Free The Waltons 2 - Trouble on the Mountain by Robert Weverka

can. ’Course if you stole yourself a typewriter somewhere, I reckon I’d have to answer the truth if Ep Bridges started asking me any questions.”
    John-Boy told him the whole story, with Ike finding it more amusing with every word. “John-Boy,” he finally said, and took the envelope behind the post office cage to weigh it, “I reckon every great writer had to resort to cutting a few corners and telling a few little lies to make himself famous. And I ain’t going to be the one to ruin your career before it’s even started. Now, let’s see here. This particular masterpiece weighs just about four ounces exactly. Same as your first one. Twelve cents.”
    John-Boy felt relieved. He had exactly twelve cents in his pocket.
    “You can send it registered if you want. Only ten cents more.”
    John-Boy smiled and shook his head. He handed over the dime and two pennies.
    “No, John-Boy, I’m going to keep your secret, and nobody’s going to see this envelope ’cept me and the other officially authorized post office people. But I want you to do me a favor in return.”
    “Sure.”
    “Don’t you come in here two hours after this is mailed and start asking me if I’ve got a letter for you.”
    John-Boy smiled. “Okay.”
    “You give us at least a week to get this up to New York and back.”
    John-Boy nodded, then watched as Ike placed the stamps on the envelope.
    “Ike, there’s one other thing.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Well, the reason I was looking for Grandpa is Mama sent him down here to buy some candles.”
    “I got ’em.”
    “Yeah, well, we . . . uh, need them.”
    “Uh-huh. Lots of folks are needing candles around here these days. But your Grandpa didn’t come in. Not today, John-Boy.”
    Ike climbed back on his stool and gave John-Boy a shrugging smile.
    “Uh . . . Ike, we sure need those candles. And I’m sure my Grandpa’s got some money with him. Could I take the candles now and bring you the money soon as I find him?”
    The question seemed to catch Ike a little by surprise, and John-Boy was glad he had used his twelve cents for the stamps and Ike had already put the stamps on the envelope. But then Ike smiled. “Well, I don’t see why not. How many you need?”
    “About seven or eight, I reckon.”
    Jacob Levy had very little to show for his efforts to collect junk today. In the back of his Reo truck there were two old, threadbare army cots, one burnt-out car battery, several bundles of coat hangers, and a large box filled with old coats and dresses.
    Jacob hadn’t wanted the coats and dresses—they were really worthless. But Mrs. Brosnin had given them to him for nothing. In her mind they were something of great value, and it would have been rude for Jacob to tell her otherwise.
    Jacob smiled as he maneuvered the truck over the deeply ratted back roads of Walton’s Mountain. Altogether, his collections for the day would amount to just enough to buy himself dinner, and maybe breakfast tomorrow morning. But he was not disappointed. Of all the routes he took out of Charlottesville each week, he enjoyed the trip to Walton’s Mountain the most. There was beautiful scenery, and he always enjoyed talking to the people.
    The Waltons’ house was next—his last stop in Walton’s Mountain. Jacob turned off the narrow road and circled down to the front of the house. He banged his bell three times, waited a second or two, and banged it again.
    Good people, the Waltons—a fine family with seven children. But Jacob felt a little disappointment at not seeing John’s truck. Nor did he hear any noise from the sawmill. After a minute he put the truck in gear and started moving.
    “Mr. Levy! Mr. Levy!”
    He stopped abruptly. The youngest of the Walton girls was bounding down the stairs and racing toward him. “Wait a minute, Mr. Levy! Please.”
    “Ahhh, let me see now. You are Elizabeth, aren’t you.”
    “Yes. And we’ve got some good stuff for you. My sisters and Jim-Bob are around in