Then, the three of them started over to the Journal office. Before he left, Abie called his assistant to “mind the shop.” Joan and Eric led the way, and Abie followed, his hands wildly waving. Eric seemed a little sober now at the outcome of the exchange of prizes. He said nothing but still hugged the violin.
Uncle John was busy and while they were waiting Jimmy appeared. Tim was back now, the paper was out, and Joan explained things to him. When they went into Uncle John’s office, Tim went in, too. They seemed to fill the little room, the sanctum sanctorum. Em was there, curled up on the window sill, her tail hanging straight down. Silhouetted against the light, she looked like a spook. Joan picked her up and held her. Uncle John got up from his swivel chair that creaked gratefully when he hoisted his stout self from it and greeted them with raised eyebrows. Joan started to explain the situation, but Abie, flashing the check, broke in with his mumblings.
Uncle John took the check. “Well, what’s it all about? This is the check I sent to the Kennedy boy.”
“Yes, but I wanted the tickets to the game—they’re hard to get—and the trip to Cleveland and the autographed ball,” Jimmy said. “And when I didn’t win ’em, and read in the Journal that a kid named Eric Reynolds did, I went to the drug store and telephoned him.”
“And we traded prizes,” put in Eric. “But the check wasn’t signed.”
“Well, this is a mystery,” Uncle John examined the check. “I’m positive I signed it. This is the same check, I’m sure.”
“Oh, yes, sir.” Jimmy twisted at his blouse pocket and produced an envelope. “Here’s what the letter and the check came in, addressed to me. The letter’s at home, but I brought the check along in this to keep it clean for Eric.”
“Yes, it’s the same check,” Uncle John said, holding it out.
The bit of paper brushed against Em’s long white whiskers as Uncle John placed it on his desk. The cat squirmed in Joan’s arms. She wrinkled up her black face and began to sneeze and hiss, wrenching herself away, as if to spring toward the check.
“Why—” Joan put Em down and the cat immediately rolled over and over on the floor, casting sidewise glances at them from her big yellow eyes. Then Joan picked up the check, held it to her own nose and sniffed. “Why, it does! It smells like sassafras!”