CHAPTER EIGHT
The Mental Marvel
TOM HAD NEVER LIKED liver and wouldn’t eat it on a bet. When he wrote me that they served beef liver every Thursday at the academy 1 sure felt sorry for him. Mamma said all boys disliked some kind of food. Tom hated liver. Sweyn wouldn’t eat a tomato, raw or cooked. I hated celery; for my money, it was food for rabbits and not for human beings. Papa never ate radishes because they gave him gas. Mamma made gooseberry pies for us but never ate a piece herself. So what Mamma should have said is that all adults as well as all boys disliked some kind of food.
Tom wrote me that he tried to fill up on bread and
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saved his candy bar to eat on Thursday nights. But this wasn’t enough to stop him from going to bed hungry. Then one Thursday evening his great brain told him it was stupid to go to bed hungry when there was plenty to eat in the kitchen. He called Jerry, Phil, and Tony over to his bunk.
“How would you fellows like to have a nice sandwich tonight?” he asked.
Phit rubbed his stomach. “I could go for a jam sandwich,” he said.
“Me too,” Tony said.
Jerry nodded. “I guess we all could. But how are we going to get them?”
“We wait until the priests have gone to bed,” Tom said, “and then sneak down to the kitchen.”
“It is too risky,” Phil said. “One of the priests might come into the kitchen to get a glass of milk or something.”
“And besides,” Tony said, “that would be stealing.”
“No it wouldn’t,” Tom said. “Our parents are paying for our room and board. The food in the kitchen is there to feed us. So how can you call it stealing when we are just taking something that belongs to us?”
Phil shrugged. “All right,” he said, “maybe it isn’t stealing but it is too risky. We might even be expelled if we are caught.”
Jerry looked disgusted. “There goes the worry wart again,” he said. “We haven’t even entered the kitchen and he has already got us all expelled.”
“I wish you would stop calling me a worry wart,” Phil said.
“I will stop when you stop acting like one,” Jerry said.
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“No sense in arguing,” Tom said. “You and I will raid the kitchen. Jerry. And if Phil and Tony are afraid we’ll bring them back a sandwich.”
Tom guessed right what Jerry would say.
“If they want a sandwich let them come with us,” he said.
“I’m not afraid,” Tony said.
“Me neither,” said Phil.
“All right,” Tom said. “Just stay awake until the other fellows are asleep.”
Tom lay awake, his stomach growling from hunger, until he was sure everybody but his three friends were asleep. But Jerry was the only one who wasn’t asleep. They had to wake up Phil and Tony. They put on their slippers and slid down the banister to the ground floor. There was enough moonlight coming through the kitchen windows for them to see. Tom found a loaf of bread and sliced it. Then he got a piece of leftover baked ham from the icebox. Tom made himself a ham sandwich while his three friends made jam sandwiches. When they finished eating, Tom was stilt hungry and made himself a jam sandwich.
“Let’s all have another one,” Jerry said. “And how about a glass of milk?”
“Why not?” Tom asked.
Jerry patted his stomach after they had finished. “This is the best idea your great brain ever had,” he said. “We can come down here every night and have a feast.”
“No we can’t,” Tom said. “Father Petrie would get suspicious. We will only come on Thursday nights. You fellows know that is the night we have liver and I can’t eat
it.
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The following Thursday night Tom and his three friends again raided the kitchen. Again Jerry said it was the best idea Tom’s great brain ever had. But he was sing-ing a different tune one week later. The four of them were sitting in the kitchen eating jam sandwiches and drinking milk when the kitchen lights went on. Standing in the doorway were Father Rodriguez and Father Petrie. Although Tom and his friends had on white nightgowns, they sure didn’t look like four little angels. Angels don’t have jam on their mouths and guilty looks on their faces.
“Finish your sandwiches and milk, boys,” Father Rodriguez said, looking like a cat that has just cornered four mice. “You will all report to me in my office immediately after school tomorrow.” Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Tom stared at Father Petrie. “How did you know?” he asked.
“Bless my soul, Thomas,” the fat priest said. “A cook knows what is in his kitchen just as a boy knows what is in his pockets. I missed the bread, jam, and milk taken the last two Thursday nights.”
