POSSUM?

From: Murder Incorporated - In a Keg

by Harold J. Treherne

ne Summer day on the farm in 1945 a neat disappearing trick sparked a hunt for two apparently lost youngsters.

Our John, 8 (then) and Alvin, 7, were school pals and occasionally came home together. Alvin's dad would call for him later.

This afternoon Frank had called but the boys were conspicuously absent. He shouted, "Alvin! Alvin!" in rising crescendo and the second "Alvin" almost cracked his voice. Dead calm settled and he delivered a pungent remark: "They ain't here."

Frank headed South, having spotted my tractor. Had I seen two boys lately? The inference of course was obvious.

"Not a sign or an echo," I replied.

We drove back to the house and cogitated. Our wives joined in but the mystery remained deep. Frank drove North while I scoured the fields with the tractor. We arrived back almost together. No luck. This called for a top level conference and the conclusion reached was unanimous. They must be around.

In a superb effort, wives an' all, we cupped our hands, imbibed a maximum quota of air and shamed the local hog-caller.

"Alvin, Alvin, where are you?"

Horses half a mile away stopped grazing. Expectant and breathless we waited and sure enough, on the heels of the echoes, just twelve feet away an empty granary door slowly creaked open and a sleepy overalled figure came into view followed closely by a second.

"Are yer lookin' fer me?" he whined sheepishly - rather an understatement, I thought.

"Alvin! how could you do it?" in injured tones from his mother.

"You son of a gun, get in the car, just wait till I get you home -" from his father and they whisked out of our yard and up the road like nobody's business.