The Great Brain Is Back

by John D. Fitzgerald

  The Numbers Game

  That evening after supper Tom went to sit on the Reagans’ front porch with Polly. I showed Papa my list and explained that I couldn’t figure it out.

  “You must do it by elimination,” Papa said, “and you must start with the three squares in the middle. The rest is just a matter of getting two more combinations on the top and bottom to give you the answer.”

  It sounded simple enough. I went to the dining room so I could use the table. But by bedtime I still hadn’t solved the puzzle. No wonder Tom was willing to risk fifty cents against a dime. Without the combinations Papa had given me, a fellow would have as much chance of solving the puzzle as a rooster does of laying an egg.

  The next morning I told Tom I still hadn’t been able to solve the puzzle.

  “I think you’re pulling a fast one on everybody,” I told him.

  “What do you mean by that?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t think it can be done,” I said. “And after driving everybody crazy for a couple of days, you’ll laugh about it like all get out.”

  “The puzzle can be solved all right,” Tom said. “Tonight after supper I’ll show you and the other fellows.”

  READ ALL THE BOOKS IN THE GREAT BRAIN SERIES

  The Great Brain

  More Adventures of the Great Brain

  Me and My Little Brain

  The Great Brain at the Academy

  The Great Brain Reforms

  The Return of the Great Brain

  The Great Brain Does It Again

  The Great Brain Is Back

  For Edward Thomas, Jay Thomas, Elise Christine, and Marianne Joy

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, New York 10014

  First published in the United States of America

  by Dial Books for Young Readers,

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 1995

  Published by Puffin Books, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2017

  Text copyright © 1995 by the Estate of John D. Fitzgerald

  Illustrations copyright © 1995 by Diane deGroat

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780425290040

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED

  THE DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Fitzgerald, John Dennis.

  The great brain is back / by John D. Fitzgerald.

  Illustrated by Diane deGroat.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Although bedazzled by pretty Polly Reagan, a thirteen-year-old Tom Fitzgerald’s great brain and money-loving ways haven’t changed a bit.

  ISBN 9780803713468

  [1. Humorous stories] I. deGroat, Diane, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.F57535Gv 1995 [Fic]—dc20 94-17433 CIP AC

  Puffin Books ISBN 9780425288740

  Version_1

  Contents

  Read All the Books in the Great Brain Series

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  The Slippery Soap Deal

  CHAPTER 2

  The Numbers Game

  CHAPTER 3

  Indians

  CHAPTER 4

  The Great Bee

  CHAPTER 5

  The Dogfights

  CHAPTER 6

  Smoke

  CHAPTER 7

  Blue Lake

  CHAPTER 8

  The Swindler Is Swindled

  Excerpt from The Great Brain

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Slippery Soap Deal

  THINGS GOT SO DULL in Adenville, Utah, in 1899 that I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was all Polly Reagan and Papa’s fault. Polly had put a spell on my older brother Tom. He carried her books to school and spent any spare time he had with her. He even squandered his money buying Polly ice cream sodas at the drugstore.

  When Tom turned thirteen, Papa decided it was time for him to earn his keep. Papa was editor and publisher of the Adenville Weekly Advocate, the town’s only newspaper, and he also did all the printing for people in town. He made Tom work with him after school and on Saturdays. About the only time I saw Tom was during meals and when we did our homework.

  I’ll tell you, life sure was dull for me. Tom had a money-loving heart and a great brain that he used to swindle me and all the other kids in town. Until he turned thirteen, hardly a week had passed without Tom pulling off one of his swindles. Although I was the victim many times, Tom’s conniving ways had made life interesting and exciting.

  Of course, I still had our little brother, Frankie. Papa and Mamma had adopted him when his parents were killed in a landslide. But Frankie was only six years old. I was eleven and too old to play with him. Sometimes I missed Tom so much that I felt like bawling.

  I was sitting on the back porch steps one Sunday afternoon, wondering if life would ever be exciting again, when Tom came out of the kitchen and sat down beside me.

  “Why aren’t you over at Polly’s?” I asked.

  “She’s at her grandmother’s house,” he said. “I’ll be by Reagans’ later,” he added with a grin on his freckled face.

  Tom was the only one in our family who had freckles. I took after Papa and had dark curly hair. My oldest brother, Sweyn, who was going to high school back east, was blond like our Danish mother. Tom was a mixture of Papa and Mamma. It was easy to tell Frankie wasn’t a Fitzgerald because he had the straightest black hair of any kid in town.

  Tom put his arm around my shoulders. “I’ve got a business proposition for you, J.D.,” he said. We usually called each other by the initials of our first and second names because that was how Papa addressed us. We all had the same middle name of Dennis because it was a tradition in our family.

  Every time Tom had put his arm around my shoulders and started talking about a business proposition, I’d lost money. But things had been so darn dull that I didn’t have to think twice before answering.

