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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75550-0.txt b/75550-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c371ae --- /dev/null +++ b/75550-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6307 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75550 *** + + + + + + POPPY OTT + AND THE STUTTERING PARROT + + + + +[Illustration: “IT ISN’T EVERY PARROT THAT HAS TWO SERVANTS TO GIVE +IT A BAWTH.” + +_Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot._ _Frontispiece_--(_Page 133_)] + + + + + POPPY OTT + AND THE + STUTTERING PARROT + + BY + LEO EDWARDS + + AUTHOR OF + + THE POPPY OTT BOOKS + THE JERRY TODD BOOKS + + + ILLUSTRATED BY + + BERT SALG + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + Made in the United States of America + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY + GROSSET & DUNLAP + + + + + To + GLENN + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I POPPY OTT 1 + II IN THE PARROT STORE 19 + III THE STUTTERING PARROT 29 + IV OUR NEW CHUM 40 + V OLD CALEB’S QUEER STORY 51 + VI UP THE CREEK 59 + VII FOUR WHEELBARROWS 68 + VIII THE ESCAPED PARROT 73 + IX VOODOOISM 82 + X THE ROBBERY 96 + XI RED’S PREDICAMENT 113 + XII THE BURGLAR 127 + XIII POOR POLLY! 132 + XIV THE VANISHED TOWNSMAN 139 + XV A WILD NIGHT 155 + XVI THE EMPTY GRAVE 163 + XVII IN THE OLD MANSE 174 + XVIII THE HAUNTED CISTERN 190 + XIX VOODOOED 199 + XX WHAT WE CAPTURED 209 + + + LEO EDWARDS’ BOOKS + + Here is a complete list of Leo Edwards’ + published books: + + + THE JERRY TODD SERIES + + JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY + JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT + JERRY TODD AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE + JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING HEN + JERRY TODD AND THE TALKING FROG + JERRY TODD AND THE PURRING EGG + JERRY TODD IN THE WHISPERING CAVE + JERRY TODD, PIRATE + JERRY TODD AND THE BOB-TAILED ELEPHANT + JERRY TODD, EDITOR-IN-GRIEF + + + THE POPPY OTT SERIES + + POPPY OTT AND THE STUTTERING PARROT + POPPY OTT’S SEVEN-LEAGUE STILTS + POPPY OTT AND THE GALLOPING SNAIL + POPPY OTT’S PEDIGREED PICKLES + POPPY OTT AND THE FRECKLED GOLDFISH + POPPY OTT AND THE TITTERING TOTEM + POPPY OTT AND THE PRANCING PANCAKE + + + THE ANDY BLAKE SERIES + + ANDY BLAKE + ANDY BLAKE’S COMET COASTER + ANDY BLAKE’S SECRET SERVICE + ANDY BLAKE AND THE POT OF GOLD + + + THE TRIGGER BERG SERIES + + TRIGGER BERG AND THE TREASURE TREE + TRIGGER BERG AND HIS 700 MOUSE TRAPS + + + + + POPPY OTT AND THE STUTTERING PARROT + + + CHAPTER I + + POPPY OTT + + +I guess you know who I am. My name is Jerry Todd. I have written +a lot of books about myself. I’m writing this book, too. But it’s +mostly about another boy. A new kid. I’ll tell you about him. + +You see, to start with, I live in Tutter. Our town is the best small +town in Illinois. Boy, we have fun! In the summer time, I mean. One +reason why we have so much fun, I guess, is because we have a smart +leader. Scoop Ellery is the gnat’s knuckles, let me tell you, when it +comes to thinking up interesting things to do. Peg Shaw is a member +of our gang, too. He’s a great big guy. To look at him you’d think +he was three years older than Scoop and me. But he isn’t. He just +grew up faster. His folks fed him a lot of tough beefsteak, I guess. +Anyway, that’s what we tell him in fun. We’re all in the same grade +at school. Even Red Meyers, who is a sort of runt with freckles +parked all over his face and a brick-colored topknot. + +Well, to jump into my story, Red and I started out one summer morning +right after breakfast to have an early-morning swim in the creek in +Happy Hollow. This is a peachy place to swim. The willows growing +there make it cool and shady even in the hottest weather. You never +saw a place so crammed full of willows. It’s a regular jungle. Tramps +hang out there in the summer time. But they don’t bother us when we +go there. We leave them alone and they leave us alone. They know +they’ve got to behave themselves. If they didn’t the Tutter marshal +would lock them up in the town jail. Sometimes Bill Hadley does lock +them up to get rid of them. After a night in jail they’re glad enough +to get out of town. + +Red and I ran into a couple of tramps this morning on our way to the +swimming hole. One was a man, a quite oldish man, and the other was +a boy our age. Say, I wish you could have seen the outfit they had! +It was a sort of ramshackle bungalow built on a rickety four-wheeled +wagon. The house had side windows, all of different shapes and sizes. +There was a back door and a little back porch with a rickety railing. +Up in front a stovepipe poked its rusted snout through the roof. Like +everything else in the outfit the stovepipe was wabbly and ready to +fall to pieces. It was some tacky outfit, all right. The wonder to me +was that it didn’t fall to pieces in traveling the country roads. + +An old gray horse was staked out close to the wagon. Talk about a +_sway-back_! Say, that old four-legged washboard had a gully in its +back as deep as the Illinois River. On the bottom side its stomach +bagged worse than the knees of Cap’n Tinkertop’s everyday pants. It +was awfully proud of its ribs, or so it would seem, for every rib +was shoved out in plain sight. The tail was bobbed. To help the old +skate switch away the mosquitoes and flies its owner had fastened +a frazzled-out rope to the stub. The old nag sure did look funny +swishing its rope tail. Red and I had a good laugh to ourselves. + +“Some outfit,” says my chum, taking in the rickety traveling bungalow +and the ten-cent horse. + +“That must be the guy who owns it,” says I, pointing to a +stoop-shouldered old man who had pottered into sight from the deeper +willows. + +The newcomer hadn’t seen us. And shuffling up to the bungalow, he +rapped on a window. + +“Poppy,” says he. “Poppy Ott. You git up now. Or I’ll come in thar +with a stick.” + +Some one inside yawned like a young steam engine. + +“_Poppy!_” says the old man, sharper-like. + +“Uh-huh,” says a sleepy voice. + +“You git up now,” says the old man. “You hear me? You hain’t took +care of Julius Cæsar yet. An’ I’ve got to go to town on business.” + +Here a tousle-headed kid came into sight on the bungalow’s fancy back +porch. And at sight of him Red pinched my hand and giggled. + +“Lookit, Jerry,” says he, pointing. “Huckleberry Finn has come to +town.” + +The kid was a dead-ringer for Huckleberry Finn, all right. His shirt +was ripped at the neck and his pants were three sizes too big for +him. They hung on him like Charley Chaplin’s pants. And did a kid +ever have dirtier feet! _Good_ night! I wondered what his bed sheets +looked like. + +“Did you eat, Pa?” says the kid, stretching and yawning. + +“Two hours ago,” says the old man. + +“Leave anything?” + +“They’s some stuff under the wagon.” + +While the kid was messing around in a box where food was kept, the +old man got out a whisk broom and dusted his clothes. He looked +pretty respectable when he got through. + +Red got my ear. + +“Lookit, Jerry! What’s he doing now?” + +“Polishing something,” says I. + +“It’s a badge,” says Red, sort of breathless-like. “A policeman’s +badge. Gee! He must be a detective.” + +“Yah,” says I, in a sudden cold feeling toward the old man. “Like old +Mr. Arnoldsmith.” + +If you have read my book, JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY, you’ll +remember Mr. Anson Arnoldsmith. The old shyster! He gyped me out of +a dollar and a quarter. And ever since then I’ve been leary about +meeting “detectives.” + +Red was excited. + +“I bet he _is_ a detective, Jerry.” + +“I’d sooner think he was a dog catcher,” says I. + +“I don’t see any dogs.” + +“Maybe he’s got ’em in the wagon,” I laughed. + +“We’ll help him, Jerry.” + +“We’ll keep away from him,” says I quickly, thinking of old Mr. +Arnoldsmith. + +“We can detect, too,” says Red. “We know how.” + +“If he’s a detective,” says I, “he better detect a bar of soap and a +scrubbing brush and get busy on his little Poppy.” + +Red snickered. + +“Poppy,” says he, speaking the boy’s name. “_Some_ name.” + +“They ought to call him squash blossom,” says I. “For he looks more +like a muddy squash than he does a poppy.” + +The old man put his polished badge out of sight under his coat. + +“Now, Poppy,” says he, businesslike, sort of working his shoulders up +and down to make his coat fit better, “you jest curry Julius Cæsar, +like I tell you, an’ brush him down nice an’ neat. An’ when you git +that job done you better git up on the roof with some tar an’ see +’bout fixin’ that hole whar it rained in on me last night. I’ve told +you before ’bout fixin’ it. So git busy now an’ do it. Fur it may +rain ag’in to-night. An’ I hain’t awantin’ to wake up like I did last +night an’ find my mouth plum full of rain water. You hear me?” + +“Yes, Pa,” says the kid, over the top of a hunk of bread. + +As this was the first boy tramp we had ever seen our curiosity was +aroused. It would be fun, we thought, to talk to him and thus get his +story. For undoubtedly in traveling here and there he had met with a +lot of exciting adventures. So we decided to stick around. + +Finishing his breakfast, the kid got out a currycomb and brush and +began massaging the ribs of the four-legged washboard. He kept at +this job until his father had pottered out of sight in the direction +of town. Then he sat down on a stump and sort of buried his face in +his hands. + +Red was puzzled in watching the other. + +“What’s he doing now, Jerry? Crying?” + +“Let’s go over and find out,” says I. + +“Aw!... He wouldn’t want us to catch him crying. He’d be ashamed.” + +“Maybe he’s sick,” says I, “and needs attention.” + +“_You_ aren’t a doctor.” + +“I can give him a stomach rub,” says I, grinning. + +“Yah, and probably _he_ can give you a punch in the snout if you get +smart with him. He looks tough. You better stay here.” + +Here the kid lifted his face. We saw then that he hadn’t been crying. +He had been thinking about something, like a fellow does sometimes +when he’s troubled. And whatever his thoughts had been they had led +him along until he was the maddest kid imaginable. + +Getting up from his seat, he jumped up and down in his mad streak, +sort of shaking his clenched fists. Say, he acted like he was crazy. +We could hear him talking to himself, too. But we couldn’t make out +what he was saying, for we were too far away. + +“What the dickens?...” says Red, blinking puzzled-like at the +strange-acting one. “What’s wrong with him?” + +“Maybe he sat down on a hornet,” says I. + +“Aw!...” + +“Go over and put a nickel in him,” says I, in further nonsense, “and +see if he’ll play a tune.” + +“Sh-h-h-h!” says Red. “He’ll hear you.” + +Sort of quieting down, the kid went back to his currying job. We +watched him for several minutes, wondering what was next on the +program. Pretty soon he put away his currycomb and brush and went +over to the bungalow. I figured that he was going to climb on the +roof and sling some tar, as his father had ordered him to do. +Instead he thoughtfully walked around and around the wagon, sort +of squinting at it and shaking his head. Taking hold of a wheel, he +gave it a shake. Golly Ned! The old bungalow rattled in its wabbly +joints like the skeleton that Doc Leland donated to the Tutter public +school. I _know_ how that old skeleton rattles, for one day I fixed +some strings to it and the teacher was so scared when it waved its +bony hands at her that she almost jumped out of her skin. + + [Illustration: “LOOKIT, JERRY! THERE GOES THE WHEELS!” + +_Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot._ _Page 9_] + +Well, we were right-down curious about the strange kid now. He was up +to something. We could see that plain enough. So we decided to stick +around a while longer. + +Going back to where the old nag was staked out in a grassy spot, the +kid did something to the horse that made it kick. Bingo! Up went its +rope tail and out shot its hind feet like a double-barreled battering +ram. + +Red grabbed my arm when the young horse tender led his nag over to +the wagon and backed it up against a front wheel. + +“_Good_ night! He’s making his old horse kick the wagon to pieces. +Lookit, Jerry! There goes the two hind wheels.” + +The four wagon wheels kicked to pieces, the kid led the horse back +to its pasture and then squatted, contented-like, in the shade of a +tree with a book. + +“I wonder what got into him,” says Red, completely puzzled. + +“He’s cuckoo,” says I. + +“Aw! ... It’s only old men who get cuckoo.” + +“How about yourself?” says I, grinning. + +“You aren’t funny,” says he. + +Well, we stuck around. There’d be some excitement, we figured, when +the old man came home and found his bungalow squatting on the ground +instead of on wheels. As for the kid, he sure had us guessing with +his queer actions. We couldn’t make him out at all. And curious, too, +about the book that he was reading, we crawled closer. + +“It’s a schoolbook,” says Red. “What do you know about that?--_him_ +studying an arithmetic!” + +The kid had paper and a pencil. He was working problems. One problem +seemed to stump him. He figured and figured. But he couldn’t get the +right answer. + +Suddenly he looked up and caught our eyes. + +“Say,” says he, as unconcerned over our presence as you please, “can +you kids do fractions?” + +We felt foolish in being caught. We hadn’t figured on this. We had +thought to ourselves that we were too smart to be caught. I had to +admit to myself now that the kid wasn’t as much of a squash as I had +let myself believe. + +“I can’t get this problem,” says he, and he dug at his tousled +hair with his pencil, looking more puzzled than ever. “It’s about +a steamboat. Going up stream the steamboat travels sixteen and +two-thirds miles per hour. Going down stream it travels twenty-seven +and one-half miles per hour. It is three hours and seventeen minutes +longer going up stream than down. How far did it go?” + +Red and I had had that problem in school. So we got busy and worked +it. And now that I was close to the kid I saw what bright, snappy +eyes he had. I liked his looks. He interested me. And I kind of +forgot about his old clothes and dirty bare feet. + +“I suppose you wonder,” says he, putting away his arithmetic, “why I +made old Julius Cæsar kick the wagon wheels to pieces.” + +“Did you know we were watching you?” says I, in surprise. + +He nodded. + +“I saw you kids in the weeds,” says he, “when I first got out of bed.” + +Red and I traded sheepish glances. + +“We thought we were hid,” says I. + +That made the ragged one grin. And in that moment I liked him better +than ever. For he had a good grin. I could see that he would make a +swell pal, all right. He was smart, too. + +And I had called him a squash! I wanted to kick myself at the thought +of it. It was _me_ who was the squash. + +Then, taking a liking to us, he told us his story. Maybe we thought +it was fun, he said, thoughtful-like, to travel around the country +like a tramp and skip school and go dirty. But for his part he was +sick and tired of the lazy, shiftless life. + +“That is what I was thinking about when you saw me on the stump,” +says he. “I felt pretty blue. Things were getting worse for us. In +thinking about it I got mad. And I suddenly made up my mind that I’d +stay right here. I wouldn’t go a step farther, I said. Pa, of course, +would kick on that. _He_ would want to keep on going until the old +wagon dropped to pieces in the middle of the road. Thinking about the +old wagon dropping to pieces sort of put an idea in my head. Why not +fix the wagon, says I, so he _couldn’t_ move it? Then he’d have to +stay here and settle down and be somebody, like other men. So I got +busy. You saw what I did.... Say, can you tell me where I can get a +job?” + +“How old are you?” says I. + +“Fifteen,” says he. + +I shook my head. + +“You’ve got to be sixteen,” says I, “to get a job in this state. I +know, for my dad runs a brickyard.” + +“I’m going to get a job of some kind,” says he, determined-like. “For +one of us has got to work if we’re going to eat.” + +“Why doesn’t your father get a job?” says Red. + +The kid laughed at that. + +“Pa work!” says he. “That’s funny. He’s too busy detecting to work.” + +Red was excited again. + +“Is your pa a detective?” + +“He thinks he is,” says the kid. + +“We saw his badge,” says Red. + +“Yes,” says the kid, nodding, “he takes a lot of pride in that tin +badge of his. It cost him six dollars. I had a row with him the day +he sent for it. I told him that the detective company he was writing +to was a fake and all they wanted out of him was his money. But he +wouldn’t listen to me. And ever since then he’s been making a monkey +of himself. Some detective, _he_ is. Huh! He’s my own father, and I +suppose I ought to stick up for him, but if he was anybody else’s +father I’d say he was an old dumb-bell. When Ma was alive she sort of +kept him busy. Still, he didn’t do very much work at that. He’d sit +around the kitchen reading his old detective books and let her take +in family washings. When she died he just quit working altogether. +That was two years ago. Look at me! Here I am fifteen years old and I +haven’t been in the eighth grade yet.” + +“It wouldn’t worry me,” says Red, who hates school, “if I never got +in the eighth grade or any other grade.” + +“I thought it was fun at first,” says the kid, “to skip school. But I +feel different about it now. For I can see that a fellow has got to +go to school or be a dumb-bell like Pa. And it’s a cinch I don’t want +to grow up and be like _him_. I guess not. I want to go to school, I +do. And I’m going to go to school, too--right here in Tutter. I’ve +made up my mind to that.” + +I was looking at the flattened wagon wheels. + +“What’ll your pa say,” says I, “when he comes home and sees the +wreck?” + +The kid shrugged. + +“He’ll be mad, of course. But I should worry.” + +“Will he lick you?” + +“_Lick_ me? Pa? Shucks, he couldn’t catch me. Besides,” came the easy +laugh, “why should he lick _me_? _I_ didn’t do it. Old Julius Cæsar +did it.” + +“When’s your pa coming back?” says Red. + +“Oh, when he gets through sleuthing ... if he doesn’t get locked up +in the town jail. He’s been in jail three times this summer. That’s +the kind of a detective _he_ is. Probably right now he’s crawling +along some alley on his hands and knees searching for finger prints, +or something like that. He tries to be like the detectives in books. +It makes me sick. No wonder the cops lock him up on suspicion.” + +Red grinned. + +“He ought to show the cops his detective badge. Then they wouldn’t +lock him up.” + +“That’s the trouble,” says the kid. “It’s his tin badge that gives +him away.” + +“And he isn’t a real detective?” says Red, disappointed. + +“_Him?_ Of course not. But he thinks he is, as I say. And snooping +into things that are none of his business is what gets him into +trouble.” + +“We were down this way yesterday,” says I, “but you weren’t here +then.” + +“We pulled in late last night,” says the kid. “Pa’s been crazy to +get here. He’s been talking about coming here ever since he started +working on that black-parrot case.” + +Red pricked up his ears in new interest. + +“Black-parrot case,” says he. “What do you mean by that?” + +“It wasn’t a real parrot,” says the kid, “but it could talk like a +parrot. And it was coal black. I think it was a mino bird. Yes, that +is the name. It came from India. A woman in Cedarburg owned it. Mrs. +Casper Strange. And when it was stolen she offered a reward of a +thousand dollars for its return.” + +“A thousand-dollar parrot!” says Red. “I can’t believe it.” + +“Oh, she has oodles of money! A thousand dollars doesn’t mean +anything to her. We lived in Cedarburg, you know. Pa told her that he +was a detective and would get her parrot for her. So she hired him. +That is, she told him she would pay him a thousand dollars if he was +successful.” + +I was puzzled. + +“But why did your pa come _here_?” says I. “You say he was crazy to +get here. Does he think the stolen parrot is in Tutter?” + +“Search me,” says the kid, shrugging. “All of a sudden he got a +notion to come here, as I say. And here we are.” + +Red laughed. + +“Maybe he came here to search old Cap’n Tinkertop’s bird store.” + +The kid gave the speaker a quick look. + +“Old Cap’n Tinkertop,” says he. + +“He’s a friend of ours,” says Red. “He runs a parrot store.” + +A queer look came into the kid’s eyes. + +“I wonder,” says he at length, “if Pa is as dumb in his detective +work as I thought. Tinkertop! That was the name of a man who worked +for the rich Cedarburg woman.” + +“It wasn’t the Cap’n,” says I quickly. “For he’s lived in Tutter for +years.” + +“_Ham_ Tinkertop,” says the kid after a moment. “That was the man’s +name. He used to be a sailor.” + +“I know,” says Red quickly. “Ham Tinkertop and the Cap’n were +brothers. Don’t you remember, Jerry?