AMOS TROTTER 12; SAMMY'S VISIT

Part 8

"Papa," Sammy was tugging on my pants leg to make sure he had my full attention, "are we ever going to get ice cream?" There was a very concerned look on his face convincing me he was losing faith not only in our fearless leader but in the possible successful outcome of the entire venture.

I leaned down with a hand gently on his tiny shoulder, "The General likes very complicated missions. Do you know what complicated means?"

He nodded yes, but I could see by his face that the affirmative nod may be to avoid admitting that he did not. "I'll see if I can't hurry him along. Are you getting hungry for some ice cream?" His answering affirmative head nod left no doubt that he was.

I caught Patrick's eye and with Sammy again focused on Charlotte who was gushing over the little angel, I put a finger in the air and with a circling motion conveyed to him that we needed to get on with this assault on creamery."

"Alright, already!" Patrick launched into the attempt to get the group again focused on our mission, "huddle up."

Having a brief flashback to my high school football days under a steel blue-eyed coach who brooked no foolishness during practice, I joined the small group. Heads close, Patrick laid out our assignments in whispers as if the very walls had ears. Charlotte was dispatched a short way down one hall to ensure no encroachment from undesirables happening, by untimely chance, to head our way. She asked our tiny giant of a General how she was supposed to stop them and, after a look at her from head to toe and back, he told her he was confident she would find a way.

My task was a bit harder. I had to stand at the corner to cover a possible approach from either the center hall or the opposite hall from Charlotte. Further, I was to look so innocent in standing there that I would not be noticeable - me being not noticeable - not likely!

Patrick and Sammy would make the final assault on the inner sanctum where the cache of ice cream was kept. With a slight toss of his head, Patrick sent me on my real mission. He engaged Sammy in whatever details he had dreamed up, bending close and whispering so softly Sammy had to give it his full attention. Having successfully read Patrick's signal, I slipped into the dining area to read the kitchen staff in on the ploy. With a few shaking heads and more than a few rolled eyes, they agreed to assist in our misadventure. If it would eliminate the need to crawl again I would have given my next month's Social Security. My knees were still smarting.