law anyone could think of why he should not wear his shoes into the water if he wanted to. And after a little discussion between the scoutmasters, the underwater-free-style race began.
The object of the race was to swim from one side of the narrow neck of the pond to the other. The contestants were to swim the twelve-foot stretch underwater all the way. They could use whatever swimming style they preferred — dog paddle, breast stroke, Australian crawl.
“You can even walk,” laughed Mr. Pearson just before he started the race, “as long as we do not see your pointed little heads sticking out of the water until you get over to the other bank!”
Everybody laughed uproariously with Mr. Pearson.
One to get set... two to get ready... three to go... and they were off!
The little man dived in just an instant after the others. But in a flash his head bobbed up from the water at the other side of the pond and he clambered up on the bank!
“Ray-y-y, Marty!” screamed everyone. “What a man, Marty!”
Everybody cheered except Eddie. He did not say a word.
At the end of the Jamboree, after the Scouts had sung some scouting songs, the ribbons were awarded to the winners. Mr. Pearson made a short speech about scouting and fair play and then those Scouts who had won honors were called up. When Marty was called up he stepped forward, took his ribbons, looked at them a moment, then he thrust them back into Mr. Pearson’s hand!
He pointed to himself and said, “No good Scout!”
And he turned and walked away. Eddie chased after him. Mr. Pearson was surprised but since he had a lot of other ribbons to give out he went right on.
The little man and Eddie walked up the road toward Eddie’s grandmother’s farm in silence. The little man spoke just once during their walk.
“Earth Moisture, Water, no good for non-gravity shoes,” he said solemnly.
“Oh,” said Eddie. Now he understood why the little man had to use special power to get out of the pond in the underwater-free-style race.
Just before they parted at the apple orchard Eddie showed the little man the Boy Scout grip and then he put out his hand.
“You know what, Marty?” said. Eddie. “I think you’re a good Scout — shake!”
And Eddie and the little man shook hands like Boy Scouts shake hands.
9. The Strange Storm
THE strangest storm that Captain Jack ever remembered struck in mid-afternoon on the last day of August.
“I’ve lived in this county, man and boy, for nigh onto eighty years, Eddie,” said Captain Jack, “and I’m here to tell you that’s the strangest storm that ever hit this county. It sure was a whopper!”
If Eddie had loitered one minute on his way down to Captain Jack’s to get some weather stripping and the weekly newspaper for his grandmother, he would have been caught in that storm out on the open road. No sooner had he entered the general store, when it struck. Captain Jack came rushing
out from behind his counter as Eddie came in the door, shouting:
“Shut that door! There’s a whopper a-coming! Look at that black cloud out there!... WHAM!”
Eddie whirled in his tracks and he, too, saw the weird black cloud that was the talk of the village for months to come. No one could agree on the shape of it. Some said it was the shape of an umbrella. Others thought it looked like an immense mushroom, and there were those who thought (as Eddie did) it looked exactly like a fat, gigantic overripe dill pickle.
The cloud came so fast and the storm was over so soon, it was no wonder no one had an exact idea of what really happened. It all happened so quickly. There was a terrific gust of wind, which whipped the dust and leaves up into a froth... a crashing splatter of raindrops as big as saucers, which flattened the leaves and dust back to earth... and it was over! And the sun came out again and the sky was clear, blue and serene as if nothing had happened.
People blinked and looked at each other and wondered if anything really had happened or if they had dreamed it. And it was strange, too, aside from stripping the leaves (that were already dead and ready to fall anyway) from some trees, and lifting a few loose barn doors from their hinges, nothing was damaged by the storm. There had been no explanation afterward or forecast before of that storm by any of the local or government weathermen. It was never recorded officially. The barometer and the thermometer did not register any change before, during or after the storm. It was all so fast.
And no one really ever knew much about that storm and about that amazing black cloud except Eddie Blow. He found out about it after supper that night.
When Eddie returned from his errand he found his grandmother shooing chickens out of her truck garden with her apron.
“Eddie boy,” she called as he came up the road. “My, my! Am I glad to see you. I was worried about you. Thought you got caught in that storm. Here, help me shoo these chickens out of the tomatoes. The storm blew them over the fence. Shoo, chickens... out you go...”
In a few minutes the chickens were back in the barnyard where they belonged.
The Space Ship Under the Apple Tree Page 5