Tom and his three friends finished their sandwiches and milk but without much appetite. As they started up the stairway to the dormitory Phil turned to Tom.
“You and your great brain sure got us into a mess this time,” he said. “I just knew we would get caught.”
“If you knew,” Jerry said, “why did you come with us?”
“Because I would rather get caught,” Phil said, “than have you and Tom think I was afraid.”
“Me too,” Tony said.
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“Don’t worry, fellows,” Tom said. “I’ll take all the blame.”
Phil grunted in disgust. “You took all the blame last time,” he said, “but Jerry, Tony, and I ended up peeling spuds for three weeks.”
The next day Tom felt a little hurt because Phil and Tony seemed to be avoiding him. A few minutes after three o’clock that afternoon they all stood before Father Rodriguez in the superintendent’s office.
The priest rubbed his forehead as if very tired. “Thomas Fitzgerald,” he said, “you are yet going to make me wish I had been born a Protestant.”
“I take all the blame,” Tom said.
“You usually do,” the superintendent said. “But the four of you raided the kitchen and the four of you will be punished for it. Making you peel potatoes or clean the washroom seems to have no effect upon your deportment. But I do have a punishment in mind that may make you wish you had never raided the kitchen.”
Tom couldn’t think of any punishment worse than peeling spuds or cleaning the washroom. “What is that?” he asked.
“Twice each school year,” Father Rodriguez said, “I permit all the students to attend the Salt Lake Theater. Our first trip to the theater is this coming Saturday afternoon. But now you four boys aren’t going to be permitted
to go.”
“Please don’t do that,” Tom pleaded. “I’ve never been inside a theater. Make us peel potatoes, clean the washroom, give us demerits, anything you want, but please, Father, let us go to the theater.”
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“The punishment stands,” Father Rodriguez said. “You boys are excused.”
“It isn’t fair,” Tom cried, “to give us such a severe punishment just because I can’t eat liver.”
Father Rodriguez leaned forward on his desk. “What has liver to do with your raiding the kitchen?” he asked.
“I can’t eat any kind of liver,” Tom said. “I hate the sight, smell, and taste of it. And I got so hungry on Thursday nights that I talked the fellows into raiding the kitchen with me.”
“Do you mean to tell me that the only reason you raided the kitchen was because you were hungry?” Father Rodriguez asked.
“Yes, Father,” Tom answered.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t like liver?” the superintendent asked.
“What good would it do?” Tom asked. “There is no prayer you could say for me that would make me eat liver.”
“I never want any boy in this academy to go to bed hungry,” Father Rodriguez said. “I shall arrange with Father Petrie to give you fried eggs on Thursdays for sup-per, Thomas. And I don’t think I can punish you, because I’ve been remiss in my duties as a superintendent and priest. I should have made certain all the boys were eating the food served them at every meal.”
“Does that mean we can go to the theater Saturday?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Father Rodriguez said. “There will be no punishment for any of you. You are excused.”
“Thank you. Father,” Tom said. “Thank you very much.”
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Tom’s three friends patted him on the back after they were out of the superintendent’s office.
“Your great brain did it again,” Jerry said. “You talked Father Rodriguez right out of punishing us.”
“It wasn’t my great brain at all,” Tom said. It was the first time he hadn’t given his great brain all the credit. “I simply told the truth,”
Jerry grinned. “Then just go on telling the truth and maybe that will make a Protestant out of Father Rodriguez,” he said. “That would be one way to get rid of him.”
“Yeah,” Phil said, “especially since it looks as if the Pope isn’t going to answer your letter,”
Tom couldn’t help feeling that maybe Father Rodriguez wasn’t such a bad fellow after all. “Just what makes you think another superintendent would be any better?” he asked.
“Anybody,” Jerry said, “would be better than Father Rodriguez.”
“I am beginning to wonder after what just happened,” Tom said. “It is like my father used to say when we went on a fishing and camping trip and the road was bad. There is always a worse road than the one you are traveling on.”
Tom was just as excited as the rest of the boys when they entered the Salt Lake Theater for the Saturday matinee accompanied by Father Rodriguez and Father O’Malley.
The theater was famous for the plays, operas, con-certs, and vaudeville shows held there. Father Rodriguez had chosen a week when a vaudeville show was playing. Tom was thrilled with the theater itself and with the show.
