The Boy Who Invented the Bubble Gun by Paul Gallico Read Free Book Online

signalled the counterman. From Balzare it came out, “Pon cakes and leetle peek sausage.”
    The counterman yelled through the kitchen hatch, “Toss one. Small porkers with.”
    The musician looked baffled, “That not what I say.”
    Julian giggled, “That’s all right.”
    The order duly appeared. Balzare regarded them in amazement and said, “Is so difficult language. How you say coffee?”
    The counterman had just shouted again through the hatch, “Draw one,” and a cup of coffee was served. Julian laughed happily. He was having a wonderful time.
    Looking down the line Julian recognized passengers more easily now that many were there at breakfast. Far down towards the end was Marshall with coffee. He was looking straight ahead. Julian wondered whether Marshall might glance over and if he did, Julian thought he might wave to him, but Marshall didn’t.

C H A P T E R

5
    B oarding the bus after the morning break in Yuma, Colonel Sisson managed to stumble, drop his briefcase and spill the contents all over the aisle. Any film director worth his salt watching this scene would have said, “Oh for God’s sakes,” and called for a retake but apparently none of the passengers who were blocked behind him while he scrambled to pick up his papers, Allon, Marshall, Julian, Bill and Marge and the black-haired musician, thought there was anything extraordinary in this and only casually glanced at the papers which seemed to be mainly diagrams and blueprints. In great and obvious embarrassment the colonel was making an attempt to cover up the nature of these papers as he scrabbled them up off the floor and restored them to his briefcase.
    While they waited the bus driver said to Marshall, “Where’s the little fat guy who was going to Memphis?”
    Marshall replied, “He ain’t comin’. He changed his mind.”
    The bus driver shook his head in disgust, “He might have said something. Passengers!” The hydraulic doors hissed shut. He picked up his short-wave microphone, gave his call letters, listened to the dispatcher’s voice for a moment and then said, “Three nine six on time out of Yuma.” He then picked up the one for interior communications and said, “Okay, folks, we’re off.”
    When the aisle had finally cleared and the passengers settled, Julian found that his strange friend had moved across and preempted his window seat. That left Julian a choice on either side of the aisle. He didn’t resent losing his view. In fact he did not give it a second thought since it was quite in keeping with the hierarchy of his world as he had learned it. Children were there to be pushed around, but it did provide him with an opportunity to probe further into the mystery of the vanished Gresham.
    He asked, “Can I sit next to you?”
    Marshall looked up and noting Julian without enthusiasm, had in mind to say, “Why don’t you sit over there?”, and then realizing that he had taken the boy’s seat, felt guilty and fell. “What? Oh, sure sure, go ahead.”
    Julian slid down into the seat. Marshall gave him his shoulder and looked out of the window as the bus pulled away from Yuma and hit the highway again. Julian waited until Marshall got bored with the scenery and made as if to turn for his book. Then he asked, “What’s your name?”
    Marshall thought, Oh Christ. Well, I asked for it. Aloud, he said, “Marshall.”
    Julian asked, “Marshall what?”
    “Not Marshall What. Marshall. Frank Marshall. Okay?”
    He looked to find his place in his book when Julian said, “Mr. Marshall?”
    The man gave up. Okay, so he was going to have to cope with the kid. He said, “Just Marshall will do.”
    Julian then asked, “Why did you make that man go away?”
    Marshall was aware that kids were a lot smarter and more hip than they used to be but he had the feeling that this boy had a peculiar kind of innocence and trust and probably would not have known what that son of a bitch was up to. He therefore produced that