Free The Ears of Louis by Constance C. Greene Page B

took them to the river bank. Louis kept his helmet on while he ate.
    â€œWhy do you keep that thing on all the time?” Matthew asked.
    â€œBecause I’m sick and tired of being called Dumbo and Elephant Ears and all that junk,” Louis said.
    Matthew looked at the water.
    â€œDon’t pay any attention to them,” he finally said. “I think your ears are nice.”
    â€œWhy?” Louis said.
    â€œWell,” said Matthew, “when the sun shines through them, they’re all pink and everything.”
    â€œOh,” said Louis.

3
    One day right after school started, Louis’ mother bought him three new turtleneck shirts. He wore the yellow one first. At lunch time, he hooked his new shirt over his ears and tucked it under his chin while he ate his egg salad sandwich.
    â€œWhat a slob!” skinny Ernie said. He unwrapped his marshmallow fluff sandwich. “Where’d you get such a pair of handles?” Ernie said, his mouth full of marshmallow fluff.
    Talk about slobs. If the bell hadn’t rung just then, Louis might’ve pushed the second half of Ernie’s sandwich in his face.
    Louis had orders to wait for Tom to walk him home. Tom was six and afraid of lots of things. Big dogs, roller coasters, and thunder and lightning among them.
    Louis walked so fast that day Tom had a tough time keeping up. When they got home, Louis’ mother asked him if he’d go next door to Mrs. Beeble’s to borrow an onion.
    There was nothing in the world Louis liked better than to be sent on an errand to Mrs. Beeble’s. Except for visiting Matthew. But he had had a hard day and he felt like giving his mother guff.
    â€œI don’t like onions,” he said.
    â€œWe’re having stew and you can’t have stew without an onion,” his mother said. She smiled at him. “You look beautiful in your new shirt, Louis. But you’d look even more beautiful if you didn’t have egg salad all over your front. Why don’t you go and change into another shirt?”
    â€œOh, Mom,” Louis turned the corners of his mouth down and frowned. He pretended he didn’t like it when his mother said he looked beautiful. Mothers thought their kids were beautiful even if they were as ugly as sin. Still, he couldn’t help smiling. He took the stairs three at a time and put on his new blue turtleneck and his football helmet and went next door to see Mrs. Beeble.
    Mrs. Beeble had taught Louis how to play poker. They used pink and white candy mints for poker chips. Whoever won got to eat all the chips. Mrs. Beeble had a terrible sweet tooth. Even sweeter than Louis’, which was going some. Also, she was a superior poker player.
    â€œYou’ll have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat Bertha Beeble at poker,” she’d told him when they first started to play.
    That had been two years ago when Louis was only eight. He’d taken her at her word and set his alarm clock. The sun wasn’t even up when the clock went off and Louis hopped out of bed to check Mrs. Beeble’s house. The windows were dark. He’d been up pretty early in the morning but Mrs. Beeble still won.
    The best thing about playing poker, Louis thought, was arranging the cards. He liked fixing his in a little fan shape. He especially liked getting all one color. All hearts was best of all.
    The door opened even before he knocked. Mrs. Beeble was nearsighted without her glasses, which she always misplaced. She squinted at him.
    â€œIt’s Louis, is it?” she said. “Your head is so big in that contraption I didn’t know you. Come on in and take that thing off. All that pressure, it’s enough to addle the brains.”
    They sat down at the kitchen table. Louis kept his helmet on.
    â€œYou got time for a hand or two?” Mrs. Beeble asked, shuffling the cards in a professional way that Louis would never master.
    He nodded and Mrs. Beeble dealt