--the brother died and the Cap’n +went away to the funeral. And when he came home he had a lot of +money. That was when he started up his bird store.” + +I _did_ remember about the Cap’n going away to his brother’s +funeral. And at the time of the old man’s return I had wondered at +his sudden wealth. + +“When was it,” says the kid, “that this old friend of yours was in +Cedarburg to his brother’s funeral?” + +“The week of my birthday,” says Red. “Around the tenth of June.” + +“That was the week,” says the kid, “that the black parrot was stolen.” + +I looked at my chum and he looked at me. + +“Come on,” says I, taking his arm. “Let’s snap into it and find Scoop +Ellery. He ought to know about this.” + + + + + CHAPTER II + + IN THE PARROT STORE + + +As I say, old Cap’n Tinkertop had brought home a wad of money from +his brother’s funeral. The dead sailor had been buried in Cedarburg. +The week of the funeral a valuable black parrot had been stolen from +a wealthy Cedarburg woman for whom the dead sailor had worked. We had +just gotten that story from the Ott kid. And in consequence I now had +the troubled suspicion that there might be some unworthy connection +between our old friend’s sudden wealth and the vanished bird. I +couldn’t figure it out. But I felt that Scoop Ellery could. For he’s +smart in solving mysteries. So Red and I turned back into town to +find the leader and tell him the story exactly as the Ott kid had +told it to us. + +“I bet you,” says Red, as we jogged along, “that the old man came +here on a clew.” + +“You mean Mr. Ott?” says I. + +The other nodded. + +“He’s shadowing the Cap’n. See?” + +I was puzzled. + +“But why should the Cap’n steal a parrot at his brother’s funeral?” + +“That’s the mystery.” + +“And if he did steal it,” says I, “where is it?” + +“More mystery,” says Red. + +“Do you think Poppy’s father suspects that the Cap’n has the parrot +here?” + +“Sure thing. He’s got a clew, I tell you. That’s what brought him +here.” + +The Cap’n’s bird store is in a little old building on School Street, +which is one of our main business streets. This is the same building +where Spider Phelps ran his shooting gallery the winter poor Mrs. +Higgins sneezed her false teeth halfway across the Methodist church +when they were giving out the Christmas presents. We had helped our +old one-legged friend move his shabby furniture and other truck into +the rooms in the back part of the store. And we had helped him put up +his sign. Here it is: + + _Cap’n Boaz Tinkertop’s_ + + _BIRD STORE_ + + _Our Parrots are the “Talk” of the Town_ + +Turning into School Street on a dog-trot, our ears were suddenly +punctured by one of the screechiest screeches you could imagine. It +came from the parrot store. And when we got there, there was Red’s +aunt, Mrs. Pansy Biggle, standing on a store chair sort of flopping +her feet up and down like a dancing duck and jiggling her skirts. +Boy, she looked funny. I had to laugh. She’s kind of fat. I guess she +weighs three hundred pounds. One time she had a husband, but he fell +in the river, or something, and they never found him again. She lives +at Red’s house and runs a down-town store for women. Sells hats and +dresses. Her store is just across the street from the Cap’n’s store. +Last winter she had Micky Gallagher, the one-eyed Tutter carpenter, +saw a hunk out of her front door so that she could go in and out in +her new fur coat without wedging. + +I couldn’t imagine what in time was the matter with her. Then I got +my eyes on a small white thing skittering around on the floor. And, +boy, did I ever laugh! All this fuss over a little white mouse! And a +tame mouse at that. + +The parrots in the store were screeching like a train of runaway +cars on a rusty track. I could hear a shrill chattering sound, too. +And when I looked closer I saw a small monkey hopping around on the +floor. + +I knew then what had happened. The butcher’s pet monkey from next +door had gotten into the bird store and had let the white mice out +of their cage. And now the monkey was twitching feathers out of the +parrots’ tails. No wonder the helpless birds were screeching bloody +murder! + +Well, a lot of people came on the gallop to see who was being +murdered. Old Mr. Blighty was one of the first ones there. He thought +the store was on fire. And what do you know if he didn’t skedaddle +to the corner on his rheumatic legs and turn in a fire alarm. Some +one else turned in the police call. And pretty soon Bill Hadley, the +town marshal, came scooting into sight in his police flivver. The +fire truck came, too, rippety-tear, and the firemen ran the hose out +and started squirting water into the bird store. That was an awful +unlucky thing for Red’s aunt. For she got a squirt of water plum in +the face. She quit screeching then. She couldn’t screech, I guess. +Her screecher was clogged with water. + +Cap’n Tinkertop was in the back part of his store playing checkers +with old Caleb Obed. That’s the lazy Cap’n for you! He doesn’t take +care of his business at all. We’ve had to run his store for him +ever since he started it. All he does is play checkers and fool away +his time. He thinks he is the best checker player in Tutter. And old +Caleb has the same conceited opinion of himself. So every day they +fight it out in the back part of the store. They were so deep in +their game now that they never knew that anything unusual was going +on up in front. + +The firemen were mad as hops when they learned that there wasn’t any +fire. Bill Hadley was roaring mad, too. My, but didn’t he prance +around! I kind of kept out of reach of his club. I didn’t want him +to get the frisky idea that I had anything to do with the two false +alarms. + +Scoop and Peg were there. And when the crowd melted away the four +of us went into the store to see how much damage had been done. The +place was a wreck, all right. The caged parrots looked more like +half-drowned cats than birds. Red’s aunt looked half-drowned, too. +And, boy, was she up on her ear! She’s forever laying the law down to +Red. He gets blamed for everything. And now she lit into him right. + +Scoop sort of took charge of the store, being the leader. + +“Is there anything I can do for you to-day, Mrs. Biggle?” says he, +wading behind the counter, his shoes going slosh! slosh! slosh! in +the water on the floor. + +“I think you’ve done enough,” says the angry milliner, sort of +snapping it out like a dog fighting another dog for a bone. She got +down from her perch, still glaring at poor Red. “Just look at my +dress! It’s rooned.” + +Scoop didn’t say anything to that. He just let her talk. So did Red. +And pretty soon she calmed down. Her parrot had escaped, she said. +That is what had brought her into the store. She had come on the run +to ask the Cap’n how to coax the bird back into its cage. + +Our leader told her that we would do the parrot-catching act for her. +We were the best parrot catchers in the county, he bragged, grinning. +And when she had gone he started giving us our orders. We were to get +out and scout around, he said. And if we got sight of the parrot we +were to report to him. + +Before I had a chance to tell the leader about the mystery that Red +and I had stumbled into, the old detective himself meandered into the +store. + +At sight of the newcomer Scoop clutched my arm, excited-like. + +“That’s him, Jerry,” says he in a low voice. + +“Do you know him?” says I, surprised. + +“This morning I caught him snooping in the store. When I asked him +what he wanted he said he was looking around to see if we had any +black parrots. I told him that our parrots were all green and yellow. +But he hung on. He wanted to get a black parrot, he said. He seemed +to think we ought to have one in stock.” + +“He’s a detective,” says I. + +“What?” + +“He’s looking for a black parrot that was stolen from a rich woman in +Cedarburg,” says I. + +The leader stared at me for a moment or two. And in watching his face +I could see that he was putting something together in his mind. + +“Cedarburg,” says he. “Why, that’s the town where the Cap’n’s brother +used to live.” + +“Sure thing,” says I, nodding. “And this black parrot that I’m +telling you about was stolen the week the Cap’n was there to his +brother’s funeral.” + +Speaking quickly and in a low voice, I told the leader about the Ott +kid and about the stolen mino bird. While we were talking the old +detective pottered out of the store and disappeared in the street. + +“Say, who was that old prune, anyway?” says Peg, heaving across the +room to where we were. + +“He’s a detective,” says I. + +“What do you suppose he asked me for?” + +Scoop grinned. + +“A black parrot?” + +“How did you know?” says Peg. + +“Oh, I waited on him this morning.” + +“We better ring up Bill Hadley,” says Peg, naming the marshal, “and +have him unlock one of his padded cells and shove this old geezer in. +For that’s where he belongs. A black parrot! Haw! haw! haw! He’ll be +asking for a ringtailed caterpillar next.” + +Scoop shook his head thoughtful-like. + +“The old man isn’t cuckoo, Peg. As Jerry says, he’s a detective. He’s +working on a parrot case.” + +Then we told the big one about the stolen black parrot. + +“But there’s no black parrot here,” says he, looking around the store. + +“I’m not so sure of that,” says Scoop. There was a queer tone to +his voice now, and I watched him curiously as he fished a piece of +crumpled paper out of his pocket. “The old man dropped this clipping +on the floor when he was here this morning. It came out of his +pocket with his handkerchief. It’s an ad out of a newspaper. Read it.” + +Peg and I hooked the clipping, eager to see it. Here it is: + + FOR SALE: Genuine black parrot. Talker. Address Lock Box 23, Tutter, + Illinois. + +“Why,” says Peg, “that’s the Cap’n’s post-office box number.” + +“Exactly,” says Scoop. + +“Evidently,” says I, using my head, “the old detective saw this ad in +the newspaper. That is what brought him here.” + +“It’s the clew I told you about,” says Red promptly. + +“But if the Cap’n has the stolen parrot,” says Peg, puzzled, “where +is it? And why in Sam Hill did he steal it?” + +“The old man’s queer,” says Scoop, trying to account for the act. + +“Queer and tricky both,” says I, remembering some things that had +happened in the store that were of no particular credit to our old +friend, like the time he sold the swearing parrot to the Presbyterian +minister and lied about it. + +“You’re right,” says Scoop, nodding. “And if he’s up to some kind of +trickery in this ‘black parrot’ deal, we ought to cut in on him and +stop him. For we’re taking care of him, sort of. And we’ve got to see +that he doesn’t do anything crooked.” + +“If he stole the parrot,” says Peg, “_that’s_ crooked.” + +“Of course. But _did_ he steal it? We don’t know that he did. I hope +he didn’t.” + +Red had gone to answer the telephone. + +“Hey!” says he. “My aunt wants to know if we’ve seen anything of her +parrot yet.” + +Scoop started for the door. + +“Come on, Jerry. You, too, Red. Peg, you stay here and run the store. +If old Sherlock Holmes comes in again, pump him. Pump the Cap’n, too, +if you can. We’ll be back in an hour or so.” + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE STUTTERING PARROT + + +We were crazy to begin work on the mystery that had bobbed up in +front of us. But we had no chance to do any regular detecting that +morning. For we had to scour the town in search of Red’s aunt’s +escaped parrot. + +At noon we were ready to give up the search. We were tuckered out. +It’s no fun, let me tell you, traipsing around in the hot sun for +hours at a time. I had a crook in the back of my neck from squinting +into treetops. + +At the store Peg told us that the milliner had been called into +Chicago on sudden important business. She wasn’t likely to be back +for several days, he said. So we decided to discontinue our parrot +hunting for the day. Anyway, as the leader said, the parrot would +probably come home of its own accord when it got dark. So why chase +our legs off in the hot sun trying to find it? + +Peg then told us that the Cap’n and old Caleb had gone fishing in +the Illinois River. So we gave the parrots their usual dinner of +boiled corn, after which we did some house-cleaning in the rooms in +the back part of the store. We have to do that for the Cap’n. Having +a peg-leg, it’s hard for him to get around. Anyway, to come right out +with the truth, he isn’t very particular about keeping his store and +living rooms clean. He’s right-down lazy. + +Red was swishing the broom in the sitting room. Suddenly he gave a +yip. + +“Lookit!” says he, holding up something in his hand. + +Scoop laughed. + +“What’d you find?” says he. “A three-dollar bill?” + +“A black feather,” says Red. + +That made the leader jump. + +“What’s that?” says he, excited. + +“It’s a parrot feather, too,” says Red. “I picked it up on the floor.” + +“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” says Peg. “And where there’s a +black feather there’s a feather duster.” + +“Or a mino bird,” says I quickly. + +We were sure now that the black parrot, as we called it, was hidden +in the store. And determined to find it, we went through the place +from top to bottom. We looked in all the cupboards. We looked in the +stuffy attic, too, and in the drygoods boxes in the dark cellar. But +we didn’t find anything. I could see that Scoop was stumped. + +It came supper time and the Cap’n hadn’t come home yet. So we fed the +parrots some more boiled corn and closed the store for the night. +There was an Indian medicine show on the public square. We took it +in, stopping at our old friend’s store on our way home. But to our +surprise he wasn’t there. + +Scoop had planned to stay all night with the Cap’n to sort of watch +for Mrs. Biggle’s parrot in case it came to the bird store instead +of going back to the millinery store, as it was his idea that our +parrots might attract the stray one. And now he begged us to keep him +company. It wouldn’t be any fun, he said, staying in the store all +alone. So I telephoned to Mother, to let her know where I was, then +we turned in, two of us sleeping in the old man’s bed and the other +two on a folding couch in the sitting room. + +Red and I had the couch. He’s a mean kid to sleep with. He kicks like +a mule. About the time you get set in a nice cozy dream he cranks up +his number eights and, bingo! you get a wallop in the slats. + +“Cut it out,” says I, growling, when he had awakened me for the third +time. “What do you think this is?--a pile-driving contest?” + +“Jerry,” says he in a hollow whisper, sort of hanging to me in the +dark, “I heard something.” + +“So did I,” says I. “I heard my slats crack when you rammed your foot +into them. Have a heart, kid. I ain’t made of cast-iron.” + +“I heard a voice,” says he. + +“It was me,” says I. “I was warbling canary stuff in my sleep. I get +that way from being in the bird business.” + +“_You_ don’t stutter,” says he. + +I sat up then. + +“Hey!” says I. “What’s that?” + +“It was a stuttering voice,” says he. + +“Probably Scoop and Peg,” says I. “They’re trying to act funny with +us and scare us.” + +He shimmied around under the covers. + +“Say, Jerry,” says he in a graveyard voice, “don’t you feel scared?” + +“Scared?” says I. “What is there to be scared of?” + +“I feel that way, kind of. Like something _spooky_ was going to +happen. Gee! Ain’t it _dark_!” + + [Illustration: “H-H-HAM! IT’S T-T-TIME TO E-E-EAT!” CAME THE VOICE + LOW AND GASPING LIKE. + +_Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot._ _Page 34_] + +“Something _will_ happen, all right,” says I, “if you don’t dry up +and let me go to sleep.” + +“I don’t _think_ it was a dream,” says he, sort of checking up on his +thoughts. + +“What?” says I, yawning. + +“The voice.” + +“Oh, for the love of mud!” + +“It said H-h-ham! H-h-ham!” + +“Ham and eggs,” says I. + +“No, just ‘H-h-ham!’ Like that. It was a queer voice, too. Like some +one choking.” + +“You’re a cheerful guy to sleep with,” says I. “Don’t you know any +stories about ghosts or murders? Let’s have a good one--one with a +lot of blood in it.” + +“Jerry, there’s something queer about this store.” + +“Yah,” says I, “you’re in it.” + +“About the Cap’n, I mean--putting that ad in the newspaper, and +everything. Wonder where he is.” + +“Fishing,” says I, with another yawn. + +“Why didn’t he come home?” + +“Maybe a big bullhead bit his peg-leg off.” + +“Do you suppose he’s really got the stolen parrot here?” + +“You’ll have a real black eye,” says I, “if you don’t dry up.” + +“Maybe,” says he, “it was the parrot I heard.” + +I hooted. + +“A stuttering parrot!” says I. “You’re good.” + +Suddenly the other ducked under the covers and tried to wind himself +around me like a grapevine. + +“_Jerry!_ Did you hear it?” + +The blamed calf! He had _me_ scared, too. + +“Hear what?” says I. And the rattle in my back teeth sounded like a +Ford on a rocky hill. + +“The voice.” + +I listened. + +“H-h-ham!” came a voice in the darkness. “H-h-ham!” + +I got a grip on myself. + +“I bet it’s Scoop and Peg,” says I. “I’m going to get up and find +out.” + +“Oh!...” shimmied the grapevine, tightening its hold on me. “Don’t +get up.” + +But I did. And going into the bedroom, I found my two chums sound +asleep. + +“H-h-ham!” came the voice again, sort of low and gasping-like. +“H-h-ham! C-c-cut out his heart and f-f-fry it in butter. It’s +t-t-time to e-e-eat.” + +I was right-down scared now. There was something spooky about that +stuttering voice. Weird is the word to use, I believe. And giving +Scoop and Peg a shake to wake them up, I told them to pile out. + +We got a hand lamp. And when the voice came again we traced it to a +large picture on the sitting room wall. It was a picture of the dead +sailor. Remember that! We took the picture down. There was a hole +in the plastered wall. And in the hole was a coal-black parrot in a +wicker cage. + +Besides being black all over, like a crow, it was a funny-looking +parrot. It was pretty big in its body, with an awfully big curved +bill. And it had bleary eyes. That is, as we held the lamp up to the +hole the big black bird sort of leered back at us as though it was +half full of gin. You know what I mean. And when it talked it weaved +back and forth like a drunken man. I began to wonder what kind of a +woman this Mrs. Strange was, to bring up a parrot like this! It acted +like a barroom parrot to me. + +As can be imagined, we were excited in the black parrot’s discovery. +And gathered around it, our eyes fastened on it, we were kind of +depressed, too, in the knowledge that our old friend was indeed a +thief. We could not doubt that now. For here was the stolen parrot in +his home. + +Peg had been studying the bird with puzzled eyes. + +“What do you call it?” says he. + +“It’s a mino bird,” says Red. + +The big one grunted. + +“It looks like a common old parrot to me.” + +“Parrots are green and yellow,” says Red, acting as though he knew +all about it. “And mino birds are _black_. See?” + +Peg loves to argue. + +“Is a white hen a hen?” says he. + +“Of course,” says Red. + +“And what is a black hen?