Odds on Oliver by Constance C. Greene Page A

and pulled so hard on his mustache that it brought tears to his eyes.
    Then the Daily Blab had run a picture of the sign on its front page. That got a good laugh. Customers started to pour in.
    The ring of the cash register was deafening.
    Oliver’s mom and dad decided to leave the sign be. “Blue Burd” had a nice ring to it, they decided, just like the cash register. They even had cards printed up.
    BLUE BURD RESTAURANT , the cards said. GIVE YOURSELF A TREAT ! MAKE YOURSELF HAPPY ! THE BLUE BURD IS THE BURD OF HAPPINESS !
    Oliver’s dad made the Tex-Mex chili. It was so hot that the entire fire department always came for a bowlful on their night off. Oliver’s dad also baked the pies. The coconut cream and lemon meringue were especially outstanding.
    Oliver’s mom ran the cleanup detail, on account of she’d been in the army. You could eat off her floors.
    â€œYou could eat off my floors,” she’d say proudly.
    And, on a certain hot night in June, the day after Oliver skidded out of fourth grade, headlong on his way toward fifth, that’s exactly what they did.
    This particular evening, the Blue Burd was jumping and Oliver was helping out. He felt lucky, as if this might be the night he’d be a hero. He poured out ice water and brought the glasses round to the tables. Folks drank gallons of ice water to douse the fire the Tex-Mex chili set in their throats.
    Just when it seemed that the evening had reached its peak and that things couldn’t possibly get any more exciting, the door to the Blue Burd burst open and in came U. Crumm, Town Clerk.
    A hush fell. You could have heard a pin drop. And why this awed silence? U. Crumm was a big shot. She didn’t eat just anywhere. When she put her O.K. on a place, that place became famous overnight.
    Oliver’s dad took off his tall white chef’s hat and wiped his hands on it. He shook hands all round, even with Oliver.
    â€œPleased to meet you,” Oliver’s dad said to U. Crumm. “This is my wife and this is my boy, Oliver. We’re one big happy family here. Unfortunately, we’re all full up at the moment. It’ll be a short wait. In the meantime, try one of my world-famous chocolate-chip cookies.”
    Well, U. Crumm was a class-A eater. In her youth, she had won every single eating contest in the state. And a few outside of it. Chicken, watermelon, pancakes, you name it. U. Crumm was a champion when it came to putting away the groceries.
    Bar none.
    The short wait turned into a long one. No one, it seemed, wanted to leave the Blue Burd. They were having too good a time. They all had seconds on the Tex-Mex chili and thirds on the pies. Finally, noticing that U. Crumm was getting restless, not to mention she’d inhaled every chocolate-chip cookie in the place, Oliver’s dad suggested she eat on the shining, spotless floor.
    â€œFine and dandy,” said U. Crumm. “I’m not proud. What’s good enough for the common people is good enough for me.”
    Oliver’s dad brought the knives and forks and napkins and Oliver rushed back for more ice water and salt and pepper and U. Crumm plopped down, all set for a feast.
    That night U. Crumm outdid herself. She had six helpings of Tex-Mex chili and seven of pie. Oliver kept count.
    When U. Crumm went to get up, she couldn’t. It took Oliver’s dad and three other men to hoist her to her feet. Plus Oliver, who got under U. Crumm and pushed.
    Just as she was getting her sea legs and had teetered to a standing position, U. Crumm slipped on a stray piece of ice from her water glass and crash-landed smack on Oliver.
    Oliver let out a squeak and blacked out.
    A long sigh went up. This was turning out to be the most exciting evening most folks had had in ages. They stopped eating and waited to see what would happen next.
    The chief of police, who had snuck away from his desk for some chili, snapped, “Everybody