can help us. But I need twenty-five cents.”
“He a lawyer or something?”
“No. A magician. Bloom’s grandfather, in fact.”
“The one who invented the trick.”
“That’s right. And he’s playing at the Century in a couple of hours. If I can get into the show, I can go talk to him. Can you get me a quarter?”
“Use one’a yours!”
“I almost got arrested in a bakery this morning, Walt. I need a quarter from 1926 or earlier.”
Walt twisted up his face. “I knew you’d ask for money sooner or later.”
“It’s a
quarter.
”
“Well, I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Can you get it? From home?”
“My father’ll tan me if I steal from him!”
“What about your mom? Maybe tell her I’m borrowing it. I’ll pay you back.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know. How hard can it be to get a quarter?” Walter looked at him like he was crazy. “Come on, will you help me?”
Walt furrowed his brow. “Show me the trick one more time.”
8
A small crowd had already formed along the sidewalk in front of the Century when Dash arrived at six thirty. Walt had told him that
if
he could get the money, he’d meet him out front. There was still an hour and a half until the show started, but Dash had been too antsy to sit at “home” staring at the walls.
People drifted along the sidewalk. Pretty girls in long dresses, men in evening suits. There was even the odd tuxedo.
He wondered if maybe Blumenthal would come in through the front doors and he could talk to him here, in front of the theatre. Maybe he looked like his grandson and Dash would recognize him. That would be a lot easier, and if Walt didn’t show with the money—
But here was the Gibson kid, coming straight at him. Early himself, and with a manic expression on his face. He was
way
excited. He wore a clean pair of pants, a jacket, and a tie. There was a cloth hat on his head and one in his hand.
“Here,” he said, handing Dash the hat. “To fit in better.”
“Did you get the money?”
“Did I ever!” He opened his fist to show a bunch of shiny coins in his palm. “I know my dad keeps some change in his humidor. There’s almost seventy cents here.”
“Is he going to miss it?”
“When he discovers it, he will. But that won’t be tonight.”
“I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“Do you need my help or not?”
“I
need
it,” said Dash. “Thank you. That’s cool of you.”
“Cool?”
“Nice.”
Walt smiled. He probably didn’t get called nice all that often.
“And anyway,” Walt said, “your magician guy’ll give me the money back, won’t he? When he learns what kind of trouble you went through to see him?”
“Yeah! I’m sure he will!”
“I have enough for a bottle of mints too.”
Walt walked up to the window to buy the tickets.
The lady looked at him from her glass box. “Sold out,” she said.
Walter’s jaw dropped. “Oh,
gosh
!”
“Watch your
mouth
, Walter Gibson,” the lady said. “Yes, I know who you are.”
Walter lowered his head.
“Ma’am, listen. Miss—” said Dash, coming up to the window.
“Who are you calling miss, young man?” She stuck her head forward on her neck. Her face looked like one of those warty squashes that come out in October. “Are you a
friend
of this one?He broke my window with a
rock
, you know. Not a baseball, like a normal kid, a rock.”
“Well, I’m sure it was an acc—” Dash started.
“No accident,” she said, with a sour look on her face. “He’s a scoundrel.”
“I
said
I was sorry.”
“You still owe me and Mr. Davis a whole dollar to fix that window. The two of you were planning on coming to the show tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Walter said awkwardly.
“That means
you
must have a quarter, boy. Give it here.” She moved the window block aside and stuck her long, thin hand through the opening. Walter put a quarter into her palm.
“Sorry,” he said to Dash.
“That’s still seventy-five cents
“He a lawyer or something?”
“No. A magician. Bloom’s grandfather, in fact.”
“The one who invented the trick.”
“That’s right. And he’s playing at the Century in a couple of hours. If I can get into the show, I can go talk to him. Can you get me a quarter?”
“Use one’a yours!”
“I almost got arrested in a bakery this morning, Walt. I need a quarter from 1926 or earlier.”
Walt twisted up his face. “I knew you’d ask for money sooner or later.”
“It’s a
quarter.
”
“Well, I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Can you get it? From home?”
“My father’ll tan me if I steal from him!”
“What about your mom? Maybe tell her I’m borrowing it. I’ll pay you back.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know. How hard can it be to get a quarter?” Walter looked at him like he was crazy. “Come on, will you help me?”
Walt furrowed his brow. “Show me the trick one more time.”
8
A small crowd had already formed along the sidewalk in front of the Century when Dash arrived at six thirty. Walt had told him that
if
he could get the money, he’d meet him out front. There was still an hour and a half until the show started, but Dash had been too antsy to sit at “home” staring at the walls.
People drifted along the sidewalk. Pretty girls in long dresses, men in evening suits. There was even the odd tuxedo.
He wondered if maybe Blumenthal would come in through the front doors and he could talk to him here, in front of the theatre. Maybe he looked like his grandson and Dash would recognize him. That would be a lot easier, and if Walt didn’t show with the money—
But here was the Gibson kid, coming straight at him. Early himself, and with a manic expression on his face. He was
way
excited. He wore a clean pair of pants, a jacket, and a tie. There was a cloth hat on his head and one in his hand.
“Here,” he said, handing Dash the hat. “To fit in better.”
“Did you get the money?”
“Did I ever!” He opened his fist to show a bunch of shiny coins in his palm. “I know my dad keeps some change in his humidor. There’s almost seventy cents here.”
“Is he going to miss it?”
“When he discovers it, he will. But that won’t be tonight.”
“I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“Do you need my help or not?”
“I
need
it,” said Dash. “Thank you. That’s cool of you.”
“Cool?”
“Nice.”
Walt smiled. He probably didn’t get called nice all that often.
“And anyway,” Walt said, “your magician guy’ll give me the money back, won’t he? When he learns what kind of trouble you went through to see him?”
“Yeah! I’m sure he will!”
“I have enough for a bottle of mints too.”
Walt walked up to the window to buy the tickets.
The lady looked at him from her glass box. “Sold out,” she said.
Walter’s jaw dropped. “Oh,
gosh
!”
“Watch your
mouth
, Walter Gibson,” the lady said. “Yes, I know who you are.”
Walter lowered his head.
“Ma’am, listen. Miss—” said Dash, coming up to the window.
“Who are you calling miss, young man?” She stuck her head forward on her neck. Her face looked like one of those warty squashes that come out in October. “Are you a
friend
of this one?He broke my window with a
rock
, you know. Not a baseball, like a normal kid, a rock.”
“Well, I’m sure it was an acc—” Dash started.
“No accident,” she said, with a sour look on her face. “He’s a scoundrel.”
“I
said
I was sorry.”
“You still owe me and Mr. Davis a whole dollar to fix that window. The two of you were planning on coming to the show tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Walter said awkwardly.
“That means
you
must have a quarter, boy. Give it here.” She moved the window block aside and stuck her long, thin hand through the opening. Walter put a quarter into her palm.
“Sorry,” he said to Dash.
“That’s still seventy-five cents
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