Free Philip Gets Even (9781597050807) by John Paulits

over their shoulders,
hoping to see Mr. Conway appear. He didn’t.
    Philip felt a hard, unhappy feeling growing
in his stomach. Without Mr. Conway they’d lose the contest and
Johnny Visco would probably win. And they’d made Johnny Visco so
mad that he’d probably spend the rest of the school year—maybe even
the rest of his life—trying to get him and Emery.
    Mr. Greif tapped the microphone. “Hello, yes.
Boys and girls, welcome to the Donovan School Art Show. We’re going
to announce the winning artwork today, and then next week each
class will have an opportunity to get a long, up-close look at the
work of your fellow students. Ms. Trinetti, I know, has a lot to
tell us.”
    Ms. Trinetti stepped to the microphone and
talked about how the contest started, passing quickly over the
“accident” at the Agora Gallery of Fine Art. Philip looked at his
watch. It was two-fifteen. Mr. Conway was fifteen minutes late.
Maybe he wasn’t even coming. Maybe the only part of their plan that
worked was the part where they got Johnny Visco good and mad. It
was the second part of the plan, where Mr. Conway rode to the
rescue, that wasn’t working. Where was he?
    “And now,” said Ms. Trinetti, “let me
announce our winning works of art.”
    Philip’s stomach filled with a terrible
feeling of defeat. Before Ms. Trinetti could speak, however, a loud
clacking came from the back of the auditorium. Philip turned. There
was Mr. Conway whacking his cane on the back of the empty wooden
chairs of the last row of seats!
    “Wait,” he called. “Don’t announce anything.”
Then he banged his cane three more times and started down the
aisle. In his right hand was the cane. In his left he carried a
large, flat, square object wrapped in brown paper.
    “Excuse me,” said Mr. Greif. “Who are you?
What is going on here?”
    Mr. Conway walked toward him.
    “My name is Edward Conway and you and I have
spoken on the phone. I’m here because a piece of art was destroyed
yesterday and my two boys, Philip and Emery, deserve to be entered
in this contest.”
    Mr. Conway turned and looked over the
audience. Philip raised his hand and Mr. Conway lifted his cane and
pointed at him.
    “There they are. They worked hard on their
painting and then it was destroyed. Yesterday they put this
together and asked me to bring it today, and they should certainly
have an opportunity to show it off.”
    “Is this true, Philip, Emery?” Mr. Greif
asked.
    It wasn’t exactly true but both Philip
and Emery said, “Yes.”
    Mr. Greif looked at his watch. “I suppose we
have time. Ms. Trinetti.”
    Ms. Trinetti made a deep sigh and then went
behind the curtains and brought out an easel.
    Mr. Conway headed toward the six steps on the
side of the stage.
    “Can I help you?” Mr. Greif offered.
    Mr. Conway gave him a cold look and banged
his cane four times on the floor.
    “Oh, well, maybe not, then,” said Mr.
Greif.
    Mr. Conway made his slow way up the steps to
the easel. He rested his package on the lip of the easel. Then he
produced a small pocketknife. He turned to the audience.
    “What you’re about to see will thrill you,”
Mr. Conway began.
    The children giggled.
    “It will astonish you and amaze you,” he went
on. “But I don’t think it will surprise you.”
    “Could we move it along, sir?” said Mr.
Greif.
    Mr. Conway banged his cane twice, and the
auditorium filled with giggles again.
    “I will now reveal the truth.” Mr. Conway
carefully sliced open the brown paper and tore it away. On the
easel were what looked like large, shiny, white, blank pieces of
paper.
    “Mr. Conway,” said Mr. Greif. “There’s
nothing there.”
    “Oh, there’s plenty here.” Mr. Conway threw
his cane to the floor and took the first big, blank paper. He
turned to the audience and pointed the unseen side of the paper
right at Mr. Greif, a few feet below him.
    “What!” said Mr. Greif in surprise.
    The children in the first few