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from evil,” he said, instead of “One nation, indivisible.”
    The spit in his mouth felt like glue, but he didn’t want to risk walking to the fountain and having to pass Johnny or any of the other fellows who suspected him. The Rowdies must have taken it. That was the only explanation. And in that case he was doomed. Luther Tingvold would have his liver if he pointed suspicion in his direction. No, Burton would tell Mr. Ward about the Ben Franklin incident, and Mr. Ward would come looking for him. He would be thrown in jail.
    Finally, when he could stand it no more, Ned took the bathroom pass and slipped out the door, down the steps, across the lawn, across the street, and up the four blocks to his own street. Granddaddy Ike would know what to do.
    He stopped at the corner and stood behind an elm. Mr. Jackson was sitting on Granddaddy’s porch. Ned stayed behind the tree and watched. Granddaddy must have gone inside for his pipe. But Mr. Jackson just sat there like it was his own porch, and Granddaddy didn’t appear.
    Ned turned to go back to school. He’d have to come back at lunchtime.
    “Ned!”
    Ned turned. Mr. Jackson had seen him and was beckoning him over.
    Shoot. He’d have to go over there, or Mr. Jackson would keep on hollering. All he needed now was for his mother to look out the kitchen window and see him.
    Ned shimmied over to the side of Granddaddy’s house and plastered himself against the wall where he would not be visible to his mother.
    Mr. Jackson came over to the edge of the porch and peered around at him.
    “Don’t let my mom see me,” Ned pleaded.
    “Milo!” It was Granddaddy Ike through the window. “Is there a situation out there?”
    “Stay calm,” called Mr. Jackson. “I got Ned here. I’ll bring him inside.”
    “I can’t,” said Ned. “I’m supposed to be at school.”
    “Well, we were waiting for you, anyhow. We have a surprise. Your mother’s walked downtown. I saw her leave. The coast is clear.”
    Granddaddy was lying in bed even though it was the middle of the day. He had his glasses off. His arms looked thin on top of the quilt. Ned felt shy and stood back by the door.
    “Come on in here,” said Mr. Jackson. “Over by Ike. We’ve got something for you.”
    “Looky here, Ned,” said Granddaddy. “Look what we have for you! Give it to him, Milo.”
    Mr. Jackson reached behind Granddaddy’s chair and pulled out a football.

“A football?” Ned gasped.
The
football. He reached out for it, but Mr. Jackson continued to hold it.
    “Where did you —” Ned said.
    Granddaddy jumped in. “Mr. Jackson was walking through Liberty Park early this morning.”
    “Before the milkman!” said Mr. Jackson.
    “He was on his way to —”
    “Am I going to tell the story or are you?” said Mr. Jackson.
    “He’s my grandson.”
    “And I’m the one who found —”
    “Found?” said Ned.
    “Right there in Liberty Park. Next to an empty pack of Camels. Litter. I find that now and again, but a football. I says to myself, I says, ‘Who has been jabbering on about getting a football for a certain boy?’ Who could it be?”
    “Me, of course,” said Granddaddy Ike, giving Mr. Jackson a weak slap on the back. “Me. I know you’ve been wanting a football something awful, Ned. And, well”— he patted his hands on top of the quilt —“looks like I came through for you.”
    “With some help from me,” said Mr. Jackson. He handed the ball to Ned at last. Ned stared at it.
    “He doesn’t look as excited as you said he would,” said Mr. Jackson.
    “Buttons are not great showers of emotion,” said Granddaddy.
    Ned sank into Granddaddy’s chair. It was all wrong.
    “He’s just overwhelmed,” said Mr. Jackson. “Can’t say I blame him. Most boys would give their eyeteeth for a prize like that. ’Course it’s not new, but . . .”
    Ned studied the ball, smoothed his hand all over it, fit his fingers to the laces. It was Lester’s all right, but could anyone