  “It’s a deal,” I said.

  “But I haven’t even told you what the proposition is yet.”

  “I don’t care what it is,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

  I know that sounds crazy but I really didn’t care if I lost my shirt. I was so happy Tom was back in business that I didn’t care. At least there would be a little excitement.

  “You will have to invest some money,” Tom said, “but I’ll guarantee you’ll make a profit if you are any kind of a salesman.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “What’s the deal?”

  “Well, J.D., as you know, Papa only pays me fifty cents a week.”

  “The way Papa talks you’d think he was paying you seven dollars and a half a week,” I said.

  “Papa says room and board is worth a dollar a day, which is what Jimmie Peterson’s mother charges at her boarding-house,” Tom said. “That is why Papa claims he is actually paying me seven fifty a week.”

  “I’ll sure hate to turn thirteen,” I said, “and have Papa put me to work to earn my room and board.”

  “He says all boys should start earning their keep when they
are thirteen,” Tom said. “I can’t argue about that. Practically every kid in town who is thirteen or older has some kind of a job or works for his parents. But it sure is tough on my pocketbook. I haven’t been able to save a dime since I started working for Papa.”

  “If you hadn’t bought Polly Reagan that ice cream soda last Saturday, you’d have some money,” I said, to let him know I’d never forgive him for falling under the spell of a girl.

  “Forget about Polly,” Tom said. “Let’s get down to business. I saw this advertisement and it looked like an easy way to make some money. You buy fifty bars of soap at a nickel a bar and you sell the soap for ten cents a bar. That gives you a profit of two dollars and fifty cents. But I don’t have time to sell the soap, so I’m willing to take a small profit and turn the whole deal over to you.”

  I made a noise in my throat to let Tom know I was thinking about his proposition and put my little brain to work.

  Adenville had a population of about twenty-five hundred people: about two thousand Mormons, four hundred Protestants, and only about a hundred of us Catholics. There were a lot of places of business and homes west of the railroad tracks. East of the tracks were two saloons, the Sheepmen’s Hotel, the Palace Cafe, a livery stable, a rooming house, and a few houses where poor people lived. With all those businesses and houses, selling soap was a peach of an idea.

  “How small a profit?” I asked Tom when I was finished with all my thinking.

  “Well,” Tom said, “since it was my idea and you would never have had the chance to participate in this business venture if it wasn’t for me, I’ll turn the fifty bars of soap over to you for three dollars and a half. That will leave you a profit of a dollar and a half, when you sell the soap.”

  “Where is the soap?” I asked.

  “I’m expecting it to arrive at the Express office at the depot this week,” Tom said. “It is coming all the way from Chicago.”

  “I don’t know,” I told him. “I can find that advertisement and get fifty bars for two dollars and a half.”

  “No, you can’t. I clipped the advertisement from the magazine. I’m giving you a chance to make a dollar and a half.”

  “I’ll take it,” I said, figuring a dollar and a half was a lot of money. Frankie and I only got twenty cents a week for doing the chores.

  Tom dropped his arm from my shoulders and stood up. “All we need to complete this transaction,” he said, “is for you to give me three dollars and a half from your bank.”

  We went up to our room. I got my bank and began shaking coins out of it.

  “That is a lot of money,” I said after I’d given Tom his three dollars and a half.

  “Not as much as the five dollars you’ll have when you sell the soap,” Tom said.

  “You made a dollar on the deal just answering the advertisement,” I said, beginning to feel as if I’d been swindled.

  “But if I hadn’t answered the advertisement, you wouldn’t have had the brains to do it,” Tom said.

  • • •

  Tom picked up the soap at the depot on his way home from the newspaper office on Saturday. Papa had given him part of the day off because they were all caught up.

  “You can use Frankie’s wagon,” Tom said. He helped me load soap onto the wagon. “Since you are now in business, J.D.,” he told me, “you will need a pitch. Here is what you tell your customers. ‘I’m selling Barker’s All-Purpose Soap. It is the finest soap made and can be used for everything, including shampooing your hair.’ Got that?”

  I repeated the pitch. And suddenly I felt proud. Here I was in business for myself. I took two bars of soap.

  “I’ll try Mamma first,” I said, and went inside to find her.

  Mamma was in the parlor with Aunt Bertha, polishing the furniture. She had a blue towel around her blond hair, and Aunt Bertha had a piece of brown cloth covering her gray hair. Aunt Bertha wasn’t really our aunt. She had come to live with us after her husband had died because she didn’t have any place to go. She was like one of the family.

  “Mamma,” I said.

  “Later, John D.,” she said. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “This won’t take long,” I said. “I’m selling Barker’s All-Purpose Soap. It is the finest soap made and can be used for everything, including shampooing your hair. It only costs ten cents a bar.”

  Mamma laid aside the furniture polish and the rag she had been using.

