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came down the aisle as I was about to stuff it in my pocket. Jimmy was the lookout on this job and warned me just in the nick of time. I never got another chance. Except for the slingshots, all the loot was consumed before we went home. I hid my slingshot in the tree fort and never had a chance to use it. As far as I know, Jimmy never used his either. Such is the price of ill-gotten gains.
    My new exciting life came to an abrupt halt in early December. Having endured a boring Thanksgiving with my aunt and uncle, who were childless, I was ready to resume my career. Christmas was rapidly approaching and I had presents to buy. Jimmy had tired of our profession—an attitude spawned by the marble bag episode—and I was going it alone. I was just as satisfied. He wasn’t cut out for this line of work.
    I had my eye on a baseball in the five and ten. It was a real baseball, not one of the squishy rubber kind stuffed with yarn. It was beautiful in its pristine condition. In all my baseball playing days, we had never had a new ball. This would be the crown jewel of my career. It was early in the day and there were only a few shoppers in the store. My mother had gone next door to the beauty parlor and I had all the time I needed. I picked up the baseball, turned it over in my hand, admiring the beauty and feel of it. It was a work of art! I looked around, saw no one, and quickly put the ball in my pocket.
    I turned to leave, only to have my way blocked by Myrna Stover, the stern looking salesclerk who had seen my every move. Myrna was a friend of my mother. Even worse, she was a mother herself, with all the attributes I mentioned earlier. I was doomed!
    “And just where do you think you are going with that baseball, young man?”
    I started to say, “what baseball?” but even I knew the absurdity of such a statement. Instead I stepped back, pulled the baseball from my pocket and held it out to her.
    “Your mother will hear about this,” Myrna said, turning the ball over in her hand. She grabbed me by the collar and ushered me out of the door to the beauty parlor next door.
    The scene that followed is too painful for me to describe, even after all this time. My mother was, naturally, horrified. I was confined to my room, allowed out for meals and bathroom activities. Since iPods, laptops, cell phones and television were not yet a part of our lives, I could not be denied these privileges. My mother did, however, remove the yoyo, having correctly concluded what she had suspected all along—that it was “hot.” I was left with my school books and a beat up copy of The Hardy Boys Great Airport Mystery. I have it still, a bleak reminder of my errant ways.
    My imprisonment came to a sudden and unexpected end the following week when word came over the radio that Pearl Harbor had been attacked. In the confusion and turmoil of the days that followed, my mother had neither the time nor the inclination to continue my punishment. My sentence had been commuted! But it came with a stern warning.
    “Don’t think for a minute that I am letting you get away with this. Watch your step, young man. I will be watching. And next time....”
    “There won’t be a next time,” I said.
    “There had better not be,” she said. “Not if you’re smart.”
    She put a hand on my shoulder. “Meanwhile,” she went on, “there will be extra chores for you to do until the baseball you stole is paid for.”
    “But I gave it back,” I protested. I started to say more, but the look in her eye told me not to pursue the subject. How long could it take to pay off an eighty-nine cent debt?
    “Yes’m,” I said.
    “And the yoyo.”
    Okay. A ninety-four cent debt. I was grateful that she knew nothing of the edibles.
    “And the slingshot.”
    “How did you....?” I started.
    “We have ways,” she said, and I thought I saw a twinkle in her otherwise accusing eyes.
    Jimmy had ratted to his mother! I vowed to get even. But at the moment I had more