--a dickey bird?” + +“It’s a hen,” says Red. + +“Of course,” says Peg. “A hen’s a hen whether it’s black or white or +brown or green. And so is this bird a parrot. The color doesn’t make +any difference in its name. It’s a _black parrot_. Get me?” + +“H-h-hello,” says the parrot, blinking at us in the lamplight, its +head cocked on one side. “H-h-hello, you dirty b-b-bums.” + +That tickled Red. + +“It’s looking at you, Peg. It’s got _your_ number, old hardhead.” + +Scoop bent down. + +“Hi, old shoe polish,” says he, grinning. + +That set the parrot to laughing. Say, it could laugh just as good as +anybody. And it looked funny, too, with its bleary, blinking eyes and +cocked head. Pretty soon we were laughing as hard as it was. + +We got it an apple. And all the while it was eating the apple it kept +blinking at us, sort of, and saying funny things. It was a peachy +parrot, all right. We wished we owned it. + +“What’s your name?” we inquired. + +“S-s-solomon.” + +“King Solomon,” says Scoop, bowing. + +“S-s-solomon Gu-gu-gu----” says the parrot, stuttering to beat the +cars. + +“Look out there,” says Peg, laughing. “You’ll gag yourself to death.” + +“Gu-gu-gu----” says the parrot. It stopped and turned around three +times. “Gu-gu-gu----” + +“Here,” says Peg, “have another apple.” + +“Gu-gu-GRUNDY!” says the parrot, sort of screeching out the full +name. “S-s-solomon Gu-gu----” + +“Never mind,” says Peg. “We know you can say it. So don’t kill +yourself.” + +That seemed to make the stutterer mad. + +“H-h-ham!” it screeched. “H-h-ham! Put ’em in irons.” + +Here the clock struck twelve. I don’t know why it is, but when a +clock strikes twelve at night a fellow always thinks of ghosts. At +least I do. So you can imagine the scare I got when Red suddenly let +out an old gee-whacker of a scream. + +“The window!” says he, pointing. + +We looked quick. But we were too late to see anything. + +“What was it?” says Scoop, getting his voice. + +“A man’s face.” + +“Was it the old detective?” + +“No-o,” says Red, shaking his head. “It wasn’t him. First I saw a +pair of eyes. Sort of _burning_ eyes. Then I saw the full face. It +was a man’s face. But it wasn’t the detective. I’m sure of that.” + +There was an alley along-side the bird store on the west side. The +sitting room had a door and two windows opening into this alley. And +it was at one of these windows that Red had seen the mysterious face. + +As I say, I was scared stiff. I was kind of rattled, too. I get that +way when I’m scared. But I wasn’t so rattled but what I could put two +and two together and make four. The spy was after the black parrot. I +could see that, all right. + +Scoop had tiptoed to the door. + +“Listen!” says he, with his ear to the panel. + +We could hear some one in the alley. Just outside the door. And +suddenly there was a scream. Then we heard something fall. + +“Let me in,” says a voice. + +It was the Ott kid! + +“What do you want?” says Scoop. + +“My father has been hurt. Help me--_please_!” + +When a kid is in trouble, and begs for help, you can’t go back on +him even if you have to run risks in helping him. So we did what was +right and unlocked the door. + +Our hand lamp made a puddle of light in the alley. And there in +front of the open door lay the old detective. There was blood on his +forehead. He looked dead to me. I shivered at sight of him. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + OUR NEW CHUM + + +Well, there wasn’t any more sleep for us _that_ night. First of +all we got the old detective into the Cap’n’s bed. Then we sent a +hurry-up call for Doc Leland. But old Doc was out of town. So we had +to get busy and take care of the injured man ourselves. + +He was talking now. But it wasn’t sensible talk. He didn’t know what +he was saying or what was going on around him. The whack that he had +gotten on the head had jammed his brain wheels. + +“Pretty birdie,” says he, sort of rambling-like, a vacant look in his +watery eyes. “Pretty birdie in the treetop.” + +Having done everything possible for the injured man, Scoop screwed +down the wick of the bedroom lamp. + +“Now,” says he to the patient, “close your eyes and go to sleep. +You’ll be all hunky-dory in the morning. All you need is a little +sleep.” + +“My haid,” says the old man, feeling of his damaged upper story. “It +hurts.” + +“Keep your hands down,” says Scoop, taking the pottering hands and +putting them down. “You mustn’t touch the bandage. For if you do +you’re liable to start the cut to bleeding again.” + +“I can hear the birdies,” says the old man. + +“Of course you can,” says Scoop. “There’re nice birdies, too. And if +you’ll lay still and listen to them they’ll sing you to sleep.” + +I was anxious to have a talk with the Ott kid. For I figured he could +clear up the mystery of the spying face. So I was glad when Scoop +signaled to the kid to follow us into the sitting room. + +“Now,” says the leader, giving the other one a steady eye, “you can +loosen up, if you will, and tell us what you know about this.... Who +did it?” + +“I don’t know,” says the kid. + +Scoop scowled. + +“Come on, tell us the truth.” + +“I _am_ telling the truth.” + +There was a moment’s silence. + +“Jerry and Red tell me,” says Scoop, “that you’re all right. They +say they’ve made friends with you. But _I_ don’t know whether we +can trust you or not. It looks to me as though you’re covering up +something.” + +“I haven’t anything to cover up,” says the kid, his eyes seeking the +door of his father’s bedroom in a troubled way. + +“Were you and your father together in the alley?” + +“No. He was struck down before I got here.” + +“But what was he doing here at this time of night?” + +“You ought to know.” + +“Sleuthing?” + +“Of course.” + +“And were _you_ sleuthing, too?” + +“I followed Pa to town to look out for him,” says the kid, flushing +at Scoop’s sarcasm. “I didn’t want him to get locked up. He gave me +the slip a block or two from here. Then I heard a scream. I found him +in the alley. And that’s all I know.” + +“Wasn’t there any one else in the alley when you got here?” + +“No.” + +“And you haven’t any idea who hit your father?” + +“No.” + +The kid was telling the truth. I could see that. The leader could +see it, too. And suddenly he shoved out his hand. + +“Shake,” says he. “If you’re a friend of my pals, and they trust you, +you’re my friend, too.” + +“Ditto,” says Peg, getting in on the hand shaking. + +The kid was uneasy. + +“Do you suppose,” says he, watching the door of his father’s room, +“that Pa’ll be all right in the morning, as you say?” + +“Sure thing,” says Scoop. “It isn’t a bad cut. He got hit with a +club, I guess.” + +“It wouldn’t have happened,” says the kid, after a moment, “if he had +stayed at home to-night as I wanted him to do. But he wouldn’t listen +to me. He never does.” + +Scoop’s forehead was puckered. + +“It puzzles me,” says he, “who hit your father, and why.” + +“Maybe it was the Cap’n,” says Peg. + +“But why should the Cap’n come here on the sly?” says I. “That +doesn’t make sense to me.” + +“He’s got a secret, Jerry. You know that.” + +“Yes,” says I, “and he’s got a temper, too. And if he had seen us in +here he would have made short work of kicking us out.” + +Scoop got a flashlight. + +“We can soon tell if it was the Cap’n,” says he. + +We followed him outside. I kind of shivered in the darkness. It was +heavy. Like a black blanket. The alley looked awfully spooky and +risky to me. + +We found footprints under the window where Red had seen the spying +face. But we found no prints of a peg-leg. So we knew the spy wasn’t +our queer old friend. + +“Whoever it was,” says Scoop, “he saw us with the black parrot. +There’s no doubt about that.” + +“What?” says the kid, staring. “Is the black parrot _here_?” + +“We discovered its hiding place about an hour ago,” says Scoop. “The +spy saw us feeding it. That was just a minute or two before your +father was struck down.” + +There was a bright look in the kid’s eyes. + +“I can see what happened,” says he. “Pa surprised the man at your +window. See? And then the man wheeled with a club.” + +“I’d know the man,” says Red, “if I was to see him again. For he had +a mean face. Like a killer.” + +I shivered. + +“For the love of mud!” says I, trying to cut the darkness with my +eyes. “Shut up and stay shut. You give a fellow the creeps. A +killer! Br-r-r-r! Let’s go inside.” + +We were pretty well acquainted with the new kid now. And we started +calling him Poppy. + +“I like that name,” says he, “better than my real name.” + +“What is your real name?” says Scoop. + +“I hate to tell you.” + +“Is it worse than Poppy?” + +“_Is_ it! Nicholas Carter Sherlock Holmes Ott. How do you like that?” + +“_Good_ night!” says Scoop. “Who gave you that name?--some half-baked +librarian?” + +The kid laughed. + +“My father named me after his two favorite detective heroes. But just +forget about the name. I don’t tell it to everybody. Poppy suits me +better, as I say. The Cedarburg kids gave me that nickname because I +peddled popcorn.” + +Scoop grinned. + +“In _this_ gang,” says he, joking, “we stand by each other and use +each other right. So you’ve got our promise never to disgrace you in +public by calling you by your real name. From now on you’re Poppy Ott +to us. And we’ll just forget that you ever had any other name.” + +“You tell ’em,” says Peg. + +“And now,” says the leader, “let’s get down to business. For, as +I see it, we’ve got a real job ahead of us in solving this parrot +mystery. Here’s the dope. The Cap’n has a stolen parrot in his house. +Maybe _he_ stole the parrot; maybe some one else stole it. Anyway, as +I say, the parrot is here. But before we turn it over to the law, to +be returned to its rightful owner, I’d like to have a day or two to +dig into this thing. For instance, who is the spy? What’s he after? +Is it the black parrot? Does the Cap’n know about the spy? Is that +why he has been hiding the parrot? You can see what we’re up against. +There’s a lots bigger mystery here than we thought. And if something +_dark_ is piling up around the Cap’n--something that is liable to +harm him, I mean--and he’s innocent, I think we ought to stand by him +and help him.” + +“He’s got the stolen parrot,” says I. “We know that. So how can he be +innocent?” + +Scoop nodded, grave-like. + +“You’re right, Jerry,” says he. “It does look as though the Cap’n +is behind the stealing. But I’m going to give him a chance to clear +himself. And if he _can’t_ do that ... well, then, Poppy, we’ll let +your pa have the parrot. And if the law steps in on the Cap’n to +punish him he’ll have to take his medicine. For it isn’t my scheme +to shield him if he’s guilty. Not so you can notice it.” + +“I’m beginning to feel ashamed of myself,” says Poppy, with a gentle +look toward the bedroom. “I thought Pa was an old dumb-bell in his +detecting. But if he gets this thousand dollars I’ll have to admit +that he’s pretty smart.” + +“The thousand dollars,” says I, glad in the thought, “will set you up +in a good home.” + +“It seems almost too good to be true,” says Poppy, his eyes shining. +“A thousand dollars! I’m beginning to feel proud of Pa, kind of.” + +Red laughed in the sudden turn of his thoughts. + +“Say,” says he, “what did your pa say about the broken wagon wheels?” + +“Oh,” says Poppy, “he got mad and jawed around. But he shut up when +_I_ got mad worse. I told him what was what. The old wagon was going +to stay right here, I said. I told him if he put any more wheels on +it I’d smash _them_ to pieces, too.” + +“You won’t have to live in the wagon,” says I, “when you get the +thousand dollars. For then you can rent a regular house.” + +“I don’t mind living in the wagon,” says he. “What I don’t like is +being a tramp.” + +Peg laughed. + +“We’ll help you put a foundation under the wagon and fix it up swell.” + +“Hot dog!” says I. “That will be fun.” + +“And we’ll put out a sign,” says Scoop in nonsense. + + _PRIVATE DETECTIVE_ + + Whatever your mystery + You’ll have it not + If you bring it to + Horatio Calabash Ott. + +Poppy couldn’t see anything funny in that. + +“No,” says he, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to put out a +detective sign. I want Pa to quit his foolish detecting and do +something useful.” + +“But he’s making money,” says I, thinking of the thousand dollars. + +“He hasn’t got the money yet,” says Poppy. “And even if he does get +it I have a hunch that this will be his first and last successful +case. Luck was with him this trip.” + +We had put the black parrot back in its wall hole before unlocking +the alley door. And now we brought the bird out. At sight of it +Poppy gave a queer cry. + +“I knew it was too good to be true,” says he, acting as though the +world had dropped from under him. + +Scoop caught his breath. + +“What do you mean?” says he quickly. + +“Pa’ll never get a thousand dollars for _that_ bird. For it’s a real +parrot--can’t you see? It’s a coal-black parrot. It isn’t the stolen +mino bird at all.” + +Peg was in his glory. + +“What’d I tell you?” says he to Red, acting superior. + +Scoop’s eyes were fastened on the black bird. + +“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” says he at length. “If this isn’t the +stolen bird, what bird is it?” + +“S-s-solomon Gu-gu-gu----” says the parrot, cocking its funny eyes at +us. + +“It’s trying to tell you who it is,” says I, laughing. + +“Gu-gu-gu----” says the parrot. Then it whistled. “Gu-gu-GRUNDY. +Solomon Gu-gu-GRUNDY. Nice Solomon Gu-gu-GRUNDY. Gu-gu-give me a +k-k-kiss.” + +“Go ahead, Red,” says I, “and let it smack you.” + +“And get a hunk bit out of my nose!” says the freckled one, scowling +at me. “What do you take me for?--a pumpkin?” + +“K-k-kiss the c-c-cook,” says the parrot. “K-k-kiss the cook and +t-t-tickle her back with a p-p-poker. When do we e-e-eat? Gu-gu-give +me some blood. I k-k-killed him! I k-k-killed him! Gu-gu-give me a +bucket of blood. I like blood. Gu-gu-give me a bucket of blood.” + +Scoop shook his head. + +“We’re finding out secrets,” says he, with a queer laugh. “But I’ll +be blamed if I know what it’s all about.” + +Peg bent over the leering parrot. + +“Say,” says he, in a steady voice, “who did you kill, anyway? Tell +us.” + +“H-h-ham,” says the parrot, sort of dull and rasping-like. “H-h-ham. +I killed H-h-ham. Blood. Gu-gu-give me some blood.” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + OLD CALEB’S QUEER STORY + + +I’ve got a pretty good head on me. In solving mysteries I can think +things out pretty good. Still there are times when my mind goes +jumpy. If a mystery takes a sudden surprising turn I get excited. I +was that way now. + +The stuttering parrot’s “blood” talk had befuddled me. Like +Scoop, I couldn’t make sense of it. And I was disappointed, too, +in the thought that now Poppy Ott’s father would lose out on the +thousand-dollar reward that the Cedarburg woman had offered for the +return of her stolen mino bird. I had wanted Mr. Ott to get the +thousand dollars so that Poppy could have a good home like the rest +of us. But if this bird of the Cap’n wasn’t the stolen mino bird--if, +instead, it was a real black parrot, as Poppy declared--it was a +cinch that the old detective wouldn’t be able to turn it in for the +big reward. + +Our new chum looked sort of crushed. + +“Poor Pa,” says he. “It’ll pretty nearly flatten him out when he +learns that he has been trailing the wrong parrot. It’ll be an awful +blow to him.” + +As I say, we didn’t go back to bed that night. We were too excited to +be sleepy. At daybreak we were still talking about the mystery. Going +outside, we searched the alley. But we found no clews. + +Mr. Ott got up at six o’clock. He was all right now, only his head +ached. At first he was suspicious of us and snapped us up when we +tried to quiz him. But Poppy made him understand that we were his +friends. + +To our disappointment the old man couldn’t tell us very much about +the spy. + +“It was a man, a’ average-sized man, an’ that’s all I know,” says he. +“I seed him at the windy. He was lookin’ inside. I got up behind him +to show him my star an’ arrest him on suspicion. An’ then he turned +quick-like an’ hit me on the haid with a club.” + +“Did he say anything to you?” says Scoop. + +“No, he jest turned quick an’ hit me.” + +“And you didn’t see his face?” + +“No.” + +Nothing was said to the old detective about the stuttering parrot. In +planning things Scoop had asked Poppy not to tell his father about +the hidden parrot until we had had a chance to talk with the Cap’n. +For the hidden parrot was the Cap’n’s secret. And we had no right to +peddle the secret without our old friend’s permission. + +Breakfast over, Poppy started off with his father, then came back. + +“I want to thank you fellows,” says he earnestly, “for taking me into +your gang. I don’t look like much. But you won’t be sorry you picked +me up, I can tell you that much.” + +“Can’t you take your pa home and come back?” Scoop invited. “You can +help us solve the mystery.” + +“I’m going to look for a job.” + +Red is a dumb-bell in blurting out things. + +“Before you start looking for a job,” says he, “you better go home +and put on your Sunday clothes.” + +Poppy’s face reddened. + +“_These_ are my Sunday clothes,” says he, looking down at himself. +“And they’re my Monday clothes and my Tuesday clothes, too.” + +“I’ve got a lot of clothes at home,” says I quickly. “And if you’ll +let me, I’ll take you home and fix you up. For, as Red says, you’ll +stand a better chance of getting a good job if you look neat.” + +“I’ll be back,” says he. + +The Cap’n didn’t come home to breakfast. That puzzled us. And then, +to our surprise, old Caleb Obed came around for his regular morning +checker game. + +Scoop stared at the pottering newcomer. + +“I thought you and the Cap’n had gone fishing,” says he. + +“_Me?_” says old Caleb, cocking his glass eye at us. “_Me_ an’ the +Cap’n, you say? No, sir, it wasn’t _me_ an’ the Cap’n--it was jest +the Cap’n, himself.” + +“He isn’t home yet,” says Scoop. + +“Um ...” says old Caleb, waggling. “Skeered to come home, he be. +That’s what’s keepin’ him away. He’s skeered that I’ll up an’ beat +him like I did yesterday. I guess he knows _now_ who’s the best +checker player in this town. I showed him up yesterday, I did. Seven +games it was, an’ I beat him every one. _He_ didn’t git a game even.” + +Scoop winked at us as a signal for us to keep still and let him do +the talking. + +“Say, Caleb,” says he, “do you happen to know what the Cap’n feeds +his black parrot for breakfast?” + +Old Caleb’s jaw dropped. + +“Heh?” says he, staring. + +“I suppose we ought to take good care of the parrot,” says Scoop, +“until the old man gets home.” + +Caleb’s face was full of suspicion now. + +“How come,” says he, with narrowed eyes, “that you-all know ’bout +that pesky par’ot? I thought it was a secret.” + +Scoop grinned. + +“Some parrot, isn’t it, Caleb? It’s the first stuttering parrot I +ever saw.” + +“Yes,” says the old man, in a sudden talkative streak, “an’ it’s +the only _black_ par’ot in the whole world. Ham Tinkertop could ’a’ +sold it fur a lot of money, I guess, it bein’ a freak. But, no, sir, +he wouldn’t let it go. He had a reason fur keepin’ it. I heerd him +talkin’ ’bout it to the Cap’n the last time he was here, which was +the summer the Cap’n got stuck in the rat hole in his kitchen floor +with his peg-leg and had to be sawed out. ‘Boaz,’ says Ham to his +brother, only he didn’t say it jest like that, fur you know what a +awful stutterer he was, ‘Boaz,’ says he, ‘strange as it may seem to +you, knowin’ what you do ’bout Solomon Grundy, they hain’t a man in +the world outside of yourself that I think as much of as I do of that +thar par’ot. That’s a fact. An’ if you’ll give him a good hum when +I’m daid an’ gone, with no ill feelin’ ’gainst him fur what you know +’bout him--only keepin’ a sharp eye on him, of course, so he won’t do +nobody any damage--if you’ll do that, Boaz,’ says Ham to the Cap’n, +with me a-listenin’ in, like I say, ‘I’ll promise to make over my +life insurance money to you.’” + +Scoop gave us another wink. + +“I’ve often wondered,” says he to the talkative one, “how much money +the Cap’n brought home from his brother’s funeral.” + +“Two thousand dollars,” says old Caleb promptly. “I was with him the +day he put the insurance money in the bank.” + +Scoop laughed. + +“Gee! I wish some one would will _me_ two thousand dollars for taking +care of a parrot. The Cap’n’s lucky.” + +A queer look flashed into the old man’s wrinkled face. + +“Um.... Mebbe the Cap’n’s lucky. An’ mebbe he ben’t.” + +“What do you mean by that?” says Scoop quickly. + +The old man started for the door. + +“I come here to play checkers,” says he, snappish-like, “an’ not +to tell secrets.” He paused in the doorway, his beady eyes hidden +under shaggy brows. “But let me give you young fellers a pointer,” he +added. “Don’t you git too clost to that thar par’ot. It _acts_ all +right; an’ you _think_ it’s all right. But it’ll nab you in a minute +if it gits a chance. An’ if that happens you’re a-goin’ to be sorry, +I kin tell you that much.” + +“Well,” says Scoop, when the old gossip had taken himself away, “I +guess we know now where the parrot and the money came from.” + +“And we know why the parrot stutters,” says I, thinking of the +Cap’n’s stuttering brother, who undoubtedly had taught the bird to +speak. + +“It’s a disappointment to me,” says Scoop, “that there isn’t some +connection between this bird and the stolen mino bird. I had hoped +for a lot of mystery.” + +“How about the man at the window?” says I. “_He’s_ a mystery.” + +“Sure thing,” says Red. + +“I wonder who he is,” says Scoop, thinking. + +“And _I_ wonder,” says