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There were acrobats, a trained-seal act, a song-and-dance team, a comedian, a quartet, some Swiss bell ringers, and, as the headliner, a mind-reading act called the Mental Marvel.
It was this act all the fellows liked best. The Mental Marvel had two people from the audience come up on the stage and blindfold him-Then his assistant mingled with the audience, asking people to hand him some article they had on their person. The assistant would hold the article in his hand and ask the Mental Marvel to read his mind and tell the audience what it was-And just like a shot the Mental Marvel would say it was a watch, a billfold, a pair of glasses, or whatever the article happened to be.
Tom was as mystified as the other boys until he put his great brain to work. He was positive that no one could read another person’s mind. There had to be some trick to it. He watched and listened very carefully to every word the assistant said.
The fellows were talking about the Mental Marvel all the way back to the dormitory.
“The Mental Marvel’s brain makes your great brain look about the size of a pea,” Rory Flynn said to Tom. “Just imagine being able to read other people’s minds.”
“If the Mental Marvel could really read minds,” Tom said, “he wouldn’t be traveling around the country in a vaudeville show. He could be making a fortune.”
“How?” Rory asked.
“Many ways,” Tom said. “He could become a gam-bler and know what cards the other players are holding.”
“Not if he is an honest man,” Rory said. “You are just jealous because you can’t read minds like the Mental Marvel.”
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“Jerry and I could do the same thing with a little practice.” Tom said.
“Talk is cheap,” Rory said. “I’ll bet you can’t.”
Tom was pretty confident he knew how it was done. But he wanted to make sure before he put up any hard cash. And he knew if he acted reluctant that would make Rory and the other kids all the more eager to bet. His great brain and money-loving heart were working like sixty to turn this to his financial advantage.
“Just have your money ready after supper on Monday night,” Tom said.
Tom walked over to his bunk and sat down with his three friends.
“Boy, oh, boy,” Jerry said. “You sure stuck your neck out that time. You know you can’t read my mind, even with your great brain.”
“Nobody can read another person’s mind,” Tom said. “But my great brain did figure out how the Mental Marvel and his assistant put on their mind-reading act. I just need to work out the details. Phil will be visiting his folks tomorrow so you and Tony meet me in our usual spot in the yard. I’ll have it all figured out by then.”
When Tom met Jerry and Tony under their usual tree the next afternoon he had a notebook with him.
“First,” he said. “let me explain how the Mental Mar-vel knew what the assistant held in his hand. I noticed that each time, the assistant asked a slightly different question. They used a code word for each article. For example, when the assistant said, ‘Please read my mind, Mental Marvel, and tell me what I hold in my hand,’ the code word ‘please’ meant it was a watch. My great brain has figured out dif-120
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ferent words I can begin a sentence with. All you’ve got to do. Jerry, is to memorize those words and the articles they are code words for. I made up two lists, one for each of us.”
He tore a sheet from the notebook and handed it to Jerry. On it he had printed the following:
CAN means it is a CATECHISM TELL means it is a ROSARY OH means it is HOLY MEDALS THIS means it is a PAIR OF GLASSES WHAT means it is a RING YOU means it is a WATCH SEARCH means it is MONEY READ means it is a LETTER IF means it is a POCKETKNIFE IT means it is a CRUCIFIX i means it is a PENCIL WILL means it is a COMB
Jerry looked at the list. “What if it is something we don’t have a code word for?” he asked.
“We’ve got a code word for just about everything the fellows would have on them at the theater,” Tom said. “But if one of them does hold out something we don’t have a code word for I’ll do the same thing the assistant did and just pass them by. Start memorizing the code words now. And after supper go to the chapel where it is nice and quiet and do some more memorizing instead of praying. We will meet here tomorrow after school for a rehearsal.”
Tom knew he could memorize the code words in no time. He had picked Jerry to be his partner because the
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red-headed boy had a better memory than Phil or Tony. The four of them met in the yard on Monday after school. Tom tested Jerry until he was satisfied Jerry knew all the code words. Then he and Jerry began rehearsing sentences beginning with code words. By the time they returned to the dormitory to wash up for supper Tom knew that both he and Jerry had the parts they would play down pat.