  “Soap,” she said as if it were a naughty word. “Where in the world did you get soap to sell?”

  “Tom got it from an advertisement, and then I made a deal with him,” I said. “I’ve got fifty bars to sell.”

  “At ten cents a bar?” Mamma said. “I can buy Cashmere Bouquet soap and several other brands for five cents a bar at the store.”

  “But not soap like this,” I said, holding out a bar. “Just smell its fragrant odor. It came all the way from Chicago.”

  Mamma took the bar and smelled it. “I’ll admit it has a nice odor,” she said.

  “You’ll need one bar for the washbasin and one for the bathtub,” I said.

  “All right, John D.,” she said. “I’ll buy two bars, but that is all. And I’m only doing it because you are my son.”

  That sure wasn’t saying much for my soap. But I collected twenty cents and went back outside. Tom was gone. Frankie was standing with his playmate, Eddie Huddle, staring at his wagon.

  “What are you doing with my wagon?” he asked.

  “I’m just borrowing it for a little while,” I said.

  “You got soap in it,” Frankie said. “What are you doing with all that soap?”

  “I’m going to sell it.”

  “Then you should pay me for using my wagon,” he said.

  I figured Frankie was entitled to something for me using his wagon. “I’ll give you a nickel,” I said.

  “How much are you going to make selling that soap?” he asked.

  “A dollar and a half,” I said.

  “Then I want a dime for my wagon,” he said.

  I couldn’t carry the soap around. I needed the wagon. “All right,” I agreed. “Here is your dime.”

  Frankie grabbed the dime. “Come on, Eddie,” he shouted. “Let’s go buy some candy.”

  I pulled the wagon around to the street. I decided to take all the houses on our street first, starting with Seth Smith’s.

  Mrs. Smith came to the front door after I rang the bell.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith,” I said. “I’m selling Barker’s All-Purpose Soap. It is the finest soap made and can be used for everything, including shampooing your hair.”

  “How much is it?” she asked.

  “Just ten cents a bar.”

  “That is mighty expensive for a bar of soap,” she said.

  “But this is a very special soap and comes all the way from Chicago,” I said.

  “I’ll buy a bar, John,” she said, “but only because you are our neighbor.”

  That sure as heck wasn’t saying much for my soap. But I was convinced that when Mrs. Smith tried it, she would think it was the best soap she’d ever used.

  I felt confident when I rang the next doorbell, at the Kay home. After all, Howard Kay was my best friend. When Mrs. Kay came to the door, I made my pitch.

  “I’m sorry, John,” she said, “but I don’t need any soap.”

  “Soap won’t spoil,” I said. “You can keep it until you do need it. And don’t forget, Howard is my best friend.”

  “When you put it that way,” she said, “I suppose I’ll have to buy a bar.”

  The next house was where the Bronson family lived. Mrs. Bronson answered the door. I made my pitch.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but ten cents is too much to pay for any soap.” Then she shut the door.

  Things got
tough for me starting with Mrs. Bronson. People said the soap was too expensive or they didn’t need any or they just plain didn’t want it. I’d sold only seven bars including the two to Mamma when it was time to go home and do the evening chores.

  I was beginning to believe The Great Brain had swindled me, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing. When he asked me how the soap sales were after supper, I told him I couldn’t complain.

  The next day was Sunday. We always ate dinner at one o’clock on Sunday. Right after eating, I started out with Frankie’s wagon and the soap. By the time I had to go home to do the evening chores, I’d sold only two bars.

  Monday and Tuesday after school I covered all the rest of the houses on the west side of town and still had thirty-nine bars of soap. I was now positive that Tom had pulled another one of his fast deals on me. Most of the women said the soap was too expensive because they could buy soap for five cents a bar at the Z.C.M.I. store. Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution was a long name for a store owned by the Mormon church. They had a store in every town and sold everything from shoelaces to plows. They had half a dozen kinds of hand soap for five cents a bar.

  I knew I could sell the soap at five cents a bar. But if I did, I’d lose money on account of the three dollars and fifty cents I’d paid Tom. Not only that, it would make the eleven people who had paid ten cents a bar mad at me.

  Wednesday after school I went across the tracks to the east side of town. I sold one bar to Mrs. Kokovinis, who owned the Palace Cafe with her husband. I think she bought it only because she knew her son, Basil, was a friend of mine. I even went to the back doors of the two saloons. The proprietors each bought a bar of soap, probably to get rid of me.

  I was plumb down in the dumps when I stopped in front of the Sheepmen’s Hotel. I sat down in the wagon beside the carton of soap. I had thirty-six bars of soap left and knew I couldn’t sell them. Once again Tom had made me the victim of one of his swindles. Why, oh, why was I so dumb? I should wash my mouth out with soap for agreeing to the deal. Better still I should eat a bar of soap for being such a dumbbell.