Peg, “what old Caleb meant by that queer talk +of his. You could think from his warning that the stuttering parrot +was some kind of a peril.” + +“Maybe the parrot has a bad disease,” says I. “Maybe that is why the +Cap’n has been hiding it.” + +“If it has a harmful disease,” says Scoop, “it ought to be killed.” + +“But the Cap’n was paid two thousand dollars for taking care of it. +See? He doesn’t dare to kill it.” + +Suddenly, as though it knew what we were talking about, the black +parrot lifted its voice in its wall hole. + +“B-b-blood! B-b-blood! Give me some b-b-blood!” + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + UP THE CREEK + + +Poppy came along about nine o’clock. And I noticed right away that +he had been in the creek. I didn’t say anything about it, though. I +thought it might not be polite for me to let on to him that I noticed +any change in him. But I was glad that he had washed himself. I knew +that Mother would like him better now. + +Scoop and Red were out parrot hunting. And leaving Peg to run the +store, Poppy and I hurried down the street. Pretty soon we came to +our house. Mother was baking cookies. + +“This is Poppy Ott,” says I, introducing my new chum. + +“I’m glad to know you, Poppy,” says Mother, giving the new +acquaintance a warm handshake. “Have a cookie,” says she. + +“I brought Poppy home with me,” says I, “to try some of my old +clothes on him.” + +Mother caught on. + +“Fine!” says she, in her usual generous way. “I was wondering the +other day what we’d do with that brown corduroy suit of yours. It’s +perfectly good. And you never wear it.” + +“Gee!” says Poppy, when we were in my bedroom. “You’ve got a swell +mother.” + +“And I’ve got a swell dad, too,” says I. “Wait until you meet him.” + +“Did you say he runs a brickyard?” + +I nodded. + +“Maybe he’ll give Pa a job,” says Poppy. + +“He hires a lot of men,” says I. + +“I want Pa to work at something useful,” says Poppy, “and quit his +silly detecting. I’ve tried to get him to go to work before, but he +wouldn’t. But he’s got to go to work this time. I’ve made up my mind +to that.” + +“Here,” says I, bringing out the suit that Mother had mentioned, +“jump into this and we’ll go over to the brickyard and see Dad.” + +Poppy looked like a million dollars in good clothes. My suit fitted +him swell. I gave him a shirt, too, and a necktie and some stockings +and shoes. To finish off I slipped him a cap and the price of a +haircut. + +“You’re the best friend I ever had, Jerry,” says he, when we came out +of the barber shop. + +“And we’re going to keep on being friends,” says I, feeling good in +what I had done. + +“Forever and ever,” says he earnestly. + +We met Red on our way to the brickyard. He hadn’t seen anything of +his aunt’s parrot, he said. While we were talking about the escaped +parrot a gang of boys our age came into sight from Zulutown, which is +the name that the Tutter people have for the tough end of town where +Cap’n Tinkertop used to live. + +“Step this way, folks,” says the gang’s smart leader, letting on that +he was a showman, “and see Dumb-bell, the red-headed baboon, who +picks his teeth with a crowbar and walks a clothesline on his hind +legs just like a human bein’.” + +This wasn’t the first time that Bid Stricker and his gang of +roughnecks had called our freckled chum a baboon. And I didn’t blame +poor Red for getting huffy. For a fellow can’t help his looks. If he +had red hair and freckles he was made that way in heaven. + +“Lookit!” says Jimmy Stricker, Bid’s mean cousin. “They’ve got a new +kid in the gang. Let’s initiate him with a brick.” + +“Who are they?” says Poppy, getting my eye. + +“The Zulutown gang,” says I. + +“They don’t act like friends of yours.” + +“_Friends!_” says I, turning up my nose at the smart Alecks. “I +should hope not. They hate us because we’re smarter than they are. +And every chance they get they pick on us.” + +“Hello, Poppy,” says Bid, sneering-like. “We know _you_.” + +“The kid tramp!” says Jimmy. “Isn’t he cunning in Jerry’s old suit.” + +“Where’s your ‘Charley Chaplin’ pants, trampy?” says Bid. + +Poppy turned to me again. + +“Do you care,” says he, quiet-like, “if I go over there and knock +their blocks off?” + +“It’s five to three,” says I. + +“You and Red take one apiece,” says he, “and I’ll take the other +three.” + +The cowardly enemy beat it into Zulutown when we took after them. And +putting them out of our thoughts, we separated, Red going in search +of Scoop while Poppy and I headed for the brickyard office where Dad +was. + +It was my Grandfather Todd who started the Tutter Vitrified Brick +Company. That was in 1884. When he died the business became Dad’s. +Some day, I suppose, when I get to using a safety razor three times a +week, I’ll be a partner in the business. It’s going to be fun being +a partner of Dad’s. We found my future partner dictating letters to +his secretary, Miss Tubbs. + +“Howdy, Jerry,” says he, acting glad to see me. Then he grinned at +Poppy. “Who’s your friend?” says he, joking. “Some influential brick +buyer?” + +I told him who Poppy was. + +“He’s going to live in Tutter,” says I, “and go to school here. And +we want to get his father a job in the brickyard.” + +“Um ...” says Dad, thinking. “I can’t recall any detecting jobs that +we have open right now.... How old is your father?” + +“Sixty-two,” says Poppy. + +“Too old to push a truck,” says Dad, shaking his head. “But if he’s +dependable I might be able to use him as a night watchman. For Denny +Corbin quit me last night. Suppose you send the old gentleman around +this afternoon so I can have a talk with him.” + +When we were in the street Poppy said that things were coming his way +fast. He had a home that wasn’t on wheels, he said. And he had good +clothes and good friends. + +“I only hope,” says he, “that Pa won’t do something silly on his new +job and lose it.” + +“Dad’ll be patient with him,” says I. + +“Your dad’s swell, Jerry.” + +“_Your_ dad is going to be swell, too,” says I, “when we get through +with him.” + +In that moment Poppy’s eyes seemed to see things a thousand miles +away. + +“I only wish Ma was alive,” says he, dreamy-like. + +It was on the end of my tongue to tell him that we would get a new +ma for him. But I checked myself. He might not like that, I thought. +Still, it was a thing to keep in mind, I told myself. I had heard it +said by older people that it takes a good wife to keep a man steady. +We wanted to keep Mr. Ott steady. And it might be, I told myself, +that a new wife was the very thing he needed. + +At the store Peg told us that he had had a long distance telephone +call from the Cap’n. + +“The old dumb-bell! What do you know if he didn’t go to sleep in his +fishing boat last night and float down the Illinois River. He woke up +down at Oglesby. Now he’s rowing back.” + +I laughed. + +“Where did you say he woke up?” + +“Down at Oglesby.” + +“I didn’t know that anybody ever woke up down there,” says I, in +nonsense. + +Later on Scoop and Red dragged themselves into the store empty-handed. + +“Good-by parrot,” says the leader, dropping wearily onto the counter. + +Red swabbed his face. + +“Let’s go swimming,” says he. “I’m about melted.” + +Locking the doors, and posting a notice that the store would be open +again at one o’clock, we headed out of town on the Treebury pike, +going up the Happy Hollow road past the Scotch cemetery. + +“Lookit!” says Scoop, pointing over the cemetery fence. “They’re +digging a grave.” + +“What of it?” says I. “Graves don’t interest me.” + +“But they’re digging _this_ grave in Cap’n Tinkertop’s lot.” + +Red laughed at his thoughts. + +“Maybe they’re going to bury the Cap’n’s wooden leg,” says he. + +“I’d sooner think,” says Scoop, thoughtful-like, “that they were +planning to bury the dead sailor.” + +“But _he_ was buried over in Cedarburg,” says I. + +“They can dig a man up and bury him twice, can’t they?” + +“You’re crazy,” says I. + +In the time that we were dressing after our swim Peg and Red got into +an argument over the escaped parrot. It was fun to listen to them +talk. For Red gets hot-headed when he tries to argue. + +“What?” says Peg, turning up his nose. “Do you mean to call that +ordinary hunk of green feathers that your aunt buys crackers for a +_parrot_? Boy, you don’t know what a real parrot is. Take Solomon +Grundy. Um ... there’s a parrot worth owning, let me tell you.” + +“My aunt’s parrot can lick it,” says Red, strutting around like a +bantam rooster. + +Peg hooted at that. + +“Your aunt’s parrot!” says he. “Go on! Your aunt hasn’t got a parrot. +All she’s got is an empty bird cage.” + +“I can catch her parrot,” says Red, bragging reckless-like. + +“Yah,” says Peg, “and you can catch cold, too.” + +The freckled one was on his high horse now. + +“Here’s my jackknife,” says he, slamming the knife down, “and here’s +a jaw breaker and here’s a shooter and a box of fishhooks. Now, wise +guy, I’ll bet you the whole caboodle that my parrot can lick your +parrot. Put up or shut up.” + +Peg hooked the piece of candy. + +“Um-yum!” says he, smacking. + +Red looked silly. He saw now that Peg had been arguing in fun. As for +old hefty, he was in his glory. He likes to get Red’s goat. And he +has learned from experience that the easiest and surest way to tease +the smaller one is to argue with him about his stuff or his family’s +stuff. For Red has the conceited idea that whatever stuff the Meyers +family owns is the best stuff of its kind in the world. + +Poppy hadn’t been with us up the creek. And on our way home we met +him in the road. + +“I’ve got something for you,” says he, grinning. And what do you know +if he didn’t pull the lost parrot out of his coat. + +“Hot dog!” says Red. + +“I found it in the willows,” says Poppy. + +Taking the parrot, Red fell behind with Peg. We could hear the two of +them whispering and giggling together, the best of pals again. Coming +into town, Scoop and Peg turned south on Grove Street and Red and I +went on alone. + +“What’s eating you?” says I, when the freckled one kept on giggling. + +“Oh,” says he, acting big, “Peg and I know something.” + +And that is all I could get out of him. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + FOUR WHEELBARROWS + + +“Jerry,” Mother told me, when I tumbled into the kitchen where she +was mashing the potatoes for dinner, “there’s a note for you on the +Victrola.” + +“Who from?” says I. + +“Mr. Caleb Obed,” says she. + +I was surprised. + +“What’s the old man writing to me for?” says I. + +“It’s about a wheelbarrow,” says she. + +I got the note. Here it is: + + JERRY: I just got word from Cap’n Tinkertop and he wants + you to meet him at the river bridge at two o’clock with a + wheelbarrow. + CALEB OBED. + +Here Dad came into the kitchen and started fooling around. + +“The Cap’n must be on his way home with a boatload of bullheads,” +says he, when he had read the note. + +Mother laughed. + +“Maybe,” says she, “the old man is tired from his long row and wants +Jerry to wheel him home in style.” + +I was looking at the note. + +“We haven’t got a wheelbarrow,” says I. + +“Sure thing we have,” says Dad. “Look in the garage behind the old +porch screens.” + +When dinner was over I got the wheelbarrow and started out. It was a +mile to the river. And I can’t say that I was very crazy over my job. +But I didn’t back down on account of the hot sun. I didn’t want to +disappoint the Cap’n. We’re good friends and he does things for me. +Besides I wanted to find out the truth about the stuttering parrot. +And I figured it would help me if I were to get on the good side of +him. He would tell me more then. + +I couldn’t figure out, though, why the old man wanted me to meet him +at the river bridge with a wheelbarrow. Certainly it wasn’t to bring +home a big catch of bullheads, as Dad had said in fun. Could it be, I +asked myself, that there was some mystery back of his note? + +Red was ahead of me in River Street. I got my eyes on his bow legs. +And when I got closer to him I saw in surprise that he was trundling +a wheelbarrow like mine. + +“It’s for the Cap’n,” says he, when I overtook him. “He had old Caleb +Obed write me a note to meet him at the river bridge.” + +“Old Caleb wrote me a note, too,” says I. + +“Good night!” says Red, staring at my wheelbarrow. “The old man must +be bringing home a ton of coal.” + +We had a good sweat in our walk in the hot sun. Coming to the river +bridge, we saw old Caleb fishing over the railing. Peg was there, +too. And what do you know if our chum didn’t have a wheelbarrow as +big as Red’s and mine put together. + +Old Caleb was shaking his shaggy head and talking in a loud voice. + +“No,” says he, “I didn’t write you no note ’bout a wheelbarrow. I +don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout.” + +Peg showed how he could scowl. + +“How about this?” says he, shoving a piece of paper under the old +man’s nose. “It’s got your name on it.” + +“Um.... Let me see.” + +“Right there,” says Peg, jabbing with his finger. + +In the time that the near-sighted one was fumbling around for +his spectacles we heard Scoop coming down the river road. He was +whistling and stepping it off as big as cuffy. + +“Lookit!” says Red, sort of squeaky-like, grabbing my arm and +pointing to the newcomer. + +“Another wheelbarrow!” says I, going dizzy. + +“It’s kind of wabbly,” says Scoop, when he had joined us, “but it’s +the only one in our block that I could find.” Here his gab trailed +away in a sudden discovery. “What in Sam Hill?...” says he, blinking. +“Four wheelbarrows! Is it an epidemic?” + +Here a row of monkey faces was lifted into sight out of the weeds. + +“Haw! haw! haw!” says Bid Stricker, jeering-like. + +I saw then where the notes had come from. And did I ever feel cheap! +To let a dumb-bell like Bid Stricker fool us this way! _Good_ night! + +We took after the smart Alecks, running them into town. But we +couldn’t catch them. + +Old Caleb was cackling to himself when we came back to the bridge. + +“Heh! heh! heh!” says he, shaking all over. “They fooled you slick, +didn’t they?” + +“Wait and see what _they_ get,” says Scoop, mopping his face and +glaring in the direction of town where we could see the enemy kicking +up dust in the river road. + +“You’re goin’ to git back at ’em, hey?” + +“_Are_ we?” + +Peg grunted. + +“I’d like to punch Bid Stricker in the snout.” + +“You take Bid,” says I, “and I’ll take Jimmy.” + +Scoop laughed. + +“Do you know what _I’m_ going to do,” says he. + +“What?” says Peg. + +“I’m going to think up a snappy trick to play on them. That’ll be +more fun than beating them up.” + +“Hot dog!” says I, looking ahead to fun. + +Yes, I was full of giggles. For I knew how smart Scoop was in +thinking up tricks. But I guess I would have been full of shivers, +instead, if I had known what we were heading into. In the trick that +we later prepared for the Strickers I got the worst of it. Br-r-r-r! +I don’t like to think about it. And to this day I always tremble when +I go into a dark cellar. I expect to touch something _cold_. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE ESCAPED PARROT + + +As I say, old Caleb Obed and the Cap’n are pretty thick. What one +knows the other knows. They’re that way. They jangle like a couple of +silly kids in playing checkers. But in other ways they’re the closest +of friends. + +Now old Caleb got the idea in his head that we were neglecting his +friend’s bird business. And he started jawing at us. + +“I might ’a’ knowed,” says he, scowling at us, “that you b’ys +wouldn’t tend to business. Here you be traipsin’ ’round the country +with four wheelbarrows an’ the store locked up. When the Cap’n gits +home I’m a-goin’ to tell him ’bout this.” + +Scoop got mad. + +“Go ahead,” says he. “We should worry what you tell him. If he +doesn’t like the way we run the store he can stay home and run it +himself.” + +“I’m a-goin’ back to town,” says Old Caleb, pulling in his fishing +line. “I hain’t a-goin’ to see my ol’ friend’s business go to pot. +No, sir. I’ll jest run it myself till he gits home.” + +“Help yourself,” says Scoop. “We don’t get anything out of it, +anyway.... Come on, gang.” + +“What are we going to do with the wheelbarrows?” says I. + +The leader grinned. + +“We might have a parade,” says he, “and wheel ’em into town.” + +“Yah,” says I, “and have the Strickers hoot at us. Nothin’ doin’,” +and I dumped my wheelbarrow into the weeds. + +The other fellows followed my example. Then we set out for town. + +Red and Peg, I noticed, had their heads together in more whispered +secrets. + +“What’s eating you guys?” says Scoop, watching the others. + +“Ask Red,” says Peg. + +“Ask Peg,” says Red. + +The leader got huffy at the gigglers. + +“Come on, Jerry,” says he, pulling me aside. “We don’t have to hang +around with them if they don’t want us to.” + +“What’s the idea of getting sore at them?” says I, when we were +alone. + +He gave me a hidden grin. + +“I’m not sore,” says he. “I’m just letting on. Don’t you catch on, +Jerry? They’re going to have a parrot fight.” + +“Hot dog!” says I. + +“It’ll be ‘dead dog’ for them,” says he, laughing, “if the Cap’n +comes home and finds black parrot feathers scattered all over his +house. For you know the old man’s temper.” + +“There they go,” says I, pointing to the gigglers, who had hurried +away from us. “They’re heading for the store.” + +“We’ll get into the Cap’n’s attic,” says Scoop, “and watch them +through the trapdoor in the sitting-room ceiling. That’ll be fun, for +they won’t know we’re there. And when the show is over we’ll give +them the horselaugh.” + +The other two stopped in a candy store, so we managed to get ahead of +them. At the bird store we went up a fire escape to the flat roof. + +“The Cap’n doesn’t know it,” says Scoop, raising a scuttle, “but last +week when he was away to the county fair I lost the front-door key +and had to get into the store this way.” + +The attic that we dropped into was stuffy and dusty. I got cobwebs +in my teeth. I hate spiders. And I shivered in the thought of +swallowing one of the nasty things. + +Scoop raised the trapdoor in the sitting-room ceiling. + +“Here we are,” says he. + +The parrot heard us. + +“Why does it keep calling for Ham?” says Scoop. + +“That was the name of its master,” says I, thinking of the dead +sailor. + +“I know that,” says Scoop. “But now that the man is dead I should +think the bird would forget about him.” + +“I k-k-killed him!” came from the parrot in a shrill, screechy +voice. “I k-k-killed him! B-b-blood! B-b-blood! Gu-gu-give me some +b-b-blood!” + +Scoop shook his head. + +“If _we_ only knew what that parrot knows,” says he. + +“What do you mean?” + +“It has a secret, Jerry. This ‘blood’ talk isn’t mere chatter. +There’s a meaning back of it.” + +The parrot was still talking when Peg and Red appeared at the alley +door. + +“Nobody at home,” says Peg, coming into the room below us, “except +Solomon Grundy and the parlor lamp.” + +Red had his aunt’s parrot in a shoe box. + +“My bird’s ready,” says he, strutting around, “whenever yours is.” + +Peg heaved across the room to the hidden wall hole. + +“Howdy, King Solomon,” says he, taking down the picture that hid the +hole. + +The parrot bristled in its cage. + +“Gu-gu-git out, you dirty b-b-bums.” + +The big one laughed. + +“Hey!” says he. “Don’t you talk that way to me, you hunk of petrified +ink, or I’ll bite your cupola off.” + +“H-h-ham!” says the parrot, screechy-like. “R-r-rattle their skulls, +H-h-ham. R-r-rattle their skulls.” + +This brought the other parrot to life. + +“Breakfast,” came a thin voice from the shoe box. “Polly wants +breakfast.” + +Peg laughed. + +“Polly will want a casket pretty quick,” says he. + +“Don’t kid yourself,” says Red, sleuthing the table edge for a wad of +chewing gum that he had parked there earlier in the day. + +“Your parrot sounds like a hunk of cake,” says Peg. + +“Cake with rat poison in it,” says Red. + +“Poor Polly!” says Peg. “You better take a last fond look at your +bird, Red. For it’s heading into sudden death.” + +“You can’t scare me. Bring on your old feather duster, you big +bluffer. I’ll show _you_.” + +“How are we going to work it?” says Peg, squinting at the bristling +black parrot with a calculating eye. + +“Search me,” says Red. “This is my first parrot fight.” + +“We might put ’em in the Cap’n’s churn and crank it up.” + +“Let’s put ’em in a big cage,” says Red. “Then we won’t get clawed.” + +Peg skidded into the store and came back with a cage. + +“I’ll put my bird in first,” says Red. + +Old Solomon Grundy was boiling mad now. _He_ knew there was crooked +work going on! + +“Golly Ned!” says Peg, jumping back to save his fingers. “Did you see +him slap his tin shears at me?” + +Red purred. + +“Talk to him,” says he. “Be gentle.” + +The big one tried it again. + +“Hold ’er, Newt,” says Red. “She’s a-rearin’.” + +“I pretty nearly lost an elbow that time,” says Peg. + +“Can’t we hold the cage doors together?” says Red. “Then we can make +old Solomon get into the big cage. See?” + +Peg shimmied around. + +“I’ve got it,” says he. “Now, git a broom and poke around in the +small cage.” + +Red gave a swat with the broom, shoving Peg in the face. + +“For the love of mud!” says the big one, spitting up broom straws. +“What do you think you’re doing?