Balloon Blow-Up by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

X-ray vision. Was the winning drawing his?
    â€œEveryone take out your tickets,” Mitch went on. “The ones with the numbers printed on them.”
    Frank was already holding his ticket, number sixty-five. “Why don’t you take out your ticket?” he asked Joe.
    â€œI don’t have to,” Joe said. “I know it’s number sixty-six.”
    A hush fell over the crowd as Mitch opened the envelope. He looked inside, then said into the mike, “The winning drawing is . . . number sixty-six.”
    â€œHuh?” Joe said. Had he heard what he thought he’d just heard? His eyes lit up as Mitch pulled a drawing from the envelope. It was his drawing!
    â€œWay to go, Joe!” Frank said, patting Joe’s back. “Where’s your ticket?”
    Joe dug through his pockets. Where had he put his ticket?
    â€œUm . . . I don’t know.” Joe gulped.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you don’t know?” Frank cried. “You need the number to win!”
    Joe was about to panic when he remembered the pocket on the knee of his cargo pants. He reached in and—
    â€œHere it is!” Joe sighed with relief. He tossed his lucky claw to Frank and squeezed through the crowd to the stage.
    â€œAnd we have our winner!” the Crawler said after matching Joe’s ticket to the numbered drawing. “What’s your name, big guy?”
    â€œJoe Hardy!” Joe said into the mike.
    â€œWell, Joe,” the Green Crawler said, “who will you pick to march with you in the parade? You get to choose one friend or relative.”
    â€œThat would be my brother, Frank,” Joe said. “We’re not just brothers, we’re detectives.”
    Frank smiled from the crowd. He and Joe made an awesome detective team—even though they were totally different. Frank was the serious, cautious type. Joe was serious too—about jumping into any mystery head-on!
    â€œDetectives, huh?” The Green Crawler chuckled. “Maybe you can help me battle Mo Mantis one of these days!”
    â€œDeal!” Joe said.
    â€œHere you go, Joe,” Mitch said, handing Joe a big brown envelope. “This will tell you all about the parade.”
    â€œLike what?” Joe asked excitedly.
    â€œLike that there’ll be a parade orientation next Saturday morning in the park at seven thirty,” Mitch said. “We’ll be blowing up the Green Crawler balloon for you to practice with.”
    â€œThanks!” Joe said. He took the brown envelope and then ran offstage to meet Frank.
    â€œI guess this thing was lucky!” Frank said, tossing the Crawler claw back to Joe.
    Joe grinned as he stuck his claw into his back pocket. He was about to look for Chet and Iola when he saw someone else. . . .
    â€œIsn’t that Mo Mantis over there?” Joe asked.
    Frank followed Joe’s gaze. Sure enough, leaning against the wall was Mo, sipping from a cup through his mask. The hand holding the cup was free of its glove.
    â€œCool,” Frank said. “Let’s go over and say hi.”
    The brothers hurried over to Mo.
    â€œHey, Mo,” Joe said. “I’ll bet you’re drinking a sinister brew that’ll make you eviler with each sip!”
    Frank and Joe waited for Mo’s reply. Instead, he silently glared at Joe through his mantis mask. Gulp.
    â€œLet’s go,” Frank whispered.
    â€œWhoa,” Joe said as they walked away. “Did you see those scary eyes?”
    â€œAnd did you see the tattoo on his hand?” Frank asked.
    â€œA tattoo?” Joe said. “Of what?”
    â€œA praying mantis,” Frank replied. “What else?”
    Chet and Iola pushed through the crowd to get to Frank and Joe.
    â€œI can’t believe you won, Joe!” Iola said.
    â€œBelieve it, because here it is,” Joe said as he held up the brown envelope. “The grand