After supper Tom waited until the four kids assigned to the kitchen and dining room were finished before he began the demonstration. His money-loving heart didn’t want to miss any bets. He had put the paper bag containing the profits from the candy store under his pillow. He was now ready to lead the lamb to the slaughter. He removed the bag.
“Do you still want to bet, Rory, that Jerry and I can’t do what the Mental Marvel and his assistant did?” he asked.
“Sure,” Rory said. “But you must do it exactly like they did it.”
“I will let you blindfold Jerry and place him at one end of the dormitory,” Tom said. “And to make it even tougher you can make him face the wall. I wil! stand at the other end of the dormitory. You fellows will hand me articles you had with you at the theater. I will ask Jerry to identify them. If he misses one article I lose the bet. Now, how many of you fellows want to bet besides Rory?”
Those kids must have thought they had a sure thing. Every one of them except Tom’s three friends raised their hands.
“Phil,” Tom said, “you go to the top of the stairway
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and act as lookout. Tony, get a notebook and write down the name of each fellow and how much he bets.”
Tom then dumped his profits from the candy store onto his bunk. “Get in line now to bet.” he said. “You tell Tony how much you want to put down. He’ll write your name and the amount and hand the money to me. I’ll drop it in the paper bag and then cover each bet with my own money. After all bets are made, my brother Sweyn will hold the stakes. If you fellows win, he can take the notebook and pay each of you double the amount you bet from the paper bag. Any questions?”
The boys lined up like sheep waiting to be sheared by The Great Brain. Rory was first in line.
“I wish I had more than forty cents to bet,” he said.
“So do I,” Tom said. “So do I.”
Sweyn was next and bet fifty cents. “This is one time your great brain and big mouth are going to cost you plenty,” he said. “A joke is a joke but you can still call it off.”
“If you are so sure it can’t be done,” Tom said, “why don’t you bet a dollar?”
“Because fifty cents is all I’ve got,” Sweyn said.
By the time all bets had been placed, there was more than ten dollars in the paper bag. Tom stood to make a fortune if he or Jerry didn’t make a mistake. And he stood to lose a fortune if they did. If that happened his money-loving heart would break wide open.
“All right, Rory,” he said. “Take Jerry to the end of the dormitory, blindfold him, and face him against the wall. The rest of you get ready to hand me articles you had on you at the theater.”
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“Wait for me,” Rory said. “I want to be first because I know that will be the end of the demonstration.”
A few minutes later the mind-reading demonstration was ready to begin. Rory handed Tom his rosary.
“Tell me, Mental Marvel, what I am holding in my hand,” Tom said.
“A rosary,” Jerry answered.
There was a gasp of astonishment from all the fellows except Sweyn. “It was just a lucky guess,” he said, holding out his watch.
Tom took it. “You will have to read my mind. Mental Marvel, to tell me what this is,” he said.
“A watch,” Jerry answered.
Larry Williams handed Tom his pocket-sized catechism.
“Can you read my mind. Mental Marvei. and tell me what this article is?” Tom asked.
“A catechism.” Jerry answered.
By this time the fellows who had bet were staring at Tom as if he was the devi! himself. He took a letter from the next student.
“Read my mind. Mental Marvel, and tell me what I hold in my hand.” he said.
“A letter,” Jerry answered.
Billy Daniels removed a ring from his finger and handed it to Tom.
“What am I holding in my hand now, Mental Mar-vel?” Tom asked.
“A ring,” Jerry answered.
Willie Connors handed Tom his pocketknife.
“If you can tell me what I hold in my hand now,” Tom said, “you are truly a Mental Marvel.”
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“A pocketknife,” Jerry answered.
Tom returned the pocketknife. “That ends the demonstration,” he said. “Jerry and I have proved how the Mental Marvel and his assistant did their mind-reading act, and I’ve won all bets.”
Harold Adams took off his glasses and held them out. “Just one more, please,” he said.
Tom took the glasses. “This is the last time you have to read my mind. Mental Marvel, and tell what I hold in my hand,” he said.
“A pair of glasses,” Jerry answered.
