‘Two hours,’ said Tom, later. ‘Two whole hours we’ve been starving, Doug. That’s sockdolager! If only we can throw up after supper, we’re set.’

‘Boy,’ said Charlie, ‘I feel like that time at the dentist and he jammed that needle in me. Numb! And if the other guys had more guts, they’d tell you they’re bound for Starved Rock, too. Right, fellas? Think about cheese! How about crackers?’

Everyone moaned.

Charlie ran on. ‘Chicken à la king!’

They groaned.

‘Turkey drumsticks!’

‘See.’ Tom poked Doug’s elbow. ‘You got ’em writhing! Now where’s your revolution?!’

‘Just one more day!’

‘And then?’

‘Limited rations.’

‘Gooseberry pie, apple–butter, onion sandwiches?’

‘Cut it out, Charlie.’

‘Grape jam on white bread!’

‘Stop!’

‘No, sir!’ Charlie snorted. ‘Tear off my chevrons, General. This was fun for the first ten minutes. But there’s a bulldog in my belly. Gonna go home, sit down real polite, wolf me half a banana cake, two liverwurst sandwiches, and get drummed outta your dumb old army, but at least I’ll be a live dog and no shriveled–up mummy, whining for leftovers.’

‘Charlie,’ Doug pleaded, ‘you’re our strong right arm.’

Doug jumped up and made a fist, his face blood–red. All was lost. This was terrible. Right before his face his plan unraveled and the grand revolt was over.

At that very instant the town clock boomed twelve o’clock, noon, the long iron strokes which came as salvation because Doug leapt to the edge of the porch and stared toward the town square, up at that great terrible iron monument, and then down at the grassy park, where all the old men played at their chessboards.

An expression of wild surmise filled Doug’s face.

‘Hey,’ he murmured. ‘Hold on. The chessboards!’ he cried. ‘Starvation’s one thing, and that helps, but now I see what our real problem is. Down outside the courthouse, all those terrible old men playing chess.’

The boys blinked.

‘What?’ said Tom.

‘Yeah, what?’ echoed the boys.

‘We’re on the chessboard!’ cried Douglas. ‘Those chess pieces, those chessmen, those are us! The old guys move us on the squares, the streets! All our lives we’ve been there, trapped on the chessboards in the square, with them shoving us around.’

‘Doug,’ said Tom. ‘You got brains!’

The clock stopped booming. There was a great wondrous silence.

‘Well,’ said Doug, exhaling, ‘I guess you know what we do now!’

Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

In the green park below the marble shadow of the courthouse, under the great clock tower’s bulk, the chess tables waited.

Now under a gray sky and a faint promise of rain, a dozen chessboards were busy with old men’s hands. Above the red and black battlefields, two dozen gray heads were suspended. The pawns and castles and horses and kings and queens trembled and drifted as monarchies fell in ruin.