Free The Mechanical Mind of John Coggin by Elinor Teele Page A

grasp of engineering, he was confident he could make it work. Yet he had none of those things.
    Page did her best to be encouraging, saying how proud Mom and Dad would be, but her praise only madehim feel worse. Every time she helped him rebuild the faltering crankshaft, John remembered Great-Aunt Beauregard’s comments about his father’s nitwilliness. What if the Autopsy never worked? Wouldn’t it be safer to be back at the coffin workshop, doing what he knew best?
    After two months of hard labor, John had a nonfunctioning steam engine, a six-year-old shadow, and an induction ceremony that was right around the corner.
    On this September day of reckoning he found himself explaining to the Mimsy Twins—again—why the pipe organ wasn’t possible. Mabel and Minny were having none of it.
    â€œYou’re supposed to be creative,” Mabel said. “Why can’t you make it up?”
    â€œBecause I don’t know anything about musical instruments,” John retorted. “Besides, I’d need something like a hundred and one pipes to get started.”
    â€œThen scrounge for some,” Minny said.
    â€œI would,” replied John heatedly, “if we ever went near a city where there were places to scrounge!”
    â€œI don’t care what your excuse is,” Mabel said, her eyes filling with stage tears. “I know it’s because you don’t really want to be a Wayfarer.”
    They had barely finished flouncing out of the caravan when Boz hurtled through the entrance, hair sparkling like a constellation, a cloth sack in hand.
    â€œTally ho, Johnny Jump-Up. The sheep are in the manger, the cows are being born, and all is right with the world.”
    â€œNo, it’s not,” John said, fiddling with the axle chain.
    â€œAlas, what’s bothering the brain of our resident genius? Moan a little my way and I’ll do my best to appease ya.”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNow that’s not a very original response.”
    â€œAll right, fine.” John threw the chain into a box. “You want to know what’s bothering me? I’m tired of trying to make everyone happy! Page keeps telling me I’m a genius and the Wayfarers are breathing down my neck about the induction and the stupid steam engine WILL NOT WORK. It’s exactly like making coffins. Only harder.”
    Boz grinned.
    â€œYou, my fine fellow, may be suffering from a galloping case of the responsibles,” he said gravely, seizing John’s wrist and cocking his own head sideways. “It begins with an almost invisible twinge to the conscience and results in an insidious rash of the shouldn’ts.”
    He dropped John’s wrist and peered into John’s left ear.
    â€œYes, there’s no doubt about it!” he yelled. “A galloping case of the responsibles.”
    â€œWhat does that mean in English?” John snarled.
    â€œIt means, my dear boy, that you need to stop worrying about other people for a moment and enjoy yourself.Rest is just what the doctor of enlightenment orders.” Boz shook his head. “A case of the responsibles in a boy of eleven is particularly serious—I’m extremely glad we’ve caught it in time.”
    â€œSo what am I supposed to do? Take a pill?”
    Boz grinned again and tossed his sack over his shoulder. “Might I suggest a little field trip instead?”
    He bolted out the door. John paused for a fraction of a second, then threw back his stool and followed Boz down the steps.
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    â€œTop secret research! Mime’s the word!”
    Ducking and diving, Boz wove his way between the caravans, flattening himself against walls and skittering under wheels.
    If these maneuvers were meant to evade detection, they failed miserably.
    â€œHey, where are you going?”
    Page came running up beside them as they were scaling the fence that marked the boundary of their