"Good-bye, my friend," the monster said. He held the door and Homer walked on through.
He came back into the office he'd left an hour before, the glass in the door shattered and his car still parked outside.
Homer hurried.
In less than five minutes, he went roaring out the gate, with the bags of money locked inside the trunk.
There was little time, he realized. What he did had to be done fast. For when the monster wiped out Happy Acres, there would be a battalion of families marooned there in the woods and they'd come boiling out with a single thought in mindto get their hands on Homer Jackson.
He tried to imagine what it might be like, and then tried to stop thinking what it might be like, but couldn't.
There would be a lot of people there without any houses.
They'd wake up in the wild, wet woods, with their furniture and belongings scattered all about them. And all those bright new cars would be in among the trees. And the people would be plenty sore.
Not that he blamed them much.
He was sore himself.
That lousy Steen, he said. Like that contractor Gabby told aboutthe one who went out on a wrecking job and demolished the wrong house.
The dashboard clock said slightly after midnight. Elaine would be home by now and they could start right out.
Homer turned into the driveway and braked to a halt. There was a light in the kitchen window. He ran up the walk and burst into the house.
"Oh, there you are," said Elaine. "I wondered where you were. What's wrong with you?"
"We're getting out of here," Homer babbled.
"Have you gone stark crazy? Getting out!"
"Now for once," said Homer, "don't give me an argument. We're getting out of here. Tonight. I've got three sacks of money out there in the car…"
"Money! How did you get three sacks…"
"It's legal," Homer pleaded. "There's nothing wrong with it. I didn't rob a bank. There's no time to explain. Let us just get going."
She got icy calm. "Where are we going, Homer?"
"We can decide that later. Maybe Mexico."
"You're ill," she scolded. "You've been working too hard lately. And worrying about that Happy Acres deal…"
It was too much for Homer. He turned toward the door.
"Homer! Where are you going, Homer?"
"I'll show you the money," he gritted. "I'll show you I really have it."
"Wait for me," she cried, but he didn't wait. She ran down the walk behind him.
He opened the car trunk. "There it is. We'll carry it up to the house. You can take off your shoes and walk in it. Then maybe you'll believe me."
"No, Homer, no!"
"Here, help me with these sacks," he said.
Inside the house, he opened the sacks. Neatly bundled she of bills spilled out on the floor.
Elaine knelt and picked up a package. "Why, it's real!" she cried happily.
"Of course it is," said Homer.
"And, Homer, these are twenty-thousand-dollar bills!" She dropped the package that she held and picked up another and another and another. "And so are these!" she screamed. "There are millions and millions here!"
Homer was pawing desperately through the heap of money. Sweat was running down his face.
"Are they all twenty-thousand-dollar bills?" she asked hopefully.
"Yes," said Homer in a beaten voice.
"But what is wrong?"
"That dirty, lowdown, bungling Steen," he said bitterly.
"But what is wrong?" she cried again.
"They aren't worth a dime," said Homer. "There are no such things as twenty-thousand-dollar bills. The Treasury never issued any!"
Idiot's Crusade
For a long time I was the village idiot, but not any longeralthough they call me "dummy" still and even worse than that.
I'm a genius now, but I won't let them know.
Not ever.
If they found out, they'd be on their guard against me.
No one has suspected me and no one will. My shuffle is the same and my gaze as vacant and my mumblings just as vague as they ever were. At times, it has been hard to remember to keep the shuffle and the gaze and mumblings as they were before, times when it was hard not to overdo them. But it's important not to arouse suspicion.
It all started the morning I went fishing.
I told Ma I was going fishing while we were eating breakfast and she didn't object. She knows I like fishing. When I fish, I don't get into trouble.
"All right, Jim," she said. "Some fish will taste real good."
"I know where to get them," I told her. "That hole in the creek just past Alf Adams' place."
"Now don't you get into any fracas with Alf," Ma warned me. "Just because you don't like him…"
"He was mean to me. He worked me harder than he should have. And he cheated me out of my pay. And he laughs at me."
I shouldn't have said that, because it hurts Ma when I say someone laughs at me. "You mustn't pay attention to what people do," said Ma, speaking kind and gentle. "Remember what Preacher Martin said last Sunday. He said…"
"I know what he said, but I still don't like being laughed at. People shouldn't laugh at me."
"No," Ma agreed, looking sad. "They shouldn't."
I went on eating my breakfast, thinking that Preacher Martin was a great one to be talking about humility and patience, knowing the kind of man he was and how he was carrying on with Jennie Smith, the organist. He was a great one to talk about anything at all.
After breakfast, I went out to the woodshed to get my fishing tackle and Bounce came across the street to help me. After Ma, Bounce is the best friend I have. He can't talk to me, of coursenot actually, that isbut neither does he laugh at me.
I talked to him while I was digging worms and asked him if he wanted to go fishing with me. I could see he did, so I went across the street to tell Mrs. Lawson that Bounce was going along. He belonged to her, but he spent most of his time with me.
We started out, me carrying my cane pole and all my fishing stuff and Bounce walking at my heels, as if I were someone he was proud to be seen walking with.
We went past the bank, where Banker Patton was sitting in the big front window, working at his desk and looking like the most important man in all of Mapleton, which he was. I went by slow so I could hate him good. Ma and me wouldn't be living in the old tumbledown house we're living in if Banker Patton hadn't foreclosed on our home after Pa died.
We went out past Alf Adams' place, which is the first farm out of town, and I hated him some, too, but not as hard as Banker Patton. All Alf had done was work me harder than he should have, then cheat me out of my pay.
Alf was a big, blustery man and a good enough farmer, I guessat least he made it pay. He had a big new barn and it's just like him not to paint it red, the way any proper barn is painted, but white with red trim. Who ever heard of paint trim on a barn?
Just beyond Alf's place, Bounce and I turned off the road and went down across the pasture, heading for the big hole in the creek.
Alfs prize Hereford bull was way off in another corner of the pasture with the rest of the stock. When he saw us, he started coming for us, not mean or belligerent, but just investigating and ready for a fight if one was offered him. I wasn't afraid of him, because I'd made friends with him that summer I had worked for Alf. I used to pet him and scratch behind his ears.
Alf said I was a crazy fool and someday the bull would kill me. "You can never trust a bull," Alf said.
When the bull was near enough to see who it was, he knew we meant no harm, so he went back across the pasture again.
We got to the hole and I started fishing, while Bounce went up the stream to do some investigating. I caught a few fish, but they weren't very big and they weren't biting very often and I got disinterested. I like to fish, but to keep my interest up, I have to catch some.