Moon Over Manifest

“Easy there, son!” Mr. Hinkley took it from Jinx and gently replaced it with several matching red cylinders. “That little fella’s not for sale. He’s a Manchurian Fire Thrower. They’re ones that shoot upwards of three hundred feet in the air and explode in two different colors.”

Jinx hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “What do you take us for, mister? A couple of them schoolboys? You expect us to believe these here cans shoot up in the air and explode in color?”

Mr. Hinkley looked bewildered. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Haven’t you ever seen fireworks, boy?”

Jinx stuck out his bottom lip and spoke with a feigned country-bumpkin accent. “Well, mister, we may look stupid, but that’s as far as it goes. I bet there’s nothing more than beans in them cans.”

Mr. Hinkley took a medium-sized canister and cranked off the lid. “You see that there powder? That’s pure T-N-T. Mix that with a little potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal and you got the beginnings of a first-class shell.”

Jinx looked sideways at Ned. “Sounds like quite a recipe. But even if you can get it off the ground, and I’m not saying I believe you can, how you going to get it to explode in the air?”

“Now, that’s the trick.” Mr. Hinkley gently reached into the canister and exposed a thin fuse. “This little fella, he starts to burning when the shell goes up. When he’s all used up, kapow! You got yourself a mighty fine pyrotectic display. That’s fireworks in layman’s terms.” He put the lid back on the canister. “Course, you got to be a bona fide pyrotectic to handle these little darlings. I apprenticed with a full-fledged Chinaman up in Omaha.”

Jinx nodded and crossed his arms. “Well, you do seem to know your trade.”

“Fine. Now, which one of these quality specimens would you be interested in? Keeping in mind, I don’t sell the Manchurian Fire Throwers. Those are only for official pyrotectic displays.”

Jinx looked over his shoulder. “Uh-oh. Isn’t that Mama Santoni calling, Ned?”

Ned took his cue. “Uh, yeah. She’s keeping those biscuits warm for us in the oven.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hinkley. If we don’t hurry up, those biscuits are going to turn into fire crackers. Just a little humor from one pyrotectic to another,” Jinx called as he and Ned walked off. Mr. Hinkley smoothed his mustache as a new group of boys crowded around the stand.

Jinx and Ned wandered past the next few booths of carnival games, where vendors tried to attract the attention of passersby. “Step right up! Toss three balls in the hole and win a prize. Or try your luck in the shell game. Win a Liberty Head silver dollar.”

“So much for your big con, Jinx,” Ned teased.

“A con is merely the art of distraction.” Jinx studied the booths. “Come here.”

Jinx grabbed Ned by the elbow and led him to the shell game. A man in a striped shirt and bow tie smiled a crocodile smile. A tiny monkey perched on his shoulder. “Ready to try your luck and win yourself this here Liberty Head silver dollar? It’s an easy game. I’m practically giving away money today. Right, Nikki?” The monkey twittered his agreement.

Ned shook his head. “I’m not into wasting money. No thanks.”

“Come on,” Jinx said. “It only takes a dime and you can win a dollar. Then you can buy Pearl Ann a bag of popcorn and a lemonade with change to spare.”

Ned grimaced and placed a dime on the counter.

The man lined up three walnut shells and placed a pumpkin seed under one. He shuffled them around. Ned kept his eyes on the shell with the seed, and when the man stopped, Ned tapped it.

The man uncovered the seed. “You’ve got a good eye.”

Ned was jubilant. “So, hand over my Liberty Head silver dollar.”

“You don’t get that on the first try. It takes three chances. And each chance costs a dime.”

“Go ahead, give him another dime. You’re good at it,” Jinx coaxed.

“Oh, all right,” Ned grumbled, reaching for another coin.

Again, the man revealed which shell held the seed and shuffled them back and forth. Again, Ned tapped the correct shell.

“Woo-hoo,” Ned shouted. This time, he didn’t need any coaxing. Pleased with his success, he already had his third dime on the table and waited for one last game to claim his silver dollar.

Again, the man shuffled and Ned watched as the shell with the seed went left, then right, then around and ended up in the middle. The monkey hopped onto Ned’s shoulder and twittered with excitement. “Hey, little fella. You know a winner when you see one, don’t you?”

Ned reached to tap the middle shell but Jinx stopped his hand. “Not that one. This one.” Jinx moved his hand to the shell on the right.

“But I was watching. It’s not—”

“This one,” Jinx said firmly.

“Now, don’t let him sway you, son. You’re a natural at this game,” the man said without his usual smile.

There was something so definite in Jinx’s voice that Ned uncovered the shell on the right. There was the pumpkin seed.

The monkey jumped from Ned’s shoulder, snatched up the seed, and popped it into his mouth.