More Adventures Of The Great Brain (5 page)

“What are you going to do?” I asked Tom.

   
“Put the second part of my great brain’s plan into action,” Tom said.

   
That night after Mamma and Aunt Bertha had finished the supper dishes, we were all sitting in the parlor.

   
“I invited Dotty to come here tonight,” Tom said. “I don’t know if she’ll come or not. But if she does, I don’t want anybody staring at her. I want everybody to pretend that a girl wearing boy’s clothing is a common thing.”

   
Mamma looked up from her knitting. “I’m glad you invited her,” she said. “And we certainly wouldn’t do anything to embarrass the girl.”

“What have you got in mind?” Papa asked.

   
“I’m going to make Dotty wish she could read,” Tom answered.

   
Just then the front door bell rang. Tom went to open the door.
Dotty came into the parlor.
Tom introduced her to Mamma and Aunt Bertha. She had already met Papa.

   
Tom walked with Dotty to our book case. “I promised to show you a picture of the most beautiful horse you’ve ever seen,” he said as he opened the book case.

   
He took out my copy of Black Beauty and sat down on the floor with Dotty. He showed her the cover picture of the beautiful black horse with his bright black coat, one white foot, and white star on his forehead.

“Gosh!” Dotty exclaimed. “He is a beauty.”

   
“There are more pictures in the book,” Tom said, “from the time he was just a colt being nursed by his mother.”

   
Tom opened the book and showed Dotty the colored pictures.

“I didn’t know they had books about horses,” Dotty said.

   
Tom waved his hand toward the book case. “There are books about everything in this world,” he said.

   
“What does it say in the book about Black Beauty?” Dotty asked eagerly.

   
“This is the story of Black Beauty from the time he was just a young colt. Anna Sewell, who wrote the book, grew up with horses and loved them very much. Just like you. But she lets Black Beauty tell his own story.”

“How can a horse do that?” Dotty asked, frowning.

   
“I told you anything can happen in a book. Can you imagine if a horse could talk?”

Dotty thought for a moment. “Maybe,” she said.

   
“That is what the author does in this book,” Tom explained. “She not only lets Black Beauty talk to his mother and other horses so you can understand what he says, but also made him so he can understand what people say. Of course, he couldn’t talk to people, but he could understand what they said. And he tells the story of his life just as you or I would tell the story of our lives.”

   
Tom opened the book to the first chapter. “The title of the first chapter is ‘My Early Home,’ ” he said.”Now you’ve got to imagine Black Beauty is telling you his life story. Ready?”

“Ready,” Dotty said as she shut her eyes.

   
Dotty sat in a trance as Tom read aloud to her. I found myself listening with great interest although I’d read the book many times. Papa let his pipe go out, Mamma stopped her knitting,
Aunt
Bertha sat with her hands in her lap, until Tom came to the end of chapter four.

   
“And that is how Black Beauty came to Birtwick Park and met Merrylegs and Ginger,” he said. “I think I’d better take you home now.”

   
Dotty was very reluctant to leave. “What happened to Black Beauty next?” she asked.

   
“If you could read,” Tom said, “I could lend you the book and you could read it. But you can’t read and it is getting late. Come tomorrow night and I’ll read some more to you.”

   
“T.D. and his great brain continue to amaze me,” Papa said after Tom and Dotty had left.

   
Tom continued to read Black Beauty to Dotty every night until Friday. When school let out, we walked part of the way home with her again, stopping in front of our house.

   
“Gosh, Tom,” Dotty said, “I can’t wait until tonight to find out what happened to Black Beauty next.” Then she clapped her hands with joy. “And tomorrow I get to ride Dusty again.”

   
Tom shook his head, and his face was very serious. “I’m afraid you’ll never find out what happened to Black Beauty or ever get to ride Dusty again,” he said.

   
I couldn’t have been more surprised if he had suddenly kicked Dotty on the behind.

   
Her lips began to tremble, and she almost burst out crying. “Why?” she whispered. “What did I do?”

   
“It isn’t what you did,” Tom said. “It is what you didn’t do. You aren’t even trying to learn anything in school. You won’t even try to learn how to read and write.”

“What has that got to do with it?” Dotty asked.

   
“Everything,” Tom answered. “I got a brand-new bike for Christmas. And do you know where it is? I’ll tell you. It is up in our attic. And do you know why it is up in our attic? I’ll tell you.
Because of you.”

   
“Me?” Dotty asked. She looked at Tom as if my brother had suddenly gone plumb loco.

 
  
“My mother and father want you to learn how to read and write and won’t give me back my bike until you do,” Tom said.

   
“What business is it of theirs?” Dotty asked as she straightened up with that too-proud-to-be-helped look on her face.

   
“They made it their business because your father doesn’t care if you grow up ignorant like him,” Tom said, passing out insults as if he made a habit of it. “Wouldn’t you like to learn how to read, so you could read wonderful stories like Black Beauty?”

   
“Sure,” Dotty said, “but my Pa don’t want me to learn to read and write.” Then she looked as if she didn’t have a friend in this world. “And I can’t go against my Pa,” she sobbed. Then she turned and ran down the street, and I knew she was crying.

   
“Boy!” I said to my brother. “If Papa and Mamma knew what you just said to poor Dotty, they would give you the silent treatment for a whole year.”

   
“It is all a part of my great brain’s plan,” Tom said. “Now we can go see her father.”

