Mad Scientists' Club (13 page)

Little Dinky skinned up the maple like a wildcat. He was quick as a fox and skinny enough to worm his way through the tightest places. In a few seconds he had cut the balloon free with his Scout knife and Freddy and Jeff caught the dummy in their arms. Dinky was down out of the tree like a monkey, and the three of them took off through the woods for the cave where they had hidden their bicycles.

The cave was an unfinished shaft that had been abandoned when they stopped working the old zinc mine in that area. It's overgrown with bushes now, but a spur track leads from it to an old crusher; and from there a rusty, abandoned rail line runs due north to where it joins up with the main line just outside of Hyattsville.

When the dummy emerged from the cave, he was wearing the uniform of an Explorer Scout, just like the rest of the boys. He was lashed to the baggage rack of Jeff's bicycle, with his arms tied tight around Jeff's waist. With knapsacks and fishing rods to complete the ensemble, the whole group looked as though they were just returning from an overnight camping trip. They pedaled down the abandoned rail line, Jeff in the lead.

As they turned onto Turkey Hill Road, which leads back to town along the north shore of the lake, they began to pass some of the convoy vehicles that had brought search parties out to the scene. The antiquated touring car that had carried Mayor Scragg in the parade came charging around a bend.

"Get those bikes off the road, boys!" the Mayor shouted. "This is an emergency."

"Yes, sir," said Dinky. "We're getting back to town as fast as fast as we can." And he kept right on pedaling.

"Have you seen a man in blue overalls anywhere around here?" the Mayor shouted at Freddy Muldoon.

Freddy shouted back over his shoulder, "We haven't seen a living soul." And that was no lie.

A quarter of a mile farther down the road a blue Air Force sedan braked to a lurching stop. The driver put it in reverse and backed up fast. Colonel March's head popped out of the rear window.

"Hello, boys!" The Colonel was smiling.

Jeff kinda waved at him, with a grin that looked as if he was sick to his stomach, and kept right on pedaling. Dinky Poore, whose legs aren't long enough for him to sit on his seat, almost fell off his bike trying to give the Colonel a big salute as he chugged on past. But the Colonel reached out and stopped Freddy Muldoon.

"Who's the big boy riding with Jeff?" he asked.

"Oh, him? . . . Oh, he's a friend of ours," said Freddy "I think he's staying with Henry Mulligan."

"That's nice," said the Colonel. "Where's he from?"

"Henry lives right here in Mammoth Falls."

"I know that," said the Colonel. "I mean the new boy."

"Oh, him? . . . I don't know," said Freddy, "I think he's from Canada.... Maybe England. I don't think you'd wanna meet him, Colonel."

"Oh, I see. He seems like a pretty big fellow. I just wondered why he didn't have a bike of his own, that's all."

"He's sick!" said Freddy. "Well . . . I mean . . . well, Colonel, you gotta realize, in some foreign countries people don't have very much money."

"Oh yes! I understand that's the case," said the Colonel. "Well, he seemed like a very nice young man. I just thought I'd like to meet him sometime."

"Oh, he is a very nice fellow," said Freddy. "He's not the least bit nosy, either!"

"I see what you mean," said the Colonel. "Well, good-bye, Freddy. Nice talking to you."

"Good-bye, Colonel!"

And Freddy took off like a jet to catch up with Dinky and Jeff.

Back in the loft over Mr. Snodgrass' hardware store, the rest of us had not been idle. The Town Square was completely deserted, except for Constable Billy Dahr, who had fallen asleep in the sun on the Town Hall steps. As soon as the coast was clear, Homer Snodgrass had shinnied up one of the telephone poles again and looped a length of piano wire over the topmost foot spike. The other end of the loop ran through a pulley we'd nailed fast to the wall of the loft.

When Jeff and Dinky and Freddy got back with the Flying Man, we pulled all our radio gear out of him and put him back into his blue overalls. Then we hooked him onto the piano wire with a guide-line attached. We pushed him out through the window and gave him a breeches buoy ride back out to the monument. It was easy to lower him by his own weight back into the cradle formed by Hannah Kimball's arms. Then we just cut the piano wire so it dangled free, and pulled the loose end in through the window.

We had barely gotten the piano wire back inside, and closed the loft window, when we saw Billy Dahr yawn and stretch himself on the Town Hall steps. All of a sudden he catapulted his creaky frame into the middle of the street and stood there gaping at the monument, his billy club in one hand and his false teeth in the other. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and looked again. He looked all around the Town Square to make sure no one was there. Then he took off and high-tailed it down the street to the firehouse at the corner.

A half-hour later the Square was full of people again. Mayor Scragg's deep-breathing touring car pulled up in front of the monument, and shortly afterward the hook-and-ladder rig arrived. The firemen lost no time in cranking the ladder up the side of the marble shaft again, and two of them dashed up it pell-mell with the straitjacket. This time there was not a word from the man on the monument. He seemed to have lost his voice.

