The Seventeenth Swap Read Online Free Page A

got first crack at meat that had stayed overlong in the display case and was due to be marked down. It was always sort of purple instead of red, but there was nothing wrong with the taste. His dad got bargains in day-old bread, too, and lettuce past reviving, and vegetables going limp. Neither he nor Eric was fussy. Food was food.
    â€œJimmy doing okay?” he asked Eric as he unwrapped the package on the drainboard.
    â€œYeah. We made paper airplanes half the afternoon. He’s decided to collect smells. I’m supposed to think of smelly things to bring him.”
    Mr. Greene shook his head, chuckling. “Take him some garlic.”
    â€œHey, I will! Could you get a discard from Marvin?” Marvin was a former Iron Mountain High School linebacker, now produce manager at Mulvaney’s—to Eric’s intense but private disapproval. In his opinion Dad should have had the job, and could have, if he’d just pushed himself forward a little at the right moment. But that was two-year-old water under the bridge. As his dad nodded, he went on with the news bulletins. “I got a B on the Social Studies test. That’s a little better anyhow. We didn’t have the math one—they took the school pictures today.” Then he was sorry he’d mentioned that, because the amusement faded from his dad’s face, leaving it tired and impassive again, not even pleased about the steaks. He was always that way when Eric automatically passed up something they couldn’t afford. Eric said quickly, “I was glad I got out of that. I wouldn’t give you a dime for any dumb pictures of me. They always turn out lousy.”
    â€œI’d’ve kinda liked one,” said his dad unexpectedly. Before Eric could do more than stare—because why would he want one when he saw Eric every day?—he added, “Time to make the salad,” and the subject was closed.
    Eric took the lettuce out of the refrigerator and got busy. That was enough jabbering for tonight anyway. Dad had probably said that to make him feel somebody would want his pictures. But he didn’t, and he wished Dad would believe it. In fact of all thethings Dad’s salary wouldn’t run to, he probably cared least about those pictures. He hadn’t got around to mentioning Jimmy’s cowboy boots, and he now realized he wasn’t going to—at least not yet. But as he worked with the salad and later as he sat opposite his dad chewing steak, his mind kept going back to his maybe-great idea, trying to see it clearly, trying to pin it down.
    It had to do with Steve Morris wanting something Willy had, but having nothing to swap that Willy wanted—and with Eric being middle-man. That much he knew. And he could plainly see that Willy and Steve would be delighted with the transaction. But where would it leave him? That’s what he couldn’t figure. How could it get him any closer to those boots?
    He squinted his eyes and concentrated. Suppose he swapped the stamp to Willy for the Corgi cars, and swapped the cars to Steve for something else. Then, if he could find somebody who wanted the something else . . . He could see right now he was going to have to do a little research.
    After dinner, he phoned Steve Morris and asked him what he’d give for any one of six Corgi trucks, or a Jaguar.
    â€œWow! You mean that kind of Jaguar Willy Chung has? Have you got one?”
    â€œI think I can get one,” Eric said cautiously. “How much would you—”
    â€œAre any of the trucks those milk trucks? Or a moving van? I been looking all over for a moving van.”
    â€œI don’t know. I’ll find out. If one of ’em was, how much would you—”
    â€œOnly place around here that sells Corgi cars is the variety store, and they don’t keep enough in stock.I’ve already got everything they have! And I can’t get Mom to take me down to Tony’s Toytown