Us and Uncle Fraud Read Free Page B

show me your town, Louise," Uncle Claude said at breakfast. "If you don't mind, of course."
    Tom glanced at him suspiciously through his metal-rimmed glasses. Usually Tom was the one selected for such tasks. Tom could recite the history
of our little town, pointing out landmarks : the grave of the World War I flying ace, the place where the river had crested during the flood of 1913, the site recently selected for the new library to be built next year.
    But Claude smiled pleasantly back at my older brother. "I remember when I was passing through three years ago, Thomas, and you showed me around. Did a remarkable job of it, too, for a boy who was then no more than—what? Thirteen?"
    "Eleven," Tom said, going back to his scrambled eggs. "Three years ago I was only eleven. Same as Louise is now."
    "Is that a fact? I'm amazed. I could have sworn you were at least thirteen, giving an authoritative tour the way you did."
    Marcus and I grinned at each other. Tom was known for his air of authority—he always had been—and we were sure that Uncle Claude was needling him. But Tom nodded, taking Claude's comment as a compliment. "Not much has changed," he said, "but the kids can show you around this time. If you have questions you can ask me when you get back."
    "Would you mind taking the baby along?" Mother asked. "She could use the fresh air."
    Marcus and I groaned in unison. Stephie was such a pest; she dawdled and whined. But Claude reached across the table to tickle her under her chin. "Want to go for a walk, Picklepuss?" he asked. "Are your legs up to a sturdy hike?"
    Stephie dimpled and nodded, orange juice on her upper lip.
    Upstairs, pulling sweaters over our heads in his room, I said to Marcus, "He said he'd tell us what's in the box. He said he'd tell us this morning. Only you and me."
    Marcus took his baseball cap from the top of a lamp and pulled it down over his mountain of curls. "When?" he asked. "When did he say that?"
    "Last night. I couldn't sleep last night, and real late, I went downstairs and talked to him."
    "Liar. You went to sleep before I did."
    "I am not a liar. Ask him. We sat downstairs and drank whiskey, and he told me he'd been at the edge of the Baltic Sea."
    "
You
drank whiskey? I'm going to tell Father. It'll stunt your growth. You'll end up a midget if you drink whiskey before you're grown-up. What did it taste like?"
    "I didn't drink it, stupid; Claude drank it. Father's whole bottle of whiskey was gone when I went up to bed."
    "That's why Father was so mad this morning," Marcus said knowingly. "I heard him tell Mother that her brother is a lush."
    "Well," I said slowly, "at least he's been at the edge of the Baltic Sea. I don't know anyone else in the whole world who's been there."
    "And he's got that box full of stuff for us, and this morning he's going to tell us what it is, right?"
    "Right."
    "Louise! Marcus! Are you ready?" Mother was calling from the foot of the stairs. We ran down.
    "Here," she said and handed me a dollar. "Stop at the grocery store on your way home and buy a dozen eggs. Make sure they're white ones, for dyeing. A dozen's enough, don't you think?"
    Marcus calculated. "That's four each for me and Louise and Stephie. Tom says he's too grown-up now for Easter eggs, the jerk."
    Mother sighed. "Twelve's enough, then. Be sure to hold Stephie's hand. And show Uncle Claude where they've pointed the brick on the bank, and, let's see, maybe he'd be interested in the window display at Baumen's Department Store—"
    Claude appeared, with his shabby jacket on, and interrupted her. "Right," he said, "we mustn't miss that. And we'll check out all the churches to see how they've decorated for Easter." He was grinning.
    "Claude," Mother said, in the same chiding voice she used with Father, "stop that. Don't be disrespectful." But she was grinning back at him.
    Holding Stephie by her hands, we swung her down over the porch steps and started off.

3
    Our town was not a town of