New Adventures of the Mad Scientists' Club by Bertrand R. Brinley, Charles Geer Read Free Book Online

truck and
haul it back to Mammoth Falls, if we were lucky enough to get it. We had
brought along the overhead traveling crane rig that Zeke uses to lift engines
out of cars, but we were only guessing at how big the sub was, based on Henry's
research.
            Mortimer
Dalrymple had insisted on rigging a hammock between the two chain slings of the
traveling crane so he could be comfortable during the trip. Mortimer likes his
sleep, and he can catnap right through a club meeting or a dogfight; take your
pick. But he didn't get too much sleep on the way to Claiborne. We had the
crane stanchion lashed down securely to the truck bed, so he wasn't in any
danger, but he took some pretty violent lurches (Henry called them "yawing
moments") when Zeke threw Richard the Deep Breather into fast-breaking
curves on the Claiborne Road. When he pulled into Claiborne, Mortimer was
pretty seasick but he'd be the last one to admit it, and the rest of us
wouldn't embarrass him by noticing it unless there was some real fun in it. At
least he'd escaped the bumps and jolts that the rest of us had to suffer.
            The
White Elephant Auction was being held in front of the American Legion Hall,
because the submarine was the biggest thing on the list and the Legion didn't
want to bother moving it off its concrete pedestal unless they were sure it was
sold. When Zeke wheeled Richard the Deep Breather into the parking lot there
was already a crowd of two or three hundred people gathered in front of the
place. The auctioneer was having lunch at a hot-dog stand and just marking time
until the appointed hour for the auction to begin. We were a little dismayed to
see the size of the crowd, but the auctioneer was licking the mustard off his
lips with double relish, knowing he had a good thing going.
            After we
had something to eat we mingled in the crowd and left matters in the hands of
Freddy and Dinky, who had all our money. We saw them whispering to each other
on the edge of the crowd, and then Freddy got down on all fours and crawled
through people's legs up to the front. He ended up to the right of the
auctioneer's stand, and Dinky popped up in front of the crowd on the left. A
whole bunch of worthless junk was sold at ridiculous prices before the auctioneer
got around to mentioning the submarine. It was already three o'clock and Freddy
had pulled the last hot dog out of his pocket and eaten it, and was looking
around for something to drink, when the auctioneer climbed down off his stand
and rapped his gavel on the hull of the sub.
           
"Ladies and gennemun!" he cried. "Here is the piece de
resistance of the afternoon. What am I offered for this genuwine trophy of
war brought back from the far Pacific by the valiant sons of Post 1142 of the
American Legion? This is a real conversation piece. Ladies: If you have a real
handyman around the house, he can convert this historic tub into the most
unique outdoor barbecue you have ever seen. With this symbol of America's
triumph over the forces of evil in World War II installed in your backyard you
will be the envy of your neighborhood. Other women will pull out their hair
competing for invitations to your evening soirees."
           
"Blah, blah, blah, blah," said Mortimer. "How about getting down
to business?"
            Finally
the auctioneer pounded his gavel on the rusting hull again and rasped,
"What am I offered?"
           
"Five dollars!" came a squeak from the right side of the semicircle
of onlookers. All eyes turned to where Freddy Muldoon stood, looking as nonchalant
as his pudgy frame would allow, with one foot crossed over the other and his
arms folded in front of him.
           
"Has he gone nuts?" Mortimer gulped. "That's more money than we
have."
           
"Maybe the truck ride affected his brain," Homer offered. "We'd
better go pull him out of there."
           
"Leave him alone!" Jeff snapped. "We all promised to let him
handle this."