Tom gave the glasses back. “That ends the demonstration for sure,” he said. In his letter he wrote me that he had never seen such a bunch of open-mouthed kids. They couldn’t have been more astonished if he and Jerry had jumped out the window and started flying around like birds.
He told Jerry to take off the blindfold and then got the paper bag with the money in it from Sweyn.
‘T figured Rory and the others would bet,” he said, “but I didn’t think my own brother would be that foolish.”
Poor Sweyn was still in a daze, not only from what he’d seen and heard but also from losing half a dollar. “I still don’t believe it,” he said. “How did you do it?”
Rory nodded his head. “You have won our money,” he said, “and that entitles us to know how it was done,”
“I don’t remember promising I would tell you how it was done,” Tom said. His money-loving heart told him to make them pay to find out. But his great brain reminded him that this was a good time to get even with the eighth graders for the torture tunnel. And anyway he had won all their money.
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“The only way you are ever going to find out how it was done,” he said, “is for the eighth graders to go through the torture tunne] of the seventh graders.”
Rory folded his arms on his chest. “I’m not going to let you little seventh graders paddle me,” he said.
Sweyn grabbed Rory’s arm. “Yes you are,” he said. “It is worth it to find out how it was done.”
Larry Williams nodded his head. “Sweyn is right,” he said. “And if you don’t want all the eighth graders giving you the silent treatment you’ll do as Tom says.”
Rory knew he was beat as all the other eighth graders began nodding their heads. “All right,” he said. “You little seventh graders get your torture tunnel ready.”
Tom got the seventh graders lined up in the aisle with their legs apart and their geography books in their hands.
“Give it to them good and hard like they gave it to us,” he ordered
After the last eighth graders had crawled through the torture tunnel all the kids gathered around Tom. He explained how the Mental Marvel and his assistant worked with code words and then showed them the sheet of paper with the words he and Jerry had used.
Sweyn pointed at the sheet. “What if somebody held up an article you and Jerry didn’t have a code word for?” he asked
“I’d do the same thing the assistant did in the theater,” Tom said, “and just pass them up.”
Sweyn nodded. “You’re right,” he said- “I noticed how the assistant passed up a lot of people. Why, he even ignored Rory, who was right near him holding out his rosary.”
“That is because they didn’t have a code word for a
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rosary,” Tom said. “No more questions, please. To figure
this all out put a strain on my great brain and I want to give it a rest.”
Tom didn’t really want to give his great brain a rest.
All he wanted to do was count the money and find out how much he had won.
“Anybody could have figured it out,” Rorysaid. “Then why didn’t you figure it out and save yourself forty cents and a paddling?” Tom asked with a grin.
“You’ve got a smart mouth,” Rory said. “And one of these days I’m going to close it for you.”
Tom handed the paper bag to Jerry. “I’ll back up anything I say with my fists any time,” he said.
Sweyn stepped between them. “You start a fight in the dormitory and you’ll both be expelled,” he said.
Tom had believed from his first day at the academy that he would have to fight Rory sooner or later. His great brain had planned how to do it without being expelled.
“Who is going to know there has been a fight?” he asked. “Rory and I will go into the washroom, where no-body can see us. And after I give him a black eye and a
bloody nose he can tell Father Rodriguez he fell down the stairs.”
“He is bigger and older than you,” Sweyn said. “So what,” Tom said. “You know that with my cor-respondence course in boxing from John I.. Sullivan and all my experience fighting in Adenville, I’ve whipped kids a lot bigger and tougher than him.” Then he looked at Rory. “You’ve been digging at me since school started. Let’s go to the washroom and settle it right now,”
Now I’m not saying that Rory Flynn was a coward. But after hearing Tom confidently say he would black
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Rory’s eye and bloody his nose, and then nearing about that course in boxing from the former champion of the world and about Tom’s whipping kids bigger and tougher, for my money Rory would have been a fool to fight Tom.
“I’m not going to get expelled on account of you,” Rory said. He walked to his bunk and sat down.
Jerry patted Tom on the back. “You sure bluffed him,” he said.
“I wasn’t bluffing,” Tom said. “Rory is just a big bag of wind.”
But Tom was going to learn that a big bag of wind can blow a fellow right into a lot of trouble, as he told me in his next letter.
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