--shooting pool?” + +“The broom slipped,” says Red, trying to keep his face straight. + +“My right arm’ll slip,” says Peg, “if you don’t back up. _Good_ +night! You sure are dumb. Look where you’re shoving after this.” + +“I did look,” says Red, “but you moved.” + +They fooled around for several minutes, Peg with the cage and the +other one with the broom. But let me tell you they didn’t put +anything over on Solomon Grundy! + +“Now!” says Peg, shoving the cages together. + +Red jabbed with the broom. He jabbed so hard he knocked the cage +out of Peg’s hands. Solomon Grundy was loose in the room now. And +was there _action_! Boy, if I live to be a hundred and fifty years +old I never expect to see anybody move any faster than those parrot +fighters did. Around and around the room they went, ducking and +dodging the furious fighting bird. Sliding for base, sort of, Red +managed to get under the sofa. In the same time Peg got into the +bedroom. + +Here the alley door opened. + +“Um ... I kin see Donald Meyers under the sofy,” says the newcomer in +a cackling voice. “What you doin’ under thar, Donald? Be you hidin’ +on the Cap’n?” + +Before Red could answer there was a strangling scream. + +“Murder!” says Scoop, dropping down through the trapdoor. “Come on, +Jerry.” + +Peg came running from the bedroom just as I landed kerflop! in the +middle of the sitting-room floor. + +“Who screamed?” says he. + +“Old Caleb Obed,” says I. + +Red crawled out of his hiding place. His eyes were as big as saucers. + +“I saw him,” says he. “Solomon Grundy flew at him and he let out a +screech and beat it.” + +Scoop was in the alley now. We could see him crawling along on his +hands and knees. He was trying to capture something with his cap. + +“H-h-ham!” says a familiar rasping voice. + +I gave a cry. + +“It’s Solomon Grundy!” + +Too quick for the leader, the stuttering parrot flopped its +funeral-like wings and disappeared over the roof of Red’s aunt’s +millinery store on the opposite side of the street. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + VOODOOISM + + +Red and Peg were in a pickle. There was no doubt about that. Their +parrot fight having ended in the escape of the black parrot--the +mystery parrot, as we now called it--they knew that the Cap’n would +go for them when he found out what they had done. + +Scoop and I hadn’t been asked in on the others’ fun. In fact the +parrot fighters had acted kind of smart with us. So now we paid them +back by telling them that the black parrot’s escape was their funeral +and not ours. + +Still, we wouldn’t go back on them, we said, having fun with them in +their predicament. If they ended up in the town jail we would call on +them, brotherly-like, and keep them in peanuts and chewing gum. + +Wanting to save his hide, Red said he guessed he would hike into the +country and visit his relatives for a spell. + +“My Uncle Charley keeps cows,” says he, “and I can help him milk +them. So he’ll be glad to have me around.” + +Scoop hooted. + +“_You_ milk a cow!” says he. “You’ll be telling us next that you know +how to husk pumpkins.” + +“If a cow stepped on you,” says I to the guilty one, “it would be +worse than going to jail.” + +“Stop talking about jail,” says he, shivering. “You give me the +jimjams.” + +Scoop waggled serious-like. + +“I wonder if it’s true,” says he, “that Bill Hadley feeds his +prisoners on bread and water.” + +“Absolutely,” says I. + +“I can’t swallow it, though,” says Scoop, “that Bill really mixes the +bread and water in the cat’s dish.” + +“I’ve seen the dish,” says I. + +This kind of crazy talk didn’t scare Peg like it did poor Red. But +just the same old hefty was worried in the thought of what he had +done. He realized that he was in a serious predicament. + +Then Scoop put his wits to work in the others’ behalf. The scheme +that he suggested was a darb, all right. But Red held off. + +“Gosh!” says he, more worried than ever. “What’ll my aunt say?” + +“She won’t know anything about it,” says Scoop. “For she’s in +Chicago, you say.” + +“But why use _my_ parrot?” says Red. “Why don’t you use one of the +store parrots?” + +“They aren’t big enough,” says Scoop. “Yours is the only one in the +store Solomon Grundy’s size.” + +Red shrugged. + +“All right,” says he, giving in. “I’ll take a chance. But, boy, I +can see my finish if I get caught. You don’t know my aunt! She’s a +rip-snorter, let me tell you.” + +It was the leader’s scheme to blacken Red’s green parrot with soot +and put it in the escaped parrot’s cage. That would give us a chance +to capture the missing parrot without having an empty cage in the +wall hole to give us away. Later on we would switch the real black +parrot for the sooted parrot. The Cap’n never would be the wiser. He +wouldn’t know that his black parrot had been out of the house. Thus +his temper would be saved and our two chums would escape trouble. + +I was given the job of putting the sitting room in order. And in +returning the Cap’n’s dead brother’s picture to its wall hook I +noticed something about the enlargement that had escaped me in the +other times that I had handled the picture. + +In the tattooing on the dead sailor’s bare chest was a black parrot. +It was the only thing pricked into the skin in black ink. All around +it were colored designs--anchors and flowers and moons and things +like that. + +While I stood there staring at the unusual picture, my thoughts +bobbing around in my head, Scoop yipped to me to come into the +kitchen and see the fun. + +I found him rubbing soot from the stove into Red’s parrot’s green +feathers. + +“Solomon Grundy, Jr.,” says he, laughing. + +The parrot eyed us reproachful-like in its smudgy disgrace. + +“Breakfast,” it whimpered. “Polly wants breakfast.” + +“What’ll you have for breakfast this morning?” says Peg, in fun. +“Some fried fishhooks or some boiled shoe buttons?” + +“Breakfast,” says the parrot again. “Polly wants breakfast.” + +I drew the leader into the sitting room. + +“I’ve made a discovery,” says I. + +“So did Christopher Columbus,” says he, grinning. + +“Lookit!” says I, taking him up to the dead sailor’s picture. + +“A black parrot!” says he, following my finger. + +“I bet you there’s a connection between this picture and the real +parrot,” says I. “For this man owned the mystery parrot. He was a +sailor. And you know how many secrets a sailor has.” + +“Maybe he was a pirate,” says Scoop, letting his imagination jump +along. “The pirate ship was called the _Black Parrot_. See? And all +the pirates had this black-parrot symbol tattooed on them.” + +“And the real black parrot,” says I, “was the ship mascot. Just like +the cook’s parrot in _Treasure Island_.” + +The leader laughed. + +“Jerry,” says he, “we’re a crazy pair. We’ve got too much +imagination.” + +“Just the same,” says I, hanging on, “I bet you there _is_ a secret +to the tattooed parrot. You wait and see.” + +We had planned to turn the store over to old Caleb when he came +around. That would give us a chance to go parrot hunting. But to our +surprise the old man didn’t come back. + +So we put Peg in charge of the store. Then the rest of us started +out, each one taking a different course. I went to the left into +Zulutown. But nowhere on the house roofs or in the trees did I catch +sight of the escaped black bird. + +Hoping that one of my chums had been more successful than me, I +started back, still keeping a sharp lookout for the lost parrot. +Pretty soon I met Red limping down the street. He looked like the +last rose of summer. + +“Nothin’ doin’,” says he wearily. + +I was kind of grouchy. + +“All we’ve done this week,” says I, “is search for lost parrots. +First it was your aunt’s parrot and now it’s the Cap’n’s parrot. I +suppose it’ll be somebody else’s parrot to-morrow.” + +The other one laughed. + +“Poppy Ott ought to be here. For he’s a better parrot hunter than us.” + +“I haven’t seen Poppy since noon,” says I. + +“I met him down town right after dinner,” says Red. “He was making +the rounds of the stores for a job. But he hadn’t landed anything.” + +“His pa’s got a job,” says I. “He’s going to do night watching in +Dad’s brickyard.” + +Red waggled. + +“I like that kid,” says he, thinking of our new chum. “I hope he +stays here.” + +Coming to the store, we heard the Cap’n’s voice. But he wasn’t +raving at Scoop and Peg. So we knew he hadn’t found out about the +soot trick. + +“Howdy, b’ys,” says he, when we joined him in the sitting room. +“Awful hot afternoon, hain’t it? I purty nearly melted rowin’ home. +Um.... I’ve learnt a lesson, I have. The next time I go fishin’ you +won’t ketch me goin’ to sleep in my boat.” + +Suddenly a wilted voice came out of the wall hole. + +“Breakfast,” says Red’s parrot, whimpering-like. “Polly wants +breakfast.” + +The Cap’n gave us a quick searching look. + +“Um.... You b’ys kin go home now if you want to,” says he, trying to +get rid of us. “I won’t be a-needin’ you any more to-day.” + +“Breakfast,” says the parrot again. “Polly wants breakfast.” + +I remembered then that this “breakfast” talk was about the only thing +that Red’s parrot could say. + +Peg got my ear. + +“Say, Jerry,” says he, “have you got your ventrilo handy?” + +“Sure thing,” says I, feeling in my pockets. + +“Then you better crank it up.” + +“What do you want me to do,” says I, “make a sound like a gold fish?” + +“That blamed parrot of Red’s can’t stutter. We never thought of that. +So you’ve got to stutter for it. See?” + +Maybe you know what a ventrilo is. It’s a little tin jigger that +you put in your mouth to throw your voice. Like in ventriloquism. +I paid ten cents for mine. The day I got it I took it to school to +fool the teacher. I thought it would be fun to throw my voice into +the wastepaper basket. But I didn’t know how to work it that day. +I hadn’t practiced. And instead of having fun with the teacher she +spotted me right off and sent me up to the principal. + +But I learned how to work the ventrilo afterwards. So I was ready now +to do some voice throwing at Peg’s orders. + +“H-h-ham!” says I, trying as best I could to make my voice sound like +the black parrot’s. “H-h-ham! Rattle their skulls, H-h-ham. Rattle +their skulls.” + +The Cap’n was on needles and pins. + +“You b’ys better clear out,” says he. + +Scoop laughed. + +“What’s the matter, Cap’n? Are you afraid we’ll find out about your +black parrot?” + +The old man’s jaw fell. + +“Heh?” says he, staring. + +“We know you’ve got a black parrot over there behind your brother’s +picture,” says Scoop. “So you needn’t try to cover up on us. We know +it was your brother’s parrot, too; and we know that he paid you two +thousand dollars for taking care of it.” + +“I swan!” says the fidgeting old man, sort of gasping in his +surprise. “What all _don’t_ you b’ys know?” + +“H-h-ham!” says I again. “H-h-ham! Bring me some h-h-ham and eggs and +a b-b-bucket of b-b-blood.” + +“Why don’t you give your bird some fresh air?” says Scoop. “_Good_ +night! It’ll suffocate in that hot hole. Have a heart, Cap’n.” + +The old man was fearfully worked up. + +“You b’ys keep ’way from that that pesky par’ot,” says he in a +panting voice. “Don’t you go near it to let it git a crack at you. +Cats an’ codfish--_no_! Why, if you knowed what I know ’bout that +thar devilish par’ot you wouldn’t come in the house even. No, you +wouldn’t! _Me_--I keep out of its reach, let me tell you. A feller, +saiz I, is got only one life to live, an’ I hain’t a-goin’ to run no +chance of havin’ my life cut short by no voodoo par’ot.” + +Scoop was dancing in excitement now. + +“Voodoo parrot!” says he. “What do you mean by that, Cap’n? Tell us.” + +“B’ys,” says the old man, more composed now, “that thar par’ot is +a’ awful worry on my mind. Yes, ’tis. Sometimes I wish that my fool +brother haid kep’ his devilish par’ot an’ his money, too. Fur every +minute that it’s in the house thar’s a risk to me an’ to anybody who +might come in. That’s why I’m keepin’ the bird hid. I never told you +b’ys ’bout it, fur I didn’t want you nor nobody else ’round here to +know that it was here.” + +“Is ‘voodoo’ a disease?” says Scoop. + +At this question the old man then told us that voodooism was a sort +of sorcery practiced by the natives of Haiti. On one of his trips to +the island the tattooed sailor had learned about a strange “voodoo” +parrot in a native temple. The natives called it the “death parrot” +because it was black. They were afraid of its bite. It could kill +people, they said. It was a “voodooer.” The tattooed sailor and +another man named Bige Morgan got up the scheme of swiping the black +parrot in fun. And one night they stained their bodies to look like +natives and got into the temple. Pretty soon the natives all over the +island knew that the voodoo parrot had been stolen. They were crazy. +They found out about the two sailors. And to save their lives the +sailors put to sea on a raft. The wind blew them into the ocean. Two +or three days later they landed on a coral island. Here Bige Morgan +died suddenly. + +“When I first heerd the story,” says the Cap’n, “I told Ham that it +warn’t no par’ot bite that killed Bige. Nope. He was p’isoned from +somethin’ he eat. Or mebbe it was a snake bite. But Ham allus was +a superstitious cuss. _He_ believed in spirits. Why, if I’ve heerd +him tell it once I’ve heerd him tell it a hundred times how _he_ +was a-goin’ to come back when he was daid an’ talk to me. So, with +them idears in his head, I never could quite git him to believe +that they was no foundation to the voodoo story. An’ to that p’int, +b’ys, I calc’late that it warn’t no good thing fur me to be talkin’ +’bout it so much to him. Fur it’s a fact I kind of got a halfway +superstitious fear of the blamed par’ot myself. Ham wouldn’t kill it. +He was skeered to kill it--skeered, I mean, that it would bring him +bad luck. When he was rescued from the island he took the par’ot with +him. An’ he haid it fur years an’ years before he died. He kep’ it +shet up whar it coldn’t git a whack at nobody with its bill. Since +I brought the par’ot home I’ve kep’ it shet up, too. That was the +safest plan. An’, as I say, when I feed it I don’t git clost up to it. +Fur it’s a fact, b’ys, I don’t _know_ that it hain’t a voodooer. I +kain’t hardly swallow the story. But on the other hand I kain’t prove +that they is no truth in the story without me tryin’ the bird out on +somebody; an’, of course, I won’t never do _that_. Great guns--_no_! +So you kin see why I don’t want you fellers to git near it. Jest +leave it alone. Prob’ly nothin’ would happen if it did take a nip at +you. Still, as I say, I hain’t sure. It’s better, saiz I, to be safe +than sorry. The wrong time to wonder if mushrooms is toadstools is +after a feller is got ’em in his stomick.” + +Well, we didn’t laugh at the silly old man in his own house. But we +sure did whoop ’er up when we were outside. Such a crazy story! + +“To-morrow,” says Scoop, “we’ll catch Solomon Grundy and switch birds +on the old gilly. Then in a week or two we’ll tell him the truth +about the parrot’s escape. It’ll put him easy, I bet, to learn that +the voodoo story is bunk.” + +“If we’re going to keep his mind easy,” says I, “we better keep him +away from old Caleb.” + +“Why so?” + +“Old Caleb was bit by the parrot. Red says so. And if the Cap’n finds +out about it he’ll worry himself sick.” + +“We’ll call on old Caleb after supper,” says Scoop, “and sort of hush +him up.” + +Knowing that the stuttering parrot had come from Cedarburg, the same +place where the mino bird had been stolen, we had thought for a while +that there might be some secret connection between the two unusual +birds. But now we put this thought completely aside. It was true that +our old friend had been in Cedarburg the week of the mino bird’s +theft. But that was just a happenstance, Scoop said. + +The thing that puzzled us now was the newspaper advertisement. No +mention had been made of this by the Cap’n in his talk with us. Yet +we knew for a certainty that he had advertised the black parrot for +sale. + +Was he cheating? Having promised his brother to keep the bird, was he +now trying to get rid of it on the sly? + +“We’ll ask him about the advertisement,” says Scoop, “and see what he +says.” + +“Let’s quiz him about the spy, too,” says I. + +“I had thought of doing that,” says the leader. + +We figured now that the mystery was pretty much cleared up. All that +was left was the spy. And the Cap’n probably could tell us who the +prowler was. + +What we didn’t suspect was that the spy was the biggest part of +the mystery of all. Yes, sir, the _real_ mystery lay ahead of us. +A lonely cemetery, an empty grave, a weird voice out of another +world. _That_ was the kind of stuff we bumped into in working on the +mystery. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + THE ROBBERY + + +Mother was putting the supper on the table when I got home. + +“We won’t wait for your father,” says she, “for Poppy’s hungry after +his hard work and wants to eat.” + +I counted four plates on the table. + +“Hot dog!” says I. “Is Poppy going to eat with us?” + +“He’s upstairs in the bathroom washing his face and hands,” says +Mother. “I asked him to stay to supper. He’s a good boy, Jerry.” + +“You tell ’em,” says I. + +“What do you suppose he’s been doing this afternoon.” + +“Job hunting?” + +“Not all the afternoon. He came to the back door about three o’clock +and asked me if he could mow the lawn. I was surprised at first, for +that’s your job. Then I thought maybe you had asked him to do it. +But he said you hadn’t. He wanted to do it, he said, to repay us for +the clothes we gave him this morning.” + +“I noticed that the grass was cut,” says I. + +“He worked on the lawn for two hours. Then he fixed the hinge on the +back door. He’s handy with tools.” + +I hadn’t thought of Poppy doing anything like this to repay us for +the clothes we had given to him. But I could see now that he had +done the right thing. He wasn’t the “gimme” kind of a kid, that was +one sure thing. He was willing to work for what he got. I liked his +spirit. + +Giving my cap a throw, I beat it upstairs to the bathroom. + +“Hi,” says I, digging my new chum in the ribs. + +“Hi, Jerry,” says he, acting glad to see me. + +“You should have been with us this afternoon,” says I. “We had a +barrel of fun.” + +“I was busy,” says he. Then he laughed. “Say,” says he, his eyes +twinkling, “do you know where I can get a good wheelbarrow?” + +I took my medicine with a grin. + +“Any time you want a wheelbarrow,” says I, “just write me a note.” + +“I heard about the four fake notes,” says he, laughing. + +“The Strickers are blabbing it all over town, hey?” + +“Sure thing.” + +“They won’t think it’s so funny,” says I, “when we turn the tables on +them.” + +“Do I get in on the fun?” says he eagerly. + +“_Do_ you?” says I. “Kid, we need you. For there’s five of them. And +with you on our side we’ll be even numbers.” + +Red weaved into the house while we were eating supper. His stomach +was all out of kilter, he said, rubbing it. It was his sister’s +baking-powder biscuits. + +“I wouldn’t dast to go in swimming to-night,” says he, waggling +serious-like. “I’d sink.” + +Mother laughed. + +“Shame on you,” says she, “for talking that way about your sister’s +cooking. Clara is a good cook for a young girl.... Is your mother +still in Chicago?” + +“She went to Chicago with Aunt Pansy,” says Red. + +I grinned at the sufferer. + +“Why don’t you eat here while your mother’s away?” says I. + +He jumped at the chance. + +“Can I, Mrs. Todd?” + +“No, you can’t,” says Mother. “I wouldn’t offend your sister by +encouraging you to come here for your meals.” + +A groan came from the unhappy one. + +“If I die before Ma gets home,” says he, rolling his eyes like a sick +cow, “bury me under the mulberry tree.” + +“We’ll bury you under a gooseberry bush,” says Poppy. + +Supper over, my two chums went outside as Dad breezed in. + +“Well,” says he, mussing up my hair, “we have a new night watchman at +the factory.” + +“Mr. Ott?” says I, grinning. + +“Sure thing. And for his son’s sake I hope he tends to business and +makes good. But I don’t feel enthused. For he’s an absent-minded old +codger.” + +“Jerry has been telling me some very interesting things about this +old detective and his son,” says Mother. “The boys have taken Poppy +into their gang. And they’re going to take him to school in September +and help make a home for him. I think that’s fine.” + +Dad gave me a look that made me feel good. + +“Jerry’s all right,” says he, bragging on me. “I wouldn’t trade him +for a million-dollar shoe brush.” + +Passing into the street, Poppy and Red and I meandered to the corner, +where we met Scoop and Peg. The others were headed for old Caleb’s +place, so we joined them. Coming to the old bachelor’s house, we +found the front door wide open. But no one answered when we knocked. +So we went around the house to the weedy garden, thinking that the +old man might be there. But he wasn’t. + +Peg got his eyes on a man next door. + +“Where’s Mr. Obed?” says he. + +“_Him?