   
Tom walked boldly into Mr. Stout’s shop with me following. Dotty’s father was mending a bridle. Tom looked at the back of Mr. Blake’s head. “I’m Tom Fitzgerald,” he said. “I want to talk to you, Mr. Blake.”

   
Dotty’s father turned around on the stool and rubbed a finger across his yellow mustache. “Dotty has told me about you,” he said.

“Know where she is now?” Tom asked.

   
Mr. Blake shrugged his shoulders. “Home, I guess,” he said.

   
“You guessed right but only half of it,” Tom said. “She is home crying her eyes out, and it is
all your
fault. Oh, she won’t be crying when you get home. She’ll pretend that everything is just fine.”

“Whadya mean my fault?” Mr. Blake asked amazed.

   
“I told her I wouldn’t read to her anymore and she couldn’t ride Dusty anymore,” Tom said.

   
“But you can’t do that,” Mr. Blake said. “All she talks about is that book you’re
readin
‘ to her and gettin’ to ride that horse.”

   
“If I can’t ride my bike on account of you,” Tom said, “I’m not going to let Dotty ride Dusty.” Then he told Mr. Blake about the deal he’d made with Papa and Mamma.

   
“Nuthin” I hates worse’n meddlers,” Mr. Blake said. “What business is it of your ma and pa how I raise my daughter?”

   
“Dotty wants to learn,” Tom said. “She wants to get an education. But she isn’t going to try because she believes you don’t want her to learn anything.”

   
Mr. Blake slumped back on his stool. “I reckon as how that is what I made her think,” he said. “I kept tellin’ her I didn’t hold with book learnin’, but only because I didn’t want the other kids makin’ fun of her.”

   
“Dotty has a good mind,” Tom said. “She could learn quickly if she tried. I’ll bet Mr. Standish would let her skip a grade almost every year if she tried. But she isn’t going to try as long as she thinks you don’t want her to get an education.”

   
Mr. Blake looked steadily at Tom. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

   
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Tom said. “You tell Dotty you’ve changed your mind and want her to get an education. Tell her she must come to my house every weekday night for an hour and for two hours on Saturday mornings. That is your part of the deal. If you agree, I’ll read to Dotty for half an hour every weekday night from Black Beauty and other books and help her with her lessons the other half hour. And I’ll tutor her for two hours every Saturday. And I’ll let her ride Dusty every Saturday afternoon for as long as she wants.”

   
Mr. Blake stood up and grabbed his crutch. He hobbled to the counter and held out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, boy,” he said.

   
Dotty was smiling when she entered our parlor that evening just a few minutes after seven.

   
“We will study for half an hour,” Tom said, “and then I’ll read to you from Black Beauty for half an hour.”

   
“Pa told me,” she said and looked as if she’d just been given every present under a Christmas tree. “I’m ready to start learning.”

   
Tom had got my old set of blocks with the alphabet on them from our attic and had put them on the floor. He told Dotty to sit down opposite him on the floor with the blocks between them. He explained to her each of the blocks had a different letter of the alphabet on it.

   
“We will start with the first letter of the alphabet,” he said as he picked up the block with an A on it. “This is a vowel and called an A like in the word hay. It has other sounds when used in other words. We’ll study them later.

Look at the letter close, and say out loud five times, ‘This is a 4.”’

   
Then Tom pushed a ruled notebook over to Dotty and handed her a pencil.

  
 
“Now print the letter A in the notebook just like it is on the block ten times,” he said.

   
Tom continued teaching Dotty the alphabet this way until the half hour was up. By that time she had memorized A through G. She could pronounce them, write them in the notebook, and when Tom mixed up all the blocks on the floor, pick them out in alphabetical order. Tom was right. Dotty had a good mind.

   
Then Tom read Black Beauty to Dotty for half an hour, during which she sat spellbound with her eyes closed.

 
  
The next morning Dotty came to our house at ten o’clock, right after Tom and I had finished our Saturday chores. Tom was teaching Dotty more letters when the front door bell rang. I opened the door. There stood Sammy Leeds. He saw Dotty and Tom before I could step onto our front porch and shut the door. I could see Basil, Parley Benson, and Danny Forester standing on the front lawn.

   
“We’re going down to the blacksmith shop to watch Mr. Huddle,” Sammy said. “You and Tom want to come along?”

“We can’t go now,” I said. “Tom is helping Dotty.”

   
I knew from the triumphant look on Sammy’s face that I’d said the wrong thing.

   
Tom continued teaching Dotty the alphabet until the hour was up, and then he read Black Beauty to her for more than an hour until he’d finished it, just before our lunchtime.

   
“Starting Monday I’ll begin reading you the story of Cinderella,” he promised. “You can come and get Dusty right after lunch and have him all afternoon.”

After lunch Tom and I went to the Smiths’ vacant lot, where the kids were playing one-o-cat. The game stopped immediately as they crowded around us.

   
“Surprised to see you here, Tom,” Sammy said slyly. “We didn’t think we’d see much of you anymore, now that you’ve started playing with girls.”

   
Jimmie Peterson hitched up his britches, which were one size too big for him. “Only sissies play with girls,” he said.

   
If Jimmie hadn’t been younger and smaller than Tom, he would have got a punch on the nose for saying it. But I could tell from the looks on the other kids’ faces, they were all thinking the same thing.

“I don’t play with girls,” Tom said.

   
“I don’t know what else you would call it,” Sammy said. “Britches Dotty comes to your house every night and even on Saturdays. And you let her ride Dusty.”