The lead fireman lunged up the last few rungs of the ladder and pinned the dummy against the statue of Hannah Kimball with both hands. Then he stepped back and stared at it. Suddenly he stepped forward and grabbed the dummy by the neck. There was a horrified scream from the crowd as he flung it from the top of the monument. It landed with a dull thud in one of the lifesaving nets.

Curious spectators crowded around the net to get a closer look at the man who had been thrown into it.

Mayor Scragg looked at it and said, "Hurrumph!"

He poked at it gingerly with the tip of his umbrella. Then he snorted, and stalked off into the Town Hall. The crowd of spectators gradually thinned out; and as twilight fell on the Square, Mike Corcoran could be seen walking toward his pool hall on Blake Street with the Unidentified Flying Man tucked under his arm.

Next day the ceremonies went off pretty well. Mayor Scragg got a bad crick in his neck from looking up at the top of the monument all the time, to see if the Flying Man was there again; but otherwise things went according to schedule.

Colonel March was there, and he took advantage of the Mayor's invitation to give a short speech on preparedness. He told everybody that the day was past when we could rely on stunts like Hannah Kimball's to defend ourselves. And he said that an important part of being prepared was to be ready for the unexpected. These days we have to look for a lot of unexpected things to happen; and when they do, we have to learn to accept them and not get panicky. He thought that yesterday's incident of the Unidentified Flying Man might serve as a good object lesson for everybody to think about.

After the ceremonies were over, and the politicians had shaken hands all around, Colonel March came over to where we were sitting in the bleachers. He looked right at Henry Mulligan.

"What happened to your friend from Canada?" he asked. "I thought maybe I'd get a chance to meet him."

"What friend?" said Henry.

"The one I saw riding on the bicycle with Jeff yesterday," said the Colonel.

"Oh,
that
one!" Henry looked around at all the rest of us. "Well, to tell you the truth, Colonel..."

"He died last night!" said Freddy Muldoon.

"I'm glad to hear that," said the Colonel. "I mean, that's too bad! I'm sorry."

"Yes! It was very sad," said Freddy.

"He didn't look too healthy when I saw him," said the Colonel.

"He was real sick," said Freddy Muldoon.

"Well, please extend my condolences to his family," the Colonel said, with a wink.

"We will!"

And that was the last that Colonel March ever said on the subject.

But the mystery of the Unidentified Flying Man still lives in Mammoth Falls. People still argue about it. Half of them believe there was a real man on the monument in the first place and somebody just dressed a dummy up to look like him afterward. Others think there were two dummies, and some ventriloquist in the crowd was just making the first one talk. But nobody can explain what happened to the first dummy, or the balloon, which has never been found.

Those who argue about it usually end up at Mike Corcoran's p
ool hall, where the Unidentified Flying Man still stands today in the front window. Mike had a sign painted that stands at the dummy's feet. It says:

DON'T BE A SUCKER FOR A SCARECROW!

The Great Gas Bag Race

(c) 1961 by Bertrand R. Brinley
Illustrations by Charles Geer

ZEKE BONIFACE wears winter underwear all year long. The reason we know is that in summer he doesn't wear any shirt. You can always tell how long he's had the underwear on by the different color that shows at the beltline when he bends over to pick something up. The top two buttons are always unbuttoned and the hairs of his chest stick out there.

But Zeke runs the most wonderful junkyard in the world. You can find anything if you look long enough. Whenever you ask him for something he'll roll the stub of his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and scratch his mustache with one finger. Then he'll push his battered old black derby up off his forehead and scratch his head, as if he never heard of the thing you're asking for. But sooner or later, he'll recollect seeing something like what you want, and he'll lead the way to one of the mountains of cluttered junk that crowd his yard.

Zeke never touches any of the junk himself. He just shows you where it is, and then stands there talking about where he picked up a particular piece while you rummage through the pile to pull out what you want.

That was how we found the World War II inflatable life raft for the gondola of the balloon Henry Mulligan designed for the Great Gas Bag Race.

Every year Mammoth Falls is host for the County Fair, and ever since anyone can remember there's been some kind of a race on opening day. It used to be a horse and buggy race, and then for a long time they ran it with farm tractors. But lately it's been a balloon race, and people come from all over the state to see it. If the wind is blowing in the usual direction, it starts in White Fork, about fifty miles away, and ends up at the fair grounds.

Most of the balloons don't make it, because they run out of ballast or their gas leaks out long before they get to Mammoth Falls. Sometimes the sheriff's office and the state police spend the whole day trying to find the people who come down in the woods or in the hills between here and White Fork. Once in a while somebody gets real lost and spends the whole night trying to find his way back to town.

Henry figured the Mad Scientists' Club ought to be a cinch to win the race, because he had an idea for a balloon that didn't need any ballast and could stay up practically forever.

"What kinda balloon are we gonna make?" asked Freddy Muldoon between sniffles. Freddy had a bad cold.

"Never you mind," said Henry. "You'll find out after it's all built. Meanwhile I don't want it blabbermouthed all over town. Harmon is entering a balloon in the race too, and we don't want him stealing our ideas."

"Who else is going to ride in it?" asked Dinky Poore. Dinky, being our smallest member, knew he was a cinch to be a passenger.