Odds on Oliver by Constance C. Greene Page B

freeze!”
    Nobody paid any attention, as usual.
    When Oliver came to, he could barely breathe, smushed as he was underneath U. Crumm. He heard Arthur, who had come to chow down at the Blue Burd with his mom and dad because it was his mom’s bowling night and she liked to rest her arm, shout, “She hit him like a ton of bricks! He’ll never get out of there alive!”
    U. Crumm blushed a bright red color. She didn’t like lying there with all the wind knocked out of her and her skirt hiked up so that everyone in the restaurant could see the big hole in the knee of her panty hose.
    Finally, with a good deal of pushing and shoving and grunting and groaning, Oliver’s dad and several burly firefighters tied one end of a thick rope around U. Crumm’s middle and swung the other end over a rafter. Then they lifted her off Oliver and into midair. For a few moments, she spun there like a top. Then they lowered the rope and U. Crumm set foot on solid ground once more.
    Oliver lay there feeling as flat as any possum run over by a tractor-trailer. He was sure his arms and legs looked as if they’d been ironed. He did not look like a hero, he thought sadly.
    â€œMy baby, my baby!” Oliver’s mom cried in a loud voice. Oliver was so embarrassed, he felt like going through the floor. On the other hand, he’d just been saved from doing exactly that. So he jumped to his feet to prove he was as good as new.
    â€œHip hip hooray!” the customers shouted in unison.
    â€œOdds on Oliver!” Oliver’s dad cried.
    Oliver’s mom frowned and said, “Are those your good pants?”
    â€œWhew!” said Arthur, wiping his brow in an exaggerated way. “I thought you were a goner.”
    â€œDon’t you wish,” said Oliver.
    Next morning, a package came to Oliver’s house by special delivery. Inside was a super-deluxe fishing rod, the most expensive kind.
    Just what Oliver had wanted for ages.
    The card said, Thanks for a lovely evening .
    It was signed U. Crumm, Town Clerk .

3
    G ONE F ISHING
    Oliver and Arthur dropped everything and went fishing. Edna went too. Edna liked to bark at the fish. Sometimes the fish barked back. Those were the dogfish.
    â€œI can’t miss with this,” Oliver said, waving his new rod. “Hand me a marshmallow, Arthur.”
    â€œWe ate all the marshmallows,” Arthur said. “All we got left is worms.”
    â€œMarshmallows are better bait,” Oliver said.
    â€œThis bozo smells,” Arthur said, handing over a worm.
    â€œYou’d smell too if you’d croaked as long ago as he did,” Oliver said.
    The mosquitoes dive-bombed them, the sun walked across the sky, and the fish were not biting.
    â€œThis is getting very boring,” Arthur said.
    In the distance, Edna barked. Long and loud.
    â€œProbably she’s going for a jackrabbit,” Oliver said. “She likes to chase jackrabbits even if she never catches one.”
    â€œSort of like you and fishing,” Arthur said.
    â€œWhoa!” Oliver hollered. He had a bite. “Hang on! It’s a whopper! It’s a monster goon shark. I can see his razor-sharp teeth and his mean yellow eyes.”
    â€œSounds like a tiger shark to me,” Arthur said. “I read a book about tiger sharks. They eat people.”
    â€œGet the net!” Oliver shouted.
    â€œWhere is it?” Arthur said.
    â€œI don’t know! He’s getting away! Get the net, Arthur!”
    â€œIt’s not here,” Arthur said. “Somebody must have stolen it.”
    â€œCome hold the line!” Oliver yelled. “I’ll find it.”
    By the time Oliver found the net under a nearby willow tree and raced back, Arthur was floundering in the water.
    â€œHelp! Help!” Arthur cried.
    Arthur didn’t like to get his face wet. He hated to put his face underwater, so he’d only learned how to dog-paddle.
    â€œAre you