Cartoonist Read Online Free Page B

I ever tell you about the time Cousin Cooley and me—”
    “Yes!”
    “I got to study,” Alfie said.
    “Leave your drawing or your cartoon or whatever it is, honey, and I’ll look at it in the morning.”
    Holding the comic strip to his chest, he went quickly to the ladder.
    “Well, the way it started was that Cousin Cooley had got himself what he called an antique can opener, bought it off—”
    “Pap!”
    “—bought it off Jimmy Hammond at the hardware. Well, soon as I seen it, I knew that …”
    Alfie slammed the trap door shut, and he had sat in the attic until they were all in bed. He had heard the water in the basin as Alma washed her hair, the brushing of teeth, the flushing of the toilet, the dropping of bobby pins, and then finally the snores.
    He pushed aside his blanket. They were all snorers. Pap was the loudest. Alma was the quietest, with just a ladylike wheeze. He had told her that once as a compliment and she had erupted like a volcano. “Don’t you ever say I snore! I do not snore!” His mom snorted every once in a while as if she had thought of something funny.
    Alfie closed his eyes. He suddenly found himself thinking, as he had earlier, of the one and only time he had made his mother laugh.
    He and Tree had been coming down Elm Street one evening on their way home from the Fall Festival at school. Tree had been talking about the general sorriness of the booths. “Did you go in the Haunted House, Alfie? It was in Mrs. Lorensen’s room.”
    “No.”
    “Well, some girl in a witch suit—I think it was Jenny DeCarlo—said, ‘And now you have to feel eyeballs, ’ and I knew it was going to be grapes, but, Alfie, these grapes weren’t even peeled —” He broke off abruptly. “Hey, what’s going on at the corner?”
    Ahead they could see two people pushing a car down the street. Alfie and Tree edged closer, sensing the two people were not just trying to get the car started. Moving from the shelter of one tree to another, they got closer. When they were almost at the corner, Tree said, “Hey, that’s your brother! That’s Bubba! What’s he up to?”
    Alfie ran forward in his concern. “What are you doing, Bubba?” He glanced over his shoulder at the deserted street behind him.
    Bubba, smiling, turned to Alfie. The other boy was Goat McMillan.
    “Is this your car, Goat?” Tree asked. He was standing apart, keeping himself separated from what might be trouble.
    “No, it’s not his car. Goat wouldn’t have a car like this, would you, Goat?” Bubba said.
    “Not if I could help it.”
    “But whose car is it?” Alfie asked.
    “It’s Perry Fletcher’s.” The sound of the name on Goat’s lips caused Bubba to double over the fender with laughter.
    “Who’s he?”
    Bubba and Goat were laughing too hard to answer. Alfie reached out and touched the sleeve of Bubba’s football sweater. “Who’s Perry Fletcher?”
    Bubba straightened. “Perry Fletcher’s this boy, see, and all he can do is talk about his car and his boat and his stereo and how wonderful everything he owns is. So me and Goat see Perry Fletcher park his car in front of Maria Martini’s house and go inside. We know the car’s brand new, see. We know this is the first time he ever drove it.”
    “But why are you pushing it down the street?” Alfie asked in a worried way.
    “Because we’re going to hide it in somebody’s driveway,” Goat explained.
    “Yeah, and then we’re going back and sit on Goat’s porch, see, and watch Perry Fletcher come out and find his new car gone.”
    Goat broke in with, “If I know him, he’ll call the fuzz first thing. ‘Officer, Officer, come at once. I’ve been robbed!’”
    “Hey—hey—” Bubba was laughing so hard he could barely speak. “Hey, let’s hide it in Big Bertha’s driveway!” Big Bertha was their algebra teacher.
    “I don’t think you ought to be doing this,” Alfie said. Again he glanced up and down the deserted street.
    “Yeah, we’ll put