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CHAPTER 12

Cowboy Bob Says No

      UNCLE BOB'S eyes flashed. "Slot machines? Lotteries? Why don't we just move to Las Vegas, and set up a roulette table in the kitchen!"

      "But this isn't gambling," Lucy answered, "They're just games."

      "Or go buy yourself a pistol, and take down a bank or two in your spare time!"

      "Please, Uncle Bob, it's just that we need to build up the restaurant some, so we can pay our bills."

      "Well, I'm not reduced to sneaking money out of people's pockets with crooked gambling machines. And you can tell that to your racketeer friend Charles White, too!"

      Lucy sighed. Maybe she should have let Swan help her explain, after all. It had seemed so clear when they were telling Bobby about it. Bobby had understood right away.

      Lucy tried again, "All we want to do is . . ."

      He gave her a look that stopped the words in her mouth. "Didn't you hear me? I said no gambling — and that's final!"

      "But this is — "

      "I said NO!" He slammed his cane on the floor so hard that poor Rooster jumped up out of his sleep and slunk away. "Understand me? Who owns Cowboy Bob's, anyway — you or me?"

      "You do, Uncle Bob."

      "Then don't let me hear another word about this. Not now and not ever!"

      "Yes, sir."

      He glared at another minute, and then, seeing that he had made his point, he softened. "All right then." He picked up the paper off his lap and began reading it again, ostentatiously.

      Lucy sighed and got up. She went and folded up the afghan, and straightened up magazines. And that would have been the end of it — except that she couldn't help but mutter, under her breath, ". . . but how are we going to pay those bills?"

      "What was that!"

      She turned on him, angry in her turn. "I said we still have to pay our bills. And I'm saying that I'm just scared to death the day's coming when there won't be any money at all to do it with. And what are we going to do then?"

      She had stiffened to meet another wave of his anger, but instead, he said almost coaxingly, "Come over here and sit down, Sister."

      She did as she was told, and he sat staring at her for a little, saying nothing. Finally, he took a deep breath. "All right then, I'll do something."

      Lucy didn't answer, and after waiting a minute, he went on. "Yes, I will. I'll put my pride in my pocket, and write to some rich friends I have, and ask them to bail us out."

      Hearing that, Lucy sighed. It had been a long day, he'd been shouting at her, and she was really tired. And now this. What rich friends did Uncle Bob have, now or ever?

      Perhaps he'd been expecting her to protest that he shouldn't humble himself, or some such thing, because now he gave her reproachful look. "Oh, I can guess what you're thinking, but this time I mean it. Because these friends of mine aren't just anybody, you know. They're Arabians. Important men, in their own country, who owe me favors. And they'll do what I tell them to!"

      This was so totally unexpected that Lucy had to say, "Arabians, Uncle Bob? When were you in Arabia?"

      He looked smug. "You never knew about that, did you. Well, I won't brag, but before you were born — long before I became a radio personality — I was a war hero."

      "But you weren't ever . . ."

      "Yes I was," he cut her off. "I served in the Great War when I was just a boy, and I earned the gratitude of some Arabians I saved in battle. And it later turned out they were rich oil sheiks — and that's who I'm going to write to now, for money."

      Lucy looked into his face. "Uncle Bob," she said. "You were never to Arabia."

      "Little Girl, you think you know everything. But all you know about me is what I've told you. Isn't that right? Isn't that all anybody knows about anybody? Unless they were there?"

      "Well, I guess so."

      "All right then; you weren't there and I was. And if you want to know why you never heard about it, it's because when I was in the War, I was in the Secret Service."

      "What do you mean, Secret Service!"

      "That's right. Even your mother never knew that. Not even my brother. Because it was Top Secret and long ago."

      Lucy stared at him. Was he teasing her? But he looked perfectly serious. No, not serious, exactly, it was more like he looked sly and pleased with himself. It was the sort of look she would have expected from Bertie, not from her Uncle Bob.

      "Surprised you, didn't I. Yep, during the Big War, they sent me to Arabia to get them all organized over there to fight the Huns." He gave a nod. "Yes, and I did it, too. And a couple of times I even saved the lives of some of those Sheiks in battles, and that made us blood-brothers — like somebody being taken into an Indian tribe. A couple of those old boys liked me so well they swore to do me any favor I ever cared to ask for. So what do you say to that, now!"

      "Uncle Bob — " As he talked, Lucy grew more and more uneasy. Because Mama had told her that Bob Vance had once had poliomylitis when he was a boy, and had always walked with a slight limp. And so far as she knew he had never been in any way connected with the military services. Surely, if he'd been in the army, even so long ago, somebody, sometime, would have mentioned it. ". . . I guess I don't know what to say," she finally answered lamely.

      This seemed to satisfy him. "Thought you'd be surprised, but I'm glad you know about it now. So you can quit thinking your Uncle Bob's a crippled-up old failure."

      This made her feel more uneasy still. "I never thought you were a failure, Uncle Bob."

      "All right, then." His tone now seemed to indicate that everything had been settled by his revelation. "You just remember what I told you and don't start up on me next time."

      Then he began to fumble for his canes. "I'm ready to go to bed now."

      When she finally got him settled in bed, with Rooster curled up like a guard on the rug beside him, he took Lucy's hand and drew her down and kissed her on the cheek, something he had not done since she was a child. Afterward he turned his withered old face toward her and said anxiously, "Listen now, you better not tell this to anybody. About what I said about the Foreign Service and all? This has to stay a secret, just between us."

      "I won't tell, Uncle Bob," Lucy said gently. "I won't tell anybody."

      Then she and went away, filled with pity and sadness, to do her night-chores. She was going to have to break that promise. Because Bobby needed to be told what had happened. And this time she was certainly going to call the doctor.

     


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