The Return of Captain Conquer. Mel Gilden

took the ring, but he held it gingerly, as if he were holding a live stinging insect. “Uh, maybe later, Dad. I have to go back to work now.”

      “Don’t worry about that. We’ll hear the bell. Put it on.” When Watson still hesitated, Mr. Congruent said, “Is there something wrong?”

      Watson shrugged. “I don’t know.”

      “Tell me about it,” Mr. Congruent said.

      Watson looked at the toes of his shoes. “I...well...that is, you see, Dad, most of the kids in school don’t understand about Captain Conquer.”

      Mr. Congruent was genuinely puzzled. “What’s not to understand?” he said.

      Watson turned the ring over and over in his hand. “Well, most of them never heard of him. And the ones who have heard of him think he’s just for kids.”

      “Just for kids? The greatest Force for Good on Earth?”

      “Dad,” Watson said softly, “it’s comforting to know that the fans Captain Conquer does have all stick together and help each other. But aside from the good that comes from fandom being a way of life, Captain Conquer is not a force for anything, except maybe Chocolatron.”

      “I see.”

      “The kids already think I’m strange because my name is Watson and your name is Sherlock. I have Sherlock Holmes jokes coming out of my ears. I don’t know what some of the kids will do if I show up at school wearing this ring.”

      Except for the sound of the crew digging up the street outside, the back room of the Captain Conquer PX was silent. Watson and Mr. Congruent could not look at each other.

      Mr. Congruent sighed and said, “Are you ashamed of your old man?”

      Watson looked up suddenly. “What? Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

      “Then wear the ring. If anybody asks, tell ’em you’re a member of the Conquer Corps.”

      “You really think that’ll help?”

      “I’m sure of it.”

      Watson looked from the ring in his hand to his father’s expectant face. He saw that argument would lead only to bad feelings and frustration. His father would never understand that not everybody shared his enthusiasm for Captain Conquer. It was some­times futile to argue with adults.

      Watson decided that he would have to figure some­thing out for himself. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to wear the ring around the store. He could tell him­self that it was good for business.

      Watson slipped the ring onto his finger. Mr. Congruent smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. They each went back to work.

      * * * *

      On Monday morning, Watson walked out the front door of the private living quarters of the house, ready for school and wearing the Captain Conquer Signet Ring. There had been no way to avoid it.

      As Watson dawdled toward the bus stop, a plan took shape in his head. As he had expected, he was alone when he got to the bus stop. Feeling silly for feeling guilty, Watson slipped the ring off his finger, and slid it into his pocket. For a few minutes his finger felt cold and empty, as his legs might feel if he’d forgotten to wear his pants. But by the time the bus came, he felt a lot better and did not need to hide his hands.

      When he arrived at Casablanca Junior High School, he strolled through the crowded corridors to his locker as casually as he could, knowing what he carried in his pocket. He opened his locker, and like a magician attempting to show by his nonchalance how unimportant was the wave of his hand, Watson pulled the ring from his pocket and threw it into the locker.

      The ring rebounded from the back of the locker with a boom, bounced off his algebra book, and rolled across the floor of the corridor. Perhaps think­ing it was a mouse, students backed out of the way of the ring’s flight—some of them squealing with surprise—until it was picked up by a hulking foot­ball player that Watson shared an English class with. The fellow’s name was Pemberton, and Watson was of the opinion that Pemberton was lucky to under­stand English, let alone speak it.

      Pemberton held the Captain Conquer Signet Ring up to his eyes with a big meaty paw and blinked at it. “Hey, Congruent, what is this thing?”

      “It’s a ring,” Watson said, and grabbed for it.

      Pemberton pulled the ring away and continued to study it. “Hey, I know what it is,” he said with the joy of a caveman finding a particularly tasty louse in his hair, “it’s one-a them Captain Concourse rings! Hey, Maxwell,” he called to one of his gridiron friends, “lookit this!” He winked at three girls who stood together in the crowd that had gathered, and threw the ring to Maxwell. Watson dashed after it.

      “Hiya, Watson, solve any good crimes lately?” Maxwell laughed at his own wit. Somewhere, he had read a comic book about Sherlock Holmes, and his knowledge was forever a source of irritation for Wat­son. Watson tried to grab the ring as Maxwell tossed and caught it in one hand. Maxwell threw the ring back to Pemberton.

      Pemberton caught the ring easily in one hand and the girls sighed. He said, “My little sister watches this crap. She says she knows your old man, Con­gruent. Says he’s some kinda weird guy.” He held the ring out of reach while Watson stood with his arms folded and glared at him.

      The bell rang for first period. Pemberton tossed the Captain Conquer ring at Watson and said, “Stay outa trouble, Captain,” and iaughed as he and Max­well and two cheerleaders walked off together.

      The ring dropped. at Watson’s feet, and he had to scramble among rapidly moving legs, following it as it was kicked and spun this way and that and as it ricocheted along the corridor. He hoped the styrene plastic could stand up under this kind of punish­ment.

      Even before he took a good look at the ring, Watson could feel that it was broken. It was cracked along one seam, and a big triangular shard was miss­ing. Worst of all, the little mirror was cracked. Cer­tainly, nothing could follow now but bad luck.

      Wondering what he would.tell his father, Watson carefully buried the ring beneath some stiff fragrant sweat socks that had been in the back of his locker for two semesters, then walked off to his biology class hoping that nobody who knew him had seen his adventure with Pemberton and Maxwell.

      Watson needn’t have worried because the two football players had spread the story of his humilia­tion all over the school. Even his physical education teacher called him Captain Concourse once.

      There was no relief even when he was alone, be­cause Watson had to think about what he would tell his father, and what his father would say, and how awful both of them would feel. It was a terrible day.

      On the bus ride home, Watson opened his history book and pretended to be studying. But all he saw before him was his father’s disappointed face.

      However, the day at school was nothing compared to what life was like when Watson got home. To begin with, traffic was snarled when he got off the bus, and it got worse as he walked toward his house. The Department of Transportation work crew had gone, but they had left behind yellow sawhorses straddling the open trenches they had dug into the street. People honked and shouted nasty things at each other as they tried to steer slowly by in their cars.

      Watson watched the traffic for as long as he could, then he sighed. He could not put off forever telling his father that the ring was broken. But when he turned to look at the house with two front doors, he found nothing but a path leading up to an empty dirt plot where his house had once been.