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apples. On most days Mr. Svensen could be found behind the counter by the cash register, where he had a clear view of the barrel. He never worried about theft, of course. This was a place where no one bothered to lock their doors at night. Who would steal his apples? But his presence presented a problem to anyone with larcenous intent.
    I felt I was up to the challenge. I stood by the barrel, pretending interest in the array of penny candies in the display case against the wall. Mr. Svensen watched me perfunctorily.
    “Vill you be vanting some candy, eh?”
    I shook my head.
    He eyed me a few more seconds, then looked away. I watched while he studied a paper on the counter in front of him. He picked up a pencil and started to write.
    The window of opportunity was small. Quickly I took an apple from the barrel and stuck it in my pocket. Looking back to where Svensen was sitting, I was relieved to see that he was still engrossed in his work and had not seen the heist.
    “Goodbye, Mister Svensen,” I said as I turned to go.
    “Vait a minute,” he said, coming around the counter. My heart leaped to my throat. I fought my flight instinct and froze in place. I am certain my face had guilt written all over it. My knees were shaking and the apple in my pocket was the size of a watermelon. My life was over.
    Going to the candy case, Mr. Svensen slid open the glass door and plucked a stick of gum from the pile. He handed it to me with a flourish.
    “You like gum, yah?”
    I took the gum in my shaking hand and nodded.
    “Thank you, Sir.”
    “You’re velcome,” he said. He patted my head and returned to the counter. Picking up his pencil, he turned his attention to the papers in front of him.
    I stood there a few seconds, my head whirling in disbelief. He never suspected! Well, he was a father, after all. If Mrs. Svensen had been there...I shuddered at the thought.
    Reeling with relief I slammed through the door and ran down the brick stairs, almost upending Olive Jameson, the preacher’s wife. Ignoring her cries of dismay I crossed the street and ran through the town square.
    Once out of sight of the store, I took the apple from my pocket and studied it. Red and firm, with no sign of a worm, it was the perfect apple. My heart had quit racing and I lost myself in the beauty of the apple in my hand. I couldn’t take it home. How would I explain it to my mother? Rubbing it on my sleeve, I took a bite. I would have to eat the evidence.
    So far my criminal career had earned me about six and a half cents. But bigger things were in store. Buoyed by my success with Svensen’s apple, I quickly forgot about the dangers of my chosen trade and looked forward to my next job. I had my eye on an Atlas slingshot and a marble bag at the five and ten. I wasn’t certain I was ready for the big time; still needed to hone my skills with more easily obtained items—a gumball, perhaps, or a pickle from the barrel in Svensen’s store. Yes, that was it. Svensen’s was the perfect training ground.
    Jimmy, my best friend, was now involved. I had to tell him about the yoyo incident so he wouldn’t blow my story by denying it. He had willingly agreed; seemed even more excited than I about the prospect of free goodies. We would be the new Bonnie and Clyde. Well, neither of us could pass for Bonnie. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid would do just as well.
    The tree fort in Jimmy’s back yard served as our headquarters. There we would plan our next job while consuming the loot from our last one. Except for a brief argument over the name of our gang—“Archie and Jug” won out over “Mutt and Jeff”—our partnership was amiable. And profitable.
    By the time school had started in September the team of Archie and Jug had garnered three ginger snaps, a half-dozen jawbreakers, two Atlas slingshots, a pickle and nine apples, (not counting the one I had stolen before our collaboration). My effort to swipe the marble bag came to naught when my mother