But her son had gone proudly into court the day he was of age and had had his name changed from “Carlton Gimmidge” to “John Thomas Stuart VIII” It was he who had fetched Lummox back and he had used his bonus money from the second trip of the Trail Blazer to buy back the old homestead. He had apparently impressed on his own son that his son’s grandfather had gotten a dirty deal; the son had made a great point of it in this record.
Johnnie’s grandfather could himself have used an advocate to defend his name. The record stated simply that John Thomas Stuart IX had resigned from the service and had never gone into space again, but Johnnie knew that it had been a choice of that or a court martial; his own father had told him . . . but he had told him also that his grandfather could have got off scotfree had he been willing to testify. His father had added, “Johnnie, I’d rather see you loyal to your friends than with your chest decked out in medals.”
The old man had still been living at the time Johnnie’s father told him this. On a later occasion, while Johnnie’s father was out on patrol, Johnnie had tried to let him know that he knew.
Granddad had been furious. “Poppycock!” he had shouted. “They had me dead to rights.”
“But Dad said your skipper was actually the one who. . .”
“Your Dad wasn’t there. Captain Dominic was the finest skipper that ever trod steel. . . may his soul rest in peace. Set up the checkers, son. I’m going to beat you.”
Johnnie had tried to get the straight of it after his grandfather died, but his father’s answer was not direct. “Your grandfather was a romantic sentimentalist, Johnme. It’s the flaw in our make-up. Hardly sense enough in the whole line to balance a check book.” He had puffed his pipe and added, “But we do have fun.”
Johnnie put the books and papers away, feeling dully that it had not done him much good to read about his forebears; Lummox was still on his mind. He guessed he ought to go down and try to get some sleep.
He was turning away as the phone flashed; he grabbed it before the light could change to sound signal; he did not want his mother to wake. “Yes?”
“That you, Johnnie?”
“Yeah. I can’t see you, Betty; I’m up in the attic.”
“That isn’t the only reason you can’t. I haven’t got my face on, so I’ve got the video switched off. Besides it’s pitch dark in this hallway, since I’m not allowed to phone this time o’ night. Uh, the Duchess isn’t listening, is she?”
Johnnie glanced at his warning signal. “No.”
“I’ll make this brief. My spies report that Deacon Dreiser got the okay to go ahead.”
“No!”
“Yes. Point is, what do we do about it? We can’t sit still and let him.”
“Uh, I’ve done something.”
“What? Nothing silly, I hope. I shouldn’t have been away today.”
“Well, a Mr. Perkins. . .”
“Perkins? The chap who went to see Judge O’Farrell tonight?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Look, don’t waste time. I always know. Tell me your end.”
“Well . . .” John Thomas gave a confused report. Betty listened without comment, which made him defensive; he found himself expounding the viewpoints of his mother and of Mr. Perkins, rather than his own. “So that’s how it was,” he finished lamely.
“So you told them to go climb-a tree? Good, Now here is our next move. If the Museum. can do it, we can do it. It’s just a case of getting Grandpa O’Farrell to. . .”
“Betty, you don’t understand. I sold Lummox.”
“What? You sold Lummox?”
“Yes. I had to. If I didn’t. . .”
“You sold Lummox.”
“Betty, I couldn’t help my. . .”
But she had switched off on him.
He tried to call back, got a recorded voice that said, “This instrument is out of direct service until tomorrow morning at eight. If you wish to record a message stand by for. . .” He switched off.
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