Free The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg by Rodman Philbrick

Frank laughs and claps him on the back. “I jest, sir! A joke! And for being such a good sport, I must insist that you join us for a bite to eat.”
    “Oh no,” says Mr. Willow, blushing some more. “Can’t. Mustn’t. We have a steamship to catch.”
    “Really? What ship, pray tell?”
    “The
Orion
,” says Mr. Willow. “Bound for New York.”
    Frank and his sister look at each other and burst out laughing. “Excuse me,” says Frank when he gets his breath back. “No insult intended. But it seems we will be shipmates, for Kate and I have booked the same ship, for the same destination.”
    “Amazing,” says Mr. Willow, his jaw dropping open in wonder.
    “Not so very amazing,” says Frank, easily slipping his arm in Mr. Willow’s, and steering him toward the waterfront. “Half the folks on this street are heading for the steamships. But never mind, fate is fate, and now you really must join us for muffins and chocolate. The good ship
Orion
won’t leave for two hours yet, so there’s plenty of time to get acquainted.”
    “And who is this?” Kate asks, flicking her gloves on my head. “Your servant boy? Can’t say he’s doing much for you.”
    Something about the way she flicks those gloves, something about a very cool look in her beautiful gray eyes, something about Kate Nibbly just gets my goat. So I snatch the gloves from her hand — why’s she carrying them instead of wearing them, anyhow? — and I drop them in the gutter.
    Miss Nibbly stares at me in disbelief. I’m expecting her to get angry, but instead she sighs and says, “I take it you are no servant boy?”
    “No, ma’am, I am Homer Figg, and Mr. Willow is my temporary guardian until we get to New York and find my brother, Harold, except it looks like I’ll be guarding him — Mr. Willow, I mean. He’s a nice man but he hasn’t the sense God gave to a billy goat.”
    “Homer?” says Mr. Willow, momentarily distracted. “What’s that you say?”
    “Told her you were a clergyman, Mr. Willow.”
    “What an interesting boy,” Kate says, retrieving her gloves. “I just know we’re going to be great friends.”
    She smiles at me and then gives her brother a look, like she wants him to pay attention to something important, and then Frank Nibbly suddenly grins and claps his hands together and says, “Homer Figg! Splendid! So you’re the cause of this journey, are you?” He reaches out, shakes my hand before I can snatch it away. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. Frank T. Nibbly, attorney-at-law, justice of the peace, and entirely at your service.”
    Here’s something I didn’t know, but soon found out: When a lawyer shakes your hand and smiles with just his teeth, you best run for your life.

 
     
    L IVE IN A BARN AND YOU get used to having all kinds of creatures around. Horses and cows and pigs, and wild things like owls and mice and snakes. One time Harold and I watched a fat black snake swallow a little gray mouse. It was the most amazing thing because the mouse never moved or tried to get away. It was like the mouse knew it was snake food and didn’t want to make trouble.
    That’s pretty much how Mr. Willow acts with the beautiful Kate Nibbly. His eyes even blink like mouse eyes and he shivers like a mouse whenever she says things like “Oh really, Webster? How simply fascinating!” or “What’s your opinion, Webster, should I wear the pearl necklace or do you prefer the amber?”
    Haven’t known her five minutes and already she’s Kate and he’s Webster, and you’d think they’ve been sweethearts for years. We’re sitting in a little restaurant at the steamship terminal, eating butter muffins dipped in chocolate and glasses of ice-cold milk. Miss Nibbly is busy making Mr. Willow feel like he’s the most important man who ever lived, and her brother Frank is being ever so nice to me.
    “You say your brother was sold into the army? Extraordinary. What a terrible injustice. The