_” says old Paddy Gorbett. “I hain’t seed him since the middle +of the afternoon.” + +“His front door’s wide open,” says Peg. + +“Course ’tis. _He_ never locks it. Why should he? He hain’t got +nothin’ in thar worth stealin’ ’cept mebbe his stuffed birds.” + +We had seen old Caleb’s case of stuffed birds. He has a lot of them. +Fixing up stuffed birds is a hobby of his. He has been doing it for +years. + +Scoop was thirsty. And when he went into the open house to get a +drink we followed him. That was all right. For old Caleb was our +friend. + +Red is quick with his eyes. + +“Lookit!” says he, pointing. “Here’s a new bird. It must be Mrs. +Solomon Grundy.” + +We ran across the room to the stuffed-bird collection. + +“It’s a dead-ringer for the Cap’n’s parrot,” says the observing one. + +Peg saw a chance to start an argument. + +“A black crow,” says he, turning up his nose. + +“Like so much mud,” says Red, bristling. “It’s a black parrot. See +its bill.” + +Poppy was interested in the stuffed bird. + +“It isn’t a crow,” says he, “and it isn’t a parrot. I wonder if it +isn’t a mino bird.” + +Red gave a yip. + +“Maybe it’s the stolen mino bird,” says he, excited. + +“Jinks!” says Peg, his thoughts jumping along. “It could be. For old +Caleb was at the sailor’s funeral. Don’t you remember, fellows? He +went with the Cap’n.” + +“Sure thing,” says I, checking back in my memory. + +“I bet a cookie,” says Red, “that this _is_ the stolen mino bird. Old +Caleb hooked the bird for his collection. See?” + +“Mrs. Strange told my father,” says Poppy, “that she would pay him a +thousand dollars for the mino bird. But, of course, the bird isn’t +worth anything to her dead.” + +Red screwed up his forehead. + +“Is she a mean woman?” says he, after a moment. + +“Mean? I don’t think so. Why do you ask that?” + +“I was thinking,” says the freckled one, “that she could put old +Caleb in jail for this.” + +I didn’t like the thought of old Caleb going to jail. And I told the +others that we ought to keep still about the new stuffed bird until +we knew for sure that it was indeed the stolen mino bird. + +Poppy took this as a direct hint. + +“I give you my promise,” says he, “that I won’t say anything to Pa +about this. It would only excite him and take his mind away from his +work. Anyway, he isn’t a detective any more--he’s a night watchman. +So why should I tell him? It will be better for me to keep still.” + +I grinned. + +“You say your pa isn’t a detective any more,” says I, “but _you_ are.” + +“No,” says he, shaking his head. + +“Oh, yes you are,” says I. “Scoop and I and Red and Peg are Juvenile +Jupiter Detectives. And if you’re going to be in our gang you’ve got +to be a Juvenile Jupiter Detective, too. It’s fun.” + +“However,” says Scoop, laughing in the recollection of the way old +Mr. Arnoldsmith skinned us, “it won’t cost you a dollar and a quarter +to get in, as it did each of us. We’ll let you in free.” + +It was getting dark now. We could hear the Indian medicine man +tooting his bugle to draw a crowd to his free show. So we hurried +down town to see the fun. + +A lot of people were gathered around the show wagon. But we got good +places up in front. A kid always can do that. Bid Stricker was there. +I gave him a stiff-arm. He didn’t dast to shove back, for he saw my +gang. But he had a mean grin. He was thinking about his wheelbarrow +trick, I suppose. I can’t bear that kid! + +The Indian’s face was the color of my Sunday shoes--a sort of reddish +tan. He had long black hair and black eyes. I never saw sharper eyes +in a man. He wore head feathers and his leather pants and jacket had +leather fringe. For shoes he had on a pair of beaded moccasins. + +Before he started doing his tricks he gave a lecture, telling about +himself. It was “me” did this and “me” did that. His talk sounded +silly to me. If he was as smart in book education as he said, and +really had been to an Indian college in Pennsylvania, why didn’t he +use his education and say “I” instead of “me”? I figured it out, +though, that he talked this way to sound more like a real Indian. It +helped him to get business. + +His magic tricks were better than his lecture. White handkerchiefs +were changed into fancy flags; a wooden cube was made to cross the +stage from one hat to another. I don’t remember all of the tricks. +But that doesn’t matter. The only trick that comes into my story is +his “spirit writing.” + +“My friend Bill,” says he, starting the trick, “a heap fine friend +Bill was. Poor Bill him die. Bill him go to happy hunting ground. +But Bill him come back in spirit. Sure thing, Bill him come back +to-night. Bill him write spirit message.” + +Here he passed out four blank sheets of writing paper. And people +wanting to get a “spirit letter” from “Bill” were told to write their +names on the sheets. That was to mark them. Then the sheets were +rolled up together and put into a glass tube. The tube was corked +at the ends. We could see the sheets through the glass. After a few +minutes the sheets were taken out. And what do you know if they +didn’t have writing on them! + +“Yes, Bill him heap smart spirit,” says the Indian. “Bill him tell +everything. Bill him tell old bachelor how to get fine squaw. Sure +thing. White squaw. Me mean wife. You call him wife and me call him +squaw. One time Bill him tell white man where money hid. Deep down in +ground. Man he go dig hole. Get money. Rich man. To-morrow night Bill +him write more spirit letters. Maybe Bill him tell where more money +hid. Deep down in ground. Then _you_ get rich. Bill him heap smart +spirit.” + +At Scoop’s signal we got out of the crowd. + +“Hot dog!” says he. “Now I know how we can get even with the +Strickers and pay them back for that wheelbarrow trick. The ‘spirit +letter’ trick of the Indian’s gave me an idea. I know how to do that +trick. It’s easy.” + +“Isn’t it real magic?” says I. + +“Real magic?” says he. “Don’t make me laugh, Jerry. There isn’t such +a thing as real magic. The letters are written ahead of time with +invisible ink. And there’s a chemical in the corks that causes the +writing to show up when the sheets are shut up in the tube. See? But +Bid Stricker doesn’t know the trick--I could tell so from his face. +All right--listen to this.” + +There was some quick talk. + +“Jinks!” says I. “Do you think you can work it?” + +“Leave it to me,” says the leader. + +Red had some money. So we invited him to treat us to ice-cream cones +as a sort of celebration of our coming revenge. Then we had some +bananas and chocolate bars. + +It was ten-thirty now. So we got ready to do some spy capturing in +the Cap’n’s alley. + +“It would be my scheme,” says Scoop, taking the lead as usual, “to +stretch a rope at each end of the alley. We’ll let the man in. See? +Then when he tries to run away we’ll raise the rope and trip him up.” + +“He’ll get an awful bump,” says I. + +“We should worry about that. The harder he falls the easier it will +be for us to capture him.” + +“What are we going to do with him after we get him?” says I. + +“Make him talk. Maybe we’re all wrong in thinking that old Caleb +stole the mino bird. Maybe it was this spy.” + +“I hope so,” says I quickly. “For I’d hate to see old Caleb get into +trouble.” + +“If the spy has the stolen mino bird,” says Peg, “or knows where it +is, it’s a cinch, with him hanging around here this way, that there +_is_ some connection between the two black birds after all.” + +Scoop waggled. + +“The Cap’n has told us a part of his parrot’s secret. But I’m +convinced that he hasn’t told us everything. He’s keeping something +back.” + +“We should have quizzed him about the spy,” says I. + +“Yes,” says Scoop, “we could have done that. But I think it will be +more fun to capture the spy and get his story first-handed. That’s my +idea of real detective work.” + +So we got the Cap’n’s clothesline and cut it in the middle. This gave +us two ropes long enough for our purpose. Fixing the ropes, one at +each end of the alley, we lay down in the dark. + +It came eleven o’clock; then twelve o’clock. + +“He ought to come pretty quick,” says Peg. “For he was here at +midnight last night.” + +“Sh-h-h-h!” says Scoop. + +“I hope he doesn’t come at all,” says Red, who had been scared from +the start. + +“We’re five to his one,” says Scoop. “So what’s there to shiver +about?” + +“He’s a man,” says Red. “And he’s got an awful mean face. I’d hate to +have him swish his club at _me_.” + +Peg chuckled in the dark. + +“I bet he’ll carry a knife to-night,” was the way old hefty further +cheered up the frightened one. “A dagger with a double edge.” + +Red gurgled. + +“_Good_ night!” says he. “Let’s beat it.” + +We lay in hiding until one o’clock, then gave up our job and started +for home. We’d have to try our luck some other night, we said. + +The down-town streets were empty. No one was in sight except us. But +pretty soon the deep quietness of the business section was broken by +a rattling flivver. The car came into sight on the tear. As it passed +us we saw that the driver was Bill Hadley, the Tutter marshal. + +“Something’s happened,” says Scoop, excited. “Come on, fellows. Let’s +follow him.” + +We set out on the run. Bill, of course, was traveling many times +faster than us. But we managed to keep his red tail light in sight. + +“He turned into the brickyard,” says I, panting. + +Poppy gave a queer throat sound. + +“I knew it,” says he. “It’s Pa. He’s done something.” + +The brickyard office was all lit up. Dad was there. We could see him +through the open door. We could see Bill Hadley, too, and old Mr. +Ott. + +Dad had been rummaging the safe. + +“Cleaned out as slick as a whistle,” says he. Then he turned to +Poppy’s father, who was standing like a dumb-bell in the middle of +the room. “You’re _some_ watchman, you are!... Lock him up, Bill. For +there’s a lot of money missing.” + +The old detective got his voice. + +“Heh?” says he, cackling-like. “Lock me up, you say? Lock _me_ up? +What fur? I hain’t done nothin’.” + +Bill snapped a pair of handcuffs on the pottering wrists. + +“I’ve been suspicious of you,” says he, scowling, “ever since you hit +town.” + +The old detective drew himself up. + +“Um ...” says he in dignity. “Mebbe you don’t know who I be.” + +Bill grunted. + +“I admit it,” says he, “but I hain’t worryin’ none about it.” + +“Sir,” says the old man, “I want you to know that I am a member of +the purfession.” + +“Which purfession?” says Bill, with a sneer. “Safe crackin’ or +bootleggin’?” + +“I am a detective, sir,” says Mr. Ott in continued dignity. + +“You’ll be a ‘defective,’” says Bill, grim-like, “when I get through +with you--you old crook!” + +Poppy flew into the office then. + +“Don’t you dare to call Pa a crook,” says he, facing Bill with +flashing eyes. “For he isn’t a crook. He never did a crooked thing in +his life. He’s queer. But he isn’t bad.” + +Bill stared. + +“Who are you?” says he. + +“He’s my father,” says Poppy. + +“In that case,” says Bill, “mebbe I better lock both of you up.” + +“Pa isn’t guilty,” says Poppy, dogged-like. “He wouldn’t steal a +penny, I tell you.” + +Bill is awfully blunt. + +“Is the old guy cuckoo?” says he, pointing to the prisoner with a jab +of his elbow. + +Poppy flushed. + +“No,” says he angrily, “Pa isn’t cuckoo. He’s just queer. But that’s +none of your business.” + +“Sometimes,” says Bill, “queer and cuckoo mean the same thing.” + +That hurt Poppy. And at the moment I wished I was big enough to knock +the tar out of Bill. The big bully! + +Our new chum had his father by the arm now. + +“What happened, Pa?” says he. “Tell me about it. Maybe I can help +you.” + +The old man acted dizzy. + +“Why,” says he, feeling his way into his thoughts, “I was a-sittin’ +in here an’ all of a sudden a man come in. He said he was the +president an’ general manager of the company. ‘You hain’t the man +what hired me,’ says I. ‘No,’ says he, ‘that was my brother. We run +the brickyard together,’ says he. ‘I’m the president and general +manager and my brother’s the secretary and treasurer.’ He gimme a +cigar an’ sit down at that desk over thar an’ started fussin’ with +them papers. ‘Lots of times,’ says he, ‘I git up in the middle of the +night and come down here and work for an hour or two.’” + +“Did he ask you to open the safe so he could rob it,” says Bill, +sarcastic-like, “or did he open it hisself?” + +“_He_ opened it. He did it while I was makin’ my rounds in the +brickyard. When I come back the safe was open, as I say, an’ the man +was gone.” + +“And so was my three thousand dollars,” says Dad angrily. + +“I figured mebbe the safe door ought to be shet. So I telyphoned to +you, Mr. Todd. An’ then----” + +“We know the rest,” says Dad, sort of disgusted-like. + +“If they’s bin a robbery here,” says the old detective, looking at +the safe, troubled-like, “you kain’t blame me. Fur the man said he +was your brother, Mr. Todd. Yes, he did. An’ when you hired me you +never told me that you didn’t have a brother.” + +Bill scowled at the stoop-shouldered prisoner. + +“You’re a puzzle to me,” says he. “I don’t know whether you’re the +slickest crook that ever hit this town or the dumbest.” + +In the next hour Poppy’s father was taken to the jail and locked up +in one of the steel cages. Our new chum was all broken up by the +arrest. It was discouraging, he said. + +Then he clenched his fists, like a fellow does when he gets ready to +fight. + +“I told you fellows that I didn’t care about being a detective,” says +he, his jaw squared. “But I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to be a +detective and catch this robber. This was _your_ case an hour ago. +But now it’s _my_ case. I’m going to take the lead, if you don’t +mind. For I’ve got more at stake than you have.” + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + RED’S PREDICAMENT + + +We were sore at Bill Hadley now. And I must confess, too, that I was +a little bit sore at Dad. This thing of locking up Poppy’s father +was all wrong, we said--only, of course, not wanting to hurt me, the +other fellows didn’t say very much about Dad’s part in the unfair +arrest in front of me. + +The law had it figured out that the dull-minded old detective knew +more about the safe robbery than he was willing to admit. He was +acting dumb to cover up, Bill Hadley said. But _we_ knew that the old +man was innocent. And that is why we were so het up over his arrest. + +Afterwards, when I had cooled off, I had to admit to myself that Dad +had acted within his business rights in ordering the old detective’s +arrest. For he didn’t know anything about the old man’s character +except what we had told him. He had no proof that the odd-acting one +wasn’t a crook. + +But you know how it is with a boy in a case like that. He sort of +lets his feelings decide things for him. And just now, as I say, in +a steady belief in our new chum, our feelings told us that old Mr. +Ott was wholly innocent of any unworthy part in the safe looting. And +when Poppy made the vow in front of the town jail where the red water +hydrant is that he’d go to the ends of the world, as it were, to +bring the real thief to justice, and thus clear his father’s name, we +told him, as loyal pals, to lead on and we would follow. We were with +him until the last dog was hung, we said. + +And of the four of us no one was more sincerely willing to accept +the new leadership than Scoop, himself. I thought that was pretty +fine and generous of my old chum. He had been the leader heretofore. +But now he was cheerfully willing to let Poppy do the leading. He +recognized Poppy’s right to leadership. + +That’s the way for a boy to be, I think. The leadership “hog” doesn’t +register with me at all. A fellow has got to give and take in this +world. He can’t be the drum major and head the procession _all_ the +time. + +To go back to the old detective’s arrest, we were sore at Bill +Hadley, as I say. Dumb-bell and bully that he was, he would get no +help from us, we said, in hot conversation. We would keep away from +him. We would work on our own clews and pick up new ones. And in the +end we would show _him_ a thing or two about clever detecting. + +You can see what I mean. _We_ knew about the spy. And, further, we +knew that the spy, for unknown reasons, was interested in the Cap’n’s +parrot. The spy, of course, was the man who had robbed the brickyard +safe. We had little doubt about that. So all we had to do in order to +capture the law breaker was to lay for him near the Cap’n’s store. +We’d get him sooner or later. + +But first, we said, we would find out all we could from the Cap’n +about the mysterious prowler. And in that plan we agreed to meet at +the bird store the following morning at nine-thirty. + +Poppy went home with me that night. Mother let us sleep late. +Breakfast over, we went up the creek to the jungle to take care of +the rope-tailed horse and see that everything was shipshape around +the wagon. + +“You better lock up,” says I to Poppy, “and come home with me until +your pa is free again. Bring your horse, too. You can keep it in Red +Meyer’s barn. He won’t care.” + +Going to the bird store, we found old Cap’n Tinkertop in a peck of +trouble. + +“It’s Solomon Grundy,” says he, pottering nervously about the room. +“They’s somethin’ the matter with him. He hain’t actin’ like hisself +at all.” + +A wilted voice came out of the wall hole. + +“Breakfast,” says the sooted parrot. “Polly wants breakfast.” + +The troubled look deepened in the old man’s eyes. + +“See?” says he, nervous-like. “They’s somethin’ the matter with that +thar par’ot. He never acted meek like that before.” + +Poppy grinned. + +“Maybe he’s got the colic.” + +“Um.... I wish he’d git the colic, or somethin’ worse’n the colic, +an’ die. Yes, I do. It would be a big worry lifted off _my_ mind.” + +Poppy got down to business. + +“Did you ever try to sell your parrot?” says he. + +The old man was caught off his guard in the direct question. + +“Heh?” says he, staring. + +“One time in the ‘for sale’ column of a newspaper,” says Poppy, “I +saw an advertisement of a black parrot. Was it your parrot, Cap’n?” + +The old man was still staring. + +“Heh? Was it _my_ par’ot, you say? What’s that?” The wrinkled face +changed quickly. “Of course it warn’t my par’ot,” came the sharp +denial. “Now git out of here, you kids, while I do up my housework.” + +He was lying to us. We could see that. And it was because he feared +further unwelcome questions that he wanted to get rid of us. + +But we didn’t budge. + +“Night before last,” says Poppy, “a man was seen at your window. My +father tried to arrest the suspicious-acting one and was knocked +senseless. Now we’ve got to capture this prowler in order to get my +father out of jail. Can you tell us who he is, Cap’n?” + +Here a customer came into the store and drew its fidgeting owner’s +attention. Nor would the old man let us question him further that +morning. He was too busy to talk to us, he said, whenever we brought +up the subject of the spy. The real point was that he didn’t want to +talk to us. We realized that. + +What was he covering up? Was it a crime of some kind? Did he know +what the black parrot meant in its “blood” talk? And knowing the +death parrot’s probably wicked secret, did he know, or suspect, who +the spy was? + +In regard to the newspaper advertisement, we were convinced, as +I say, that the secretive one had openly lied to us. He _had_ +advertised his black parrot for sale, notwithstanding his denial to +us. We had proof against him in the shape of the