The Drustone

Chapter Eighteen. Quaker's Delight

Chapter Eighteen 

Quaker's Delight 

BLACK MAGIC meant only one thing to Henry. CHOCOLATE. And what was better than Black Magic? Quaker's Delight.

Henry was convinced he knew where the Drustone was located.  

After returning the key, and thanking Mr. Hershey for his help, he led Rev and P.C. up Springfields to Dolly's Sweet Shoppe on the corner of Goad Street. 

"Hello, Dolly," said Henry. 

"Why, Hello, boys. What can I do for you?" 

"Do you happen to have any boxes of Quaker's Delight? It's an American chocolate." 

"You know, you have to be about the tenth person asking for them today. Luckily I ordered a gross of them when I heard we were going to have a lot of Yanks visiting this summer." 

"We'll buy them all." 

"Are you sure, Henry? They cost one and tuppence a box and there are, let me see now...a hundred and twenty boxes left. 

"How much money have you got, Rev?" 

"Tuppence ha'penny." 

"P.C?" 

"A tanner." 

"I've a tanner too. That means we can afford a box. Can we have one right now, please, Dolly?" 

"Sure, Henry," she said, reaching for a box under the counter. 

".... And please don't sell any to anyone else. We'll buy them all I promise." 

"I'll see what I can do," she said, handing the box to Henry.  

The boys rushed outside.  

"This is insane, Henry. There's no way we can buy over a hundred boxes. A box costs more than one week's pocket money and I have no savings." 

"Me, neither," said P.C.  

"We don't have to buy them all. Maybe we could break in one night, not take anything, and just peek in the boxes." 

"This, from the chicken of all chickens. Haven't you forgotten something, Henry?" 

"What?" 

"Genghis, her bull mastiff. My Dad says he guards the shop at night. And don't forget Bobby McGee, I'm sure he'll cop us." 

"What else can we do?" 

"How about opening this box for starters?" 

Henry tore it open, revealing a layer of large chocolates, each wrapped in gleaming purple foil. "Would you like one?" he said, passing the box to P.C. 

P.C. fumbled the pass. The box burst open on hitting the tarmac, its contents spilling in to the street with a clunk. Something yellowish brown, glinted in the sunlight. Henry picked up what looked like a squashed eggcup. It had three legs supporting a shallow bowl. 

"It's the support for a Drustone", yelled Henry, unable to contain his excitement. The stone must be here."  

Feverishly the boys searched the strewn chocolates for the stone.  

"Maybe it's still inside the box," suggested Henry.  

 Nothing. 

Perplexed, the boys slumped to the pavement. 

"This is very fishy, Henry. Dolly has to be in on this too. It wasn't pure luck that she gave us a box with part of the Drustone in it. I bet she knows which box contains the rest of it." 

"You're probably right, Rev. I think she has done this on purpose so that we will buy more than one box. What are we going to do? We have no more money." 

"How about bob a job like the scouts do?" suggested P.C. 

"This is starting to smell of Uncle Steve," said Rev. 

 The following week Henry suffered the indignity of twice babysitting his sister, Rev scoured the village collecting discarded pop bottles, and P.C. cleaned out his father's pigeon coop. Together they amassed enough money for three boxes of Quaker's Delight. Money in hand, they returned to the sweet shop.  

"What can I do for you, boys?" 

"You know very well, Dolly. You promised." 

"Promised?" The old lady raised both bejwelled hands to her mouth, scrunched her eyes tightly shut seemingly trying to remember. After what seemed an eternity to the boys, she spoke. "I forgot. I'm so sorry, boys, there's been such a run on them. I only have a couple of boxes left." 

"But that means you've probably sold the Drustone," wailed Henry. 

"The Drustone?" 

Rev dug his elbow into Henry's ribs.  

"We'd like to buy those last two boxes please, Mrs. Parker."  

 "And you're supposed to be the smart one, Rev," said P.C. as they exited the small store. "Henry was right. The odds are that she sold the box containing the stone." 

"I'll bet you a pound to a penny that it's in one of these two boxes. She's in cahoots with Uncle Steve." 

 Resisting Henry's urge to open the boxes on the spot the boys dashed to the fish shop where they scattered the contents on the top step. Frantically, they rummaged through the chocolates looking for the expected stone. 

Again, nothing. 

"Maybe it has been wrapped up like the chocolates. They are sort of egg shaped," suggested P.C. 

The search began, accompanied by the consumption of far too many chocolate caramels. 

"I think this is it," squealed Henry holding a wrapping between his finger and thumb. "Feel it. It's so hard and heavier than the others."  

"You're probably right," said Rev after giving the wrapping a squeeze. "You found it, you open it." 

Henry gently peeled off the purple wrapping exposing a smooth green ovoid stone. He took the base of the Drustone from his pants pocket and carefully placed the stone into the cavity. It fit perfectly. 

During that last week before school, the three boys spent countless hours holding hands around a small circular table willing the smooth green stone to rise from its bronze nesting place. It never moved. Was it because they were not meant to be Druids? Was the stone a fake? Rev supected both.

It was the last summer the boys spent together. Much to the surprise of everyone, including himself, P.C. passed the dreaded 11+ Exam and continued his education at the local grammar school. Rev won a scholarship to Giggleswick, a private school in the back of beyond. Henry, his mother, and  sister Marie, left to join his father in Canada. As a parting gift, Rev and P.C. allowed Henry, the only one still a believer, to keep the Drustone. 

 Fifteen years later, in 1966, the boys met again. P.C. was now a bank clerk, Rev a divorce lawyer, and Henry, an elementary school teacher. The occasion - P.C's wedding.

P.C. unwisely asked Uncle Steve to speak at the reception (his father was serving a short jail sentence at the time). Uncle Steve regaled the audience with hilarious tales of P.C's misspent youth and took the opportunity to finally reveal the truth about the Drustone.

Apparently there were hundreds in existence, all manufactured in Springfield, Massachusetts, for the Le Fleming real estate firm. The paper weights were given as gifts to Judd's clients whenever a sale was finalised.

Henry couldn't help but chuckle. This had been one of Uncle Steve's best scams. Not only had it led to a memorable summer, but it had instilled in Henry an enduring passion for History. If only he could emulate Uncle Steve in his own classroom.