clipping, itself. +And, further, his actions had convicted him. + +But it was hard for us to understand _why_ he had advertised the +parrot for sale. It was contrary to his promise to his dead brother. + +I went with Poppy that morning to visit his father in the town jail. + +“This is a’ awful poor jail,” says the prisoner, his face clouded +with dissatisfaction in his cramped quarters. “I never was in a worse +one. No service at all. I didn’t even have a feather pilly under my +haid last night. An’ they’s lumps like corncobs in the mattress.” + +“Bill burnt up the pillows and the good mattresses,” says I, “to kill +the bedbugs.” + +The old man scratched himself. + +“No runnin’ water, either,” says he. “Poor! Awful poor!” + +“I’ll get you a drink,” says Poppy quickly. + +“Um.... The toast was burnt this mornin’,” was the further complaint. +“An’ I didn’t have enough butter on it. The coffee was muddy, too.” + +I had come into the jail with a long face, wanting the prisoner to +see that I was sorry for him. But now I had to grin. To hear him talk +about the jail’s poor “service,” you could have imagined that he was +the guest of honor in some swell hotel. + +We questioned him about the robber, thereby getting a fairly good +description of the law breaker. Burning eyes! Just as Red had spoken +of the spy’s peculiar eyes, so also did the old detective now make +similar mention of the safebreaker’s eyes. So we knew beyond all +doubt that the spy and the robber were indeed one and the same person. + +We covered the town that morning, searching for both the escaped +black parrot and the robber. But to no success. + +Poppy paid his father another visit that afternoon. + +“Maybe this’ll help us,” says he, when we were all together again in +the street. + +“A cigar stub!” says Peg, seeing what the leader had. + +“I got it from Pa,” says Poppy. “It’s the cigar the robber gave him +in the brickyard office. Here’s the band. Now, let us find out who +sells cigars like this.” + +Well, we went to all the stores in town where cigars were sold. But +the storekeepers all shook their heads when we showed them our band. +They had no cigars like that in stock, they said. + +“Which proves,” says Poppy, “that the robber is an out-of-town man, +as we suspected.” + +Mother had said that Red couldn’t take his meals at our house. But +nevertheless I took him home with me that night to supper, along with +Poppy. + +There was a lot of talk at the table bearing on the safe robbery. +Bill hadn’t captured the robber, Dad said. In this piece of news I +winked at my chums. + +“Has Bill got any clews?” says I. + +“He has a good description of the man,” says Dad. “So it hadn’t ought +to be much of a trick for the law to catch him.” + +“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to Bill,” says I, “that the robber +is probably disguised.” + +Dad stopped eating and looked at me sharply. + +“Disguised?” says he. “What do you mean?” + +“Bill may have passed the man a dozen times to-day without +recognizing him.” + +“By George!” says Dad, excited. “I’ll tell him about that.” + +I grinned. + +“You can’t beat a Juvenile Jupiter Detective,” says I, bragging on +myself. + +“You admit it, hey?” + +I put out my chest. + +“I can’t deny the truth,” says I, still grinning. + +“No? Well, Mr. Juvenile Jupiter Todd, what’ll you and your gang of +sleuths take to capture this robber for me?” + +“What’ll you give?” says I. + +“Um.... Will a hundred dollars be too much?” + +“A hundred dollars apiece?” + +“Say, why don’t you stick a gun under my nose and hold me up right!” + +“Make it a hundred dollars apiece,” says I, “and we’ll do the job for +you.” + +He laughed. He thought I was talking through my hat. + +“All right,” says he, feeling safe in the generous promise. “If you +boys capture the robber I’ll pay each of you a hundred dollars.” + +Here Mother came into the conversation. + +“Did I tell you, Donald,” says she to Red, who was doing a +sword-swallowing act with his fork and a hunk of cake, “that I had a +short letter from your mother to-day?” + +“I suppose she wanted you to get after me,” says the freckled one, +between bites, “and make me wash up and put on clean clothes.” + +Mother laughed. + +“She did say something like that. But I took it as a joke. What +interested me in the letter was her account of a dream that your aunt +had.” + +Red grunted. + +“Aunt Pansy is always having ‘dreams,’” says he. “Whenever she misses +anything in her room at our house she ‘dreams’ that I took it and I +get licked. Huh! Can I have another piece of cake, Mrs. Todd?” + +“The dream was about the escaped parrot,” says Mother, passing the +cake plate. + +Red’s jaw dropped. + +“Which parrot?” says he like a dumb-bell before I could kick him +under the table. + +“Why, your aunt’s parrot, of course. The one you captured yesterday.” + +Red started breathing again. + +“Oh, yes,” says he. + +“Your aunt will be glad, I know, to learn that her parrot is safe in +its cage. For in her dream she saw it in a black cistern.” + +Red quit eating. He had lost his appetite. + +“What’d I tell you?” says he, when we followed him into the yard. + +I grinned. + +“Aunty spank, hey, when she finds out that her ’ittle nephew put +nasty soot on Polly’s tail!” + +“Aunty will pulverize me,” says he, shivering. “Gosh! I knew I’d get +into trouble in letting you fellows black up her parrot. I was a +dumb-bell to consent to it.” + +“Shucks!” says I. “Your aunt’s parrot will be safe in its cage by the +time she gets home. So why worry? You aren’t in any danger.” + +“You don’t know my Aunt Pansy! After dreaming that her parrot was in +danger she’ll ask me a million questions about it. And if she finds +the least trace of soot.... _Good_ night!” + +Again we put in the evening at the Indian’s medicine show, after +which, in a plan to lay for the spy, we headed for the Cap’n’s alley. + +An automobile stopped near us under a street light. + +“Maybe you’d like to take a little ride this evening,” says Mr. +Meyers to Red. + +“Where are you going?” says the latter. + +“Over to Ashton and back.” + +“What for?” + +“To get your mother and your Aunt Pansy.” + +Red stared. + +“I thought Ma and Aunt Pansy were in Chicago?” says he. + +“They stopped in Ashton on their way home this afternoon. I just got +a telephone call from them asking me to drive over and get them.” + +Red looked sick. + +“You told me they weren’t coming home till Friday,” says he. + +Mr. Meyers laughed. He likes to joke. + +“Your Aunt Pansy got homesick for her parrot, I guess. She had a bad +dream about it, you know. I told her over the telephone that you had +caught the parrot for her. She says she’s going to give you a big +kiss.” + +“_Good_ night!” says Red, looking around for a nice comfortable place +to faint. “I’ll get something, all right, but it won’t be a kiss.” + +“What’s that?” + +“Oh, nothing.” + +Red’s sister hasn’t any patience with small boys. + +“Well,” says she, from the back seat of the car, “are you going with +us, Mr. Importance, or aren’t you?” + +Red sent them off without him. Then he turned to us. + +“You fellows got me into this,” says he, “and now you’ve got to get +me out of it.” + +“Don’t worry,” says Poppy. “We can get your parrot easy enough. We’ll +do that first.” + +The bird store was in darkness. So we knew its owner was in bed. +Sometimes he goes to sleep with his windows open. But we weren’t +lucky to-night in finding an open window. + +However, we knew a secret way into the house. So up the fire escape +we went to the roof, the five of us, and down through the scuttle +into the attic. + +Poppy had a flashlight. He was the first one to drop into the sitting +room through the raised trapdoor. I followed. Then Scoop and Red came +down beside me. Peg stayed in the attic to help us up. + +The black parrot was sound asleep in its cage. It didn’t see us at +all. + +“Grab it!” says I to Red, anxious to get away. + +Poppy laughed. + +“Be careful, though,” says he, “that it doesn’t ‘voodoo’ you.” + +Red was afraid that when he touched the parrot it would wake up and +nab him. So to save his hands he snatched a tidy from a chair and +threw the cloth over the sleeping bird. The wrapped-up parrot was +then handed to Peg, after which the big one gave us his hands and +drew us into the attic. Closing the trapdoor, we got on the roof and +soon landed safely in the alley. + +The clock in the tower on College Hill donged eleven times. The spy +was likely to be along any minute now. And in planning the prowler’s +capture Poppy said that he and the other two would do the trip-up +stuff with the ropes while Red and I cleaned the parrot. + +Nobody was at home at the Meyers’ house. So that was the best place +to wash the parrot, Red said. A few minutes later he and I turned +in at the darkened house. The front-door key was in the mail box. +Entering the house, we ran up the stairs to the bathroom. + +In the lead with the parrot, my companion switched on the bathroom +lights and gave the tidy a shake. Out came the black parrot. But +instead of using its wings in its release from the tidy it dropped to +the floor with a dull hollow sound. + +“What the dickens?...” says Red, staring. Then he stooped quickly. +“Jerry! _Look!_” + +“The stuffed parrot!” says I. + +I guess you can imagine how bewildered we were in learning that the +bird that we had lugged home wasn’t the sooted parrot at all but old +Caleb Obed’s stuffed mino bird. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + THE BURGLAR + + +Like the ship captain who staggered down the stairs, Red yipped that +he was lost. He’d catch it now, he said, tearing his hair. Nothing +could save him. + +“My aunt’s got an awful temper,” says he. “She’s a regular old +rip-snorter when she gets going. And she’ll get Ma on her side and +between them they’ll salivate me.” + +I was doing some fast thinking. + +“You’ve still got a chance,” says I. + +“The parrot’s lost,” says he, grabbing a fresh handful of hair, “and +I’m lost.” + +“The thing for us to do,” says I, “is to stretch our legs in the +direction of old Caleb’s house. For that’s where the sooted parrot +is, I bet.” + +But all he could do was to yip in despair. + +“I’m a goner, Jerry,” says he, getting ready to sink. + +I felt like giving him a swift kick. + +“You won’t be a goner,” says I sharply, “if you’ll listen to me and +do as I say.” + +“But what can I do?” says he, with a helpless look. + +I told him my thoughts. The switching of the stuffed bird for +the sooted bird was undoubtedly a trick of old Caleb’s, I said. +Consequently the old bachelor would know where the sooted parrot was. +So the thing for us to do was to run to his house as fast as we could. + +“Having spoiled his trick on the Cap’n,” says I, “he may be sore at +us at first. But he’ll give up the sooted parrot to us when he learns +the predicament you’re in.” + +Switching off the lights and locking the front door, we hurried +into the street. Coming to the shabby house that we had visited the +preceding evening, we failed, as before, to get a response to our +raps. + +Old Caleb had been known to drink moonshine. Some men make fools of +themselves that way. And thinking that possibly he was drunk, we +struck a match and went inside the house, the door of which still +stood wide open. There was a hand lamp on the sitting-room table. +Lighting the lamp with our match, we went into the bedroom where the +owner slept. But he wasn’t there. + +Then we searched the house for the sooted parrot. Failing to find +it, or any trace of it, we were forced to accept the conclusion that +the old man was away somewhere with the bird. That in itself was +something of a mystery, considering the late hour. + +More bewildered than ever, we went in search of our chums to tell +them our queer story. But they weren’t in the bird-store alley. Not +knowing where to look for them, the only thing left for us to do was +to go home. + +Coming to the Meyers’ house, we saw a moving flashlight upstairs, +which, in itself, told us that the family had returned in the time +that he had been away. + +Red sort of collapsed at the foot of the gallows. + +“Oh!... I don’t want to go in, Jerry. I’ll get an awful licking. +Can’t you think of some scheme to save me?” + +“My thinker has a flat tire,” says I. + +Here the telephone bell rang in the lower hall. But no one came +downstairs to answer the call. That was queer, I thought. + +Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling went the bell. + +Suddenly the thought came to me that the man in the house wasn’t Mr. +Meyers at all. It was the burglar! You can imagine how excited I was. +I told Red my suspicions. And together we ran to the barn where the +automobile was kept. But the car wasn’t there. So we knew now that +the house was being burglarized. + +More excited than ever we ran back to the front porch, noticing for +the first time that the front door was wide open. Upstairs the light +had moved into another room. Sharpening our ears, we could detect +the sound of disturbed dresser drawers. Plainly every light thing of +value in the house was going into the burglar’s bag. + +Hidden in the shrubbery near the front door steps, my fingers +suddenly closed over a wire that Mrs. Meyers had put up for a porch +vine to perform on. At the touch of the heavy wire I thought of our +alley ropes and a plan popped into my head. I told Red. Then between +us we got the wire down and stretched it from post to post in front +of the open door, after which we galloped around the house to the +back porch. + +It was our scheme to make the burglar think that we were about to +enter the kitchen. Then when he ran out of the house through the +front door our wire would trip him up and send him sprawling on his +snout. Red had a croquet mallet and I had a paving brick. Between us +we figured that we could put the law breaker to sleep in a jiffy, +even if he didn’t nicely crack his neck in his tumble down the steps. + +Stomping on the back porch, and rattling the doorknob, we then +clattered in high hopes around the house to our wire trap. And sure +enough we could hear the alarmed burglar sliding for first base down +the stairs. A form darted into sight through the open door. It was a +man. + +Gee-miny crickets! You should have heard the yelp that came out of +the burglar when he struck our stretched wire. He had stuffed several +of Mrs. Meyers’ pillowcases full of loot and now the contents of the +pillowcases flew in all directions. The air was full of flying arms +and legs and silver spoons. + +Running forward to land on the sprawled law breaker with my +five-pound paving brick, I was suddenly struck in the face +by something from one of the pillowcases. I began to spit +feathers--nasty tasting feathers. Phew! All I could think of at first +was a feather duster dipped in filth. Then, realizing that I had +headed into something a lot more lively and dangerous than a feather +duster, I dropped the paving brick with a wild yelp and clutched my +hooked nose. + +“Breakfast,” says the feathery mess that had fastened itself to my +nose. “Polly wants breakfast.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + POOR POLLY! + + +Red bragged afterwards that he whacked the burglar six times with his +croquet mallet before the housebreaker got up and scooted into the +night. But I can hardly swallow that heroic story. For I know Red! +That same week his mother discovered a crack in her fancy lawn urn. +And if the rattle-headed one hit anything at all I bet a cookie it +was the urn. + +However, the man wouldn’t have gotten away from _me_, let me tell +you, if it hadn’t been for that blamed parrot. Yes, sir, if Solomon +Grundy, Jr., hadn’t handicapped me by attaching himself to the roof +of my nose, I would have landed neatly on the escaping one’s cranium +with my paving brick. One swing of my trusty right arm and Mr. +Burglar would have been a dish rag. + +But the point is that the law breaker _did_ get away from us. That +was a big disappointment. Yet, with the sooted parrot miraculously +delivered into our hands in the eleventh hour, so to speak, we +couldn’t kick on the way Fate was managing things for us. There was +mystery in the burglar’s possession of the sooted parrot, but we +didn’t let that confuse us--not then! We had other things to think +about. + +The burglar’s loot was scattered all over the lawn. In the mess of +stuff we picked up an Ingersoll watch and Mrs. Meyers’ silver-backed +dresser set and the solid silver shaving mug that Red got as a +premium for selling twenty colored pictures of “Washington Crossing +the Delaware” and probably forty or fifty pieces of table silver, +such as spoons, knives and forks. + +Dumping the recovered loot into the hall, we scooted up the stairs +to the bathroom. Turning on the water in the tub, some hot and some +cold, we made a deep oozy suds and got busy on the bird, finding to +our great satisfaction that the soot came off easily. + +“Breakfast,” says the blinking, bedraggled parrot, eyeing us +reproachful-like. “Polly wants breakfast.” + +I grinned at Red. + +“It isn’t every parrot,” says I, sloshing around in the suds, “that +has two servants to give it a bawth.” + +He laughed at that. + +“It’s a good thing,” says he, “that the parrot can’t tell on us. Or +I’d catch it from my aunt--bu-lieve me!” + +“Here,” says I, shoving a towel at him, “take this and finish the +job.” + +In the drying process the parrot suddenly stiffened out like a poker. + +“Holy cow!” says Red, his eyes swelling in horror. “It’s dead!” + +I told him that the parrot probably had swallowed too much water. And +knowing the trick of reviving a drowning man by pumping his arms up +and down, I got busy and pumped the parrot’s wings. But to no good +results. Nor did the feathered hunk stir when I gave it a whiff of +Mrs. Meyers’ smelling salts. + +Red was tearing his hair again. + +“It’s dead, I tell you,” says he, suffering at the top of his voice. +“Oh, oh, oh! Now I’m in for it worse than ever.” + +Here an automobile cantered down the street and stopped in front of +the house. I thought sure it was Red’s people. And of no desire to be +caught in the house with the guilty one and his dead parrot I beat it +for the stairs. + +In the excitement my chum had forgotten about his earlier intention +of staying all night with me. But he remembered it now. And grabbing +the parrot, eager to delay his punishment, he made quick work of +following me down the stairs to the lawn, where we saw the car that +we had thought was his father’s turning into a private drive on the +opposite side of the street. + +On the hall table in my home I found a note from Mother explaining +that Mr. Meyers, stalled in his auto halfway between Ashton and +Tutter, had telephoned to Dad to come and pick him up. + +“If you get home before we do,” the note concluded, “please don’t +forget to lock the doors when you go to bed. For we don’t want to +have another robbery in the family.” + +Wanting to do the handsome thing by my company, I set out a bedtime +lunch of two bananas apiece and some cookies and half a lemon pie, +after which we headed for our roost. As I was undressing I suddenly +noticed that my invited bedfellow was acting queer. His mind seemed +to be somewhere else. I thought, of course, that he was worrying +about the dead parrot. But it wasn’t the parrot that he was thinking +about, he said, it was his pajamas--he had forgotten to bring them +along. I told him that he could use a pair of my pajamas. But, no, he +held off, he had to have his own night clothes. So home he went to +get them. + +He was gone about five minutes. I was sitting on the edge of the +bed when he came upstairs. Not for one instant had he fooled me. It +wasn’t the need of pajamas that had taken him back home--I realized +that. He had a hidden reason. + +While I was debating in my mind whether I should ignore him or pump +him, a car drove into the yard. A few moments later footsteps sounded +on the front porch and my parents came into the house. + +I heard Dad lock the door. Then the telephone bell rang. + +“Yes,” says Mother, in answer to a question that had been put to her +over the wire. There was a moment’s silence. “Why, how dreadful!” +came the cry. “Yes, indeed--we’ll come over right away.” Dad was +called. “It’s Mrs. Meyers,” says Mother in continued excitement. +“Their house has been robbed. Even the parrot’s gone. And she +says the filthy thief had the nerve to take a bath in her clean +tub--there’s a ring on the tub, she says, that looks just like soot.” + +At first surprised and puzzled that Red’s folks should completely +overlook the stuff in the front hall, I suddenly tumbled to the truth +of the matter. To escape a licking in the parrot’s unfortunate death +my tricky chum had hidden the burglar’s loot. That is what had taken +him home. No wonder his folks thought they had been robbed! + +“It’s queer,” says I, in a scheme to pry the tricky one out of his +hole, “that your folks overlooked the stuff in the front hall. For we +left everything in a pile.” + +He didn’t say anything. + +“I’m going to tell Dad,” says I, starting to pile out of bed. + +He stopped me. + +“Don’t do that, Jerry. Please. You’ll get me in an awful fix if you +do.” + +“You’re already in a fix,” says I. + +“Not like you think.” + +Here was my chance. + +“Red Meyers,” says I, giving him a scowl, “what have you been up to?” + +“I--I didn’t want to get licked, Jerry. So I made a bundle of the +stuff that we picked up on the lawn and dumped it into your ma’s +cistern.” + +I gave a squeak. + +“For the love of mud!” says I weakly. + +Here Mother came to the foot of the stairs. + +“Are you awake, Jerry?” + +“Sure thing,” says I. + +“I thought I heard voices up there. Did you hear me tell your father +about the robbery?” + +Red gripped my hand. + +“Don’t squeal on me, Jerry,” says he, begging. + +I didn’t. For when a fellow is your chum, even if he does something +sneaking, you’ve got to stand by him to sort of help him square +himself. + +But I read the tricky one a sharp lecture, let me tell you, when we +had the house to ourselves, Mother having hurried to the scene of the +“robbery” to comfort the weeping parrot owner, and Dad to help his +excited neighbor go over the yard for clews. + +Instead of having benefited himself, I lectured the culprit, he had +gotten himself, and all the rest of us, into a deeper hole than ever. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + THE VANISHED TOWNSMAN + + +At the breakfast table the following morning Dad joked me, in his +usual jolly way, about my skinned nose, inquiring, chummy-like, if +I had been in a scrap with the Stricker gang, to which I replied +truthfully that I hadn’t. + +Red was fidgety in the conversation. He was scared that the older one +would pin me down and thus learn the truth about my nose scratches. +So it was a relief to both of us when my talkative parent was called +to the telephone. + +“Who was it?” says Mother, when Dad came back to the table with a big +grin on his face. + +“Bill Hadley. He wants me to bring a few of our new talking-machine +records down to the jail.” + +“Talking-machine records?” says Mother, puzzled at the marshal’s +sudden interest in music. “Why is he calling on _you_ for records?” + +“Because his prisoner is partly my responsibility, I guess.” + +“You mean Mr. Ott?” + +“Sure thing. Bill says the old gent did a lot of kicking yesterday +on the service he was getting. So our accommodating marshal has been +stepping around since to redeem himself. He even has a Victrola in +the cell now.” + +Mother isn’t crazy over Bill, though she’s awfully chummy with his +wife, an old school teacher of mine. + +“What nonsense!” says she. + +“I forgot to ask him,” says Dad, in continued laughter, “whether he +wanted Caruso records or jazz.” + +“Bill might better forget about his sense of humor and do his work,” +says Mother stiffly, thinking of the burglar. + +“Oh,” says Dad, who is never too busy or too worried to enjoy a good +joke, “there’s time for a little fun on every job.” + +Red and I had heard enough to want to get down town in a hurry. So as +soon as breakfast was over we grabbed our caps and scooted into the +street. + +Bill Hadley scowled at us when we tumbled into the town hall where +he has his office. That’s his way with kids. He does it to make us +realize the importance of his position, I guess. + +“What’s the idea of all the racket?” says he sharply. + +“We came down to see the fun,” says I, grinning. + +“What fun?” + +“You know--what you told Dad over the telephone.” + +That brought out a grin. + +“Um.... Mr. Ott is busy with his mornin’ newspapers jest now. But I +guess you kids kin take a peek at him if you’ll promise to be quiet +an’ not disturb him.” + +Tiptoeing into the back room where the steel jail cages were, I +thought I’d die when I saw the way the prisoner’s cell had been +dolled up. On one steel wall was a long pansy picture--“A Yard of +Pansies” is the right name for it, I guess--and on the opposite wall +was a “God Bless Our Happy Home” sampler. A fancy curtain hung over +the steel door. The floor was covered with a swell red rug--as I +remember, it was a rug with a picture of a pony in the center--and +the cell was further brightened up with a reading lamp, a potted +fern, a magazine table, a smoking stand, a talking-machine and an +easy chair. Cooled by the breeze from an electric fan, the contented +prisoner was now stretched at ease in the soft chair, his lap full of +newspapers. + +“Um....” says he, looking up and getting Bill’s eye. “I furgot to +tell you, Mr. Hadley, that I don’t like tea of any kind. So don’t +ever bring me none. Coffee is what I like, with a lot of rich cream +in it--an’ not condensed cream, nuther.” + +Bill gravely got out a memorandum book and pretended to write in it. + +“Coffee,” says he slowly, “with a lot of cream in it--real cream from +contented cows. An’ how much sugar, Mr. Ott?” + +“Um.... Two spoonfuls, if you please.” + +“Anything else?” + +The old man pondered. + +“I kain’t jest recollect anything special right now. But when Poppy +comes around, you’re to send him right in. Fur I want to see him.” + +“Very well, Mr. Ott,” says Bill, acting as though he was taking +orders from a king. + +Well, Red and I pretty nearly busted ourselves laughing when we were +outside. Bill was funny, we said. But when Poppy came down the street +with Scoop and Peg, and learned about the decorated cell, he was mad +as hops. + +“They’re making a monkey of Pa,” says he, his eyes flashing. “I wish +I was big enough to lick the guy who started it.” + +He hurried into the jail then. And I guess he told Bill Hadley a +thing or two. For, bu-lieve me, that kid knew how to use his tongue. +I’ll tell the world! And he wasn’t afraid of anybody, either. + +Checked up by our new chum, I was ashamed of myself now to think +that I had laughed on Bill’s side. As Poppy had said, the officer +was making a monkey of the old prisoner, and that wasn’t the right +thing to do. Still, I considered, as long as the old man had to be +locked up in jail it was just as well that he had everything cozy and +comfortable. That was a lot better for him than being discontented. + +“Pa is nobody’s fool,” says Poppy, when he came back to us. “_He_ +thinks the joke is on the marshal. And I’m not so sure that it isn’t.” + +“I thought maybe he had something more to tell you about the safe +robber,” says I. + +“No. He just wanted to show me how his cell was fixed up. _I_ was mad +about it. But he told me to keep my mouth shut. He knew what he was +doing, he said.” + +We started down the street then. + +“I suppose you wonder where I was last night,” says Poppy, linking +arms with me. + +“Did you stay with Scoop?” + +“I had to, when I lost track of you.” + +“Red stayed at my house,” says I. + +He grinned. + +“If I had been there we could have had some fun, hey?--three in a +bed.” + +“Not _last_ night,” says I, serious. + +“No?” + +“Too many queer things happened last night for fun,” says I. + +That turned his thoughts back. + +“Did you know, Jerry, that we saw the spy last night? Sure thing. He +came into the alley, but not far enough for us to trip him up.” + +“We would have gotten him, though,” put in Scoop, “if Peg hadn’t +coughed on a bug. He beat it then.” + +“Didn’t you follow him?” says I. + +“We tried to,” says Poppy, “but he was too slick for us.” + +Here I told the others the truth about the Meyers robbery. Amazed at +first at our surprising adventure, they almost threw a fit when they +learned what a clever little “fixer” Red was. + +“Oh, oh!” says Scoop, rocking his head in his hands. “Nobody at home! +Kid, if ever there was a poor fish that flopped out of the frying pan +into the fire it’s you.” + +But this kind of talk didn’t upset Red. He stepped around as +unconcerned as you please. Having escaped a licking in his trickery, +everything was lovely with him now. + +“Tra-la-la,” says he, showing off. “Listen to the praise I’m getting.” + +“It’s the craziest scheme I ever heard tell of,” says Peg. “The idea +of dumping all that stuff into a _cistern_! Ye bums and buttered +biscuits! And the less credit to you, Red Meyers, it’s an out and +out lie. Yes, it is. Letting your folks believe that they have been +robbed is just the same as telling them a lie.” + +“Tattletale!” says Red. + +Peg colored up. + +“No, I won’t tattle on you,” says he steadily. “But I can tell you +this much, kid: If you don’t square yourself with your folks at the +first opportunity you’re out of my gang for life. Get me? I may not +be perfect, but I’m no sneak. And, further, you’ve got to buy your +aunt a new parrot. I’ll help on that, for in coaxing you into the +parrot fight I’m as guilty in the parrot’s death as you are.” + +Poppy didn’t jump on Red like the others. That wasn’t his style. +Anyway, he hadn’t known us for so very long and therefore was kind of +careful in his talk to us. + +“What became of the dead parrot, Jerry?” says he, getting my eye. + +I shrugged. + +“Ask Red,” says I. “He had it last.” + +“Like fun I did,” says freckle-face, stiffening. “_You_ had it last. +Don’t you remember?--I handed it to you when I locked the front door.” + +“_I_ locked the front door,” says I. + +“Yes, you did--_not_.” + +“I did, too.” + +“You didn’t.” + +That’s Red for you. He’ll argue when he knows he’s wrong. Bullhead +stuff, I call it. Of course, _I_ was right. + +Poppy then questioned us about the burglar, wanting to know if we had +gotten a look at the man’s face, or had heard his voice. And after +considerable talk back and forth we came to the general conclusion +that the man Red and I had seen and the man who had robbed the +brickyard safe was unquestionably one and the same person. For the +description of one fitted the other. + +But it puzzled us to understand why the criminal was hanging around +town. He had Dad’s three thousand dollars. Why then didn’t he play +safe and beat it? + +Was he waiting for a chance to steal the black parrot? Was there +some secret reason--some very important reason--why he had to have +the unusual parrot? And was it his scheme to get possession of the +parrot, through hook or crook, and then make a break for safety? + +In planning things our decision was that it would pay us to keep +on guarding the alley. We would go there every night, we said. And +sooner or later we would succeed in the criminal’s capture. + +In the course of our conversation I mentioned old Caleb Obed. + +“Do you suppose,” says I, “that the spy and old Caleb are in cahoots?” + +Poppy got my eye. + +“What do you mean by that?” says he quickly. + +“Sometime last evening,” says I, “old Caleb switched birds on the +Cap’n. In running off with the sooted parrot he thought, of course, +that he had the real Solomon Grundy. Later on, as we know, the parrot +turned up in the robber’s hands. So Caleb either gave it away or had +it stolen from him.” + +“That reminds me,” says Scoop, “that I tried to find old Caleb +yesterday afternoon and couldn’t. Nobody around here seems to know +where he is. So you may be wrong, Jerry, in thinking that he was in +the Cap’n’s store last night.” + +“But who else could have switched the birds?” + +“Search me.” + +“I bet it was old Caleb,” says Peg. “For he’s a deep one, let me tell +you. I’ve had a hunch all along that he knows things that he doesn’t +want us to know. And instead of giving all of our attention to the +spy, it would be my suggestion that we keep an eye on the old man, +too.” + +Here a boy friend of ours came down the street on the run with a note +for me. + +“It’s from Cap’n Tinkertop,” says the kid, panting. “He says it’s +important.” + +I opened the note, wondering what had happened in the bird store to +thus cause our old friend to write to me. + +_Thirteen!_ + +This single word, written over the Cap’n’s sprawled signature, was +the only message that the crumpled note contained. But I understood +the message. And showing the others the note, which I knew was no +trick of the Strickers’, I led my chums an excited and breathless +race down the street to the bird store. + +“Thirteen,” I might explain, is our danger signal. Known only to +ourselves and to a few of our trusted friends, of whom the Cap’n was +one, it was supposed to be used only in moments of great peril. + +We found the bird-store proprietor quavering behind closed doors and +drawn window shades. + +“B’ys,” says he, in a husky voice, “I’m in a’ awful fix. I’m perty +near crazy, I be. Jest look at me sweat! I’m wringin’ wet,” and he +swabbed his drenched face with a soggy handkerchief. + +There was an open traveling bag on a chair. And we saw that its owner +had been packing it. + +“I’m gittin’ ready to flee,” says he. “It’s that or go to jail. An’ I +hain’t a-goin’ to let the law git its hands on me to hang me if I kin +help it.” + +“What have you done,” says Poppy, troubled, “that the law should be +after you?” + +The old man panted. + +“It’s that blamed par’ot, b’ys.” + +“Your black parrot?” + +“Yes. It’s bin stole. Some one took it on me last night. But that +hain’t the cause of my trouble. The thing that’s worryin’ me is what +the par’ot did before it was stole.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“It’s gone an’ voodooed a man. Yes, it hais,” the voice stiffened, as +one of us laughed, “an’ you needn’t act smart ’bout it, nuther. It +hain’t no laughin’ matter, let me tell you. Jumpin’ Jupiter--_no_! +Fur if the man is daid, as I suspect, the only thing fur me to do to +save my neck from the gallus is to git out of the country. Otherwise +the law’ll take me in hand an’ hold me responsible, it bein’ my +par’ot.” + +“Oh, Cap’n!” says Poppy. “Don’t be a goose. There’s no truth in that +crazy voodoo story. It _can’t_ be true.” + +The packer went on with his work. + +“Aw!... Come out of it, Cap’n. You don’t have to skin out of town. Of +course not. You’ve just had a bad dream.” + +The gingerbread eyes sought ours. + +“B’ys, be you a-goin’ to stand by me?” + +“Of course,” says Poppy quickly. “But----” + +“They hain’t no ‘but.’ I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Somewhar at +this very minute ol’ Caleb Obed is layin’ daid--struck down an’ +killed by that thar devilish voodoo par’ot.” + +“Caleb Obed!” came the cry from our new leader, looking at us. + +“You b’ys don’t know it, but ol’ Caleb called to see me the afternoon +I was down the river. Jest heow long he was in the store I kain’t +say. No one to my knowledge saw him go in. But Matsy Bacon saw him +come out. He was runnin’, Matsy saiz, an’ screechin’ to beat the +cars. They was blood on his face. ‘The par’ot!’ he screeched. +‘The black par’ot!’ Wal, Matsy _he_ figured it out as heow the +screecher was on another toot. ‘What’s the matter, Caleb?’ saiz he. +‘Be you seein’ black par’ots this time ’stead of green an’ yaller +rattlesnakes?’ An’ then, so Matsy saiz, Caleb he screeched, ‘It +flew at me an’ tried to kill me.’ After which, so Matsy saiz, the +screecher went down the street on the trot, sort of limpin’ an’ +staggerin’. + +“Matsy told me the hul story this mornin’ when he was in the store. +‘Did you know,’ saiz he, thinkin’ as heow it was a good joke, ‘that +one of your par’ots slivered a hunk of skin out of ol’ Caleb Obed +the other afternoon?’ Figurin’ that Matsy was up to some kind of +nonsense, I saiz, in fun, ‘So one of my par’ots bit a hunk out of ol’ +Caleb, hey? Fine! Now I won’t have to buy the par’ot no fresh meat.’ +Wal, we talked some more, me an’ Matsy. He told me ’bout seein’ Caleb +come out of my alley door. I in turn told him how a certain par’ot +of mine had bin took from my store last night between nine o’clock +an’ midnight, only, of course, I didn’t tell him it was a real black +par’ot, fur he never dreamed fur one minute that I had sech a thing +in the store. ‘Mebbe,’ saiz Matsy, in further fun, ‘it was ol’ Caleb +who hooked your par’ot on you in revenge; an’ mebbe he hooked the +other par’ot, too.’ ‘What other par’ot?’ saiz I. ‘Last night,’ saiz +Matsy, ‘they was another par’ot stole on Main Street.’” + +“We know about that,” says Poppy, giving Red a queer look. + +“Wal, Matsy an’ me we talked some more. An’ then, b’ys, it come to +me all of a sudden that here was a test case. I warn’t scared at +first like I be now, but I was awfully excited. An’ I lit out fur ol’ +Caleb’s house on the trot, wantin’ to see fur sure that he was all +right an’ haidn’t been voodooed. The nearer I got to his place the +more fidgety I got. Suppose, I saiz to myself, that I should find him +daid after all. Of course I wouldn’t, I saiz, tryin’ not to believe +the voodoo story. But jest suppose I _should_. What would happen to +me then? Wal, I come to Caleb’s house ... it was wide open ... but he +wasn’t thar! He haidn’t bin thar, Paddy Gorbett told me, since day +before yeste’day at three o’clock. I saiz, foxy-like, ‘When you seed +him then, Paddy, did he have red paint on his face?’ ‘Was it paint?’ +saiz Paddy. ‘I thought it was blood.’ I held myself steady, not +wantin’ to git him suspicious of me. ‘Did he tell you,’ saiz I, ‘how +the blood come to be thar?’ ‘No,’ saiz Paddy, ‘I didn’t talk with +him.’ + +“An’ that, b’ys, is my story. Mebbe I’m a ol’ gilly, as you think. +Mebbe they hain’t a particle of truth in the voodoo story. When I +told you the story I didn’t half believe it myself. But now I’m +preparin’ fur the worst. Yes, sir, I’m a-goin’ to git everything in +readiness, without anybody seein’ me, so that I kin skin out on a +moment’s warnin’. An’ thar is whar you kin help me. With your young +legs you kin git ’round spry an’ cover a lot of territory. Besides, +as I know, you’re perty smart at pickin’ up clews an’ sech. What I +want you to do fur me is to find ol’ Caleb, or find his body. An’ if +he’s daid, as I think, I want you to come here an’ tell _me_ first. +As you kin see I’m innocent of any intended wrongdoin’--I’m a victim +of circumstances, as the sayin’ is. An’ as an ol’ friend of yours who +has always stood by you in thick an’ thin, an’ seein’ as heow you +already know the par’ot’s secret, I feel I’ve got a right, under the +circumstances, to ask this of you. Don’t repeat a word of what I’ve +jest told you. But start out. An’ whether it’s a livin’ man that you +find, or a chilled corpse, let _me_ know first. Give me two or three +hours start, an’ then you kin go to the law with your story.” + +We were sorry for the frightened old man. And we tried to tell him +how foolish it was of him to think for one minute that old Caleb +had actually been “voodooed.” There was another explanation for the +vanished one’s disappearance, we said. But we couldn’t turn him. + +“B’ys, you mean well enough, but you don’t know what you’re talkin’ +’bout. No, you don’t. I didn’t mention this part to you when I told +you the voodoo story, but it’s a fact that Ham _he_ died sudden, too. +An’ thar on the wall by his bed--I kin see it yet!--was a picture of +a par’ot, drawn with charcoal. A black par’ot! An’ when they come to +close his eyes they jest couldn’t make ’em stay closed at all--every +time the eyes was pressed shet they’d pop right open ag’in, jest +like the daid brain held a _secret_ that the eyes was tryin’ dumbly +to tell about. It’s a part of the voodoo, b’ys--the starin’, glassy +eyes. It was that way with Bige Morgan, an’ it was the same with +Ham. You’ll see what I mean when you find ol’ Caleb. And in that +p’int, mebbe you better git started in your search right away. I’ll +wait here out of sight till I git word from you, good or bad, only I +hain’t expectin’ nuthin’ but bad news, I kin tell you that much.” + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + A WILD NIGHT + + +Well, we had something to think about now. While we didn’t share the +Cap’n’s crazy belief that his old friend had been “voodooed” by the +escaped death parrot, it was a fact that we had no other explanation +to offer of the old townsman’s sudden disappearance. And it did give +us a kind of queer feeling to know that the old man had vanished on +the heels of the parrot’s attack. His disappearance seemed to bear +out the voodoo story, all right. + +But, even so, we steadily refused to take any stock in the crazy +voodoo belief. The Cap’n’s talk about his dead brother’s “glassy +eyes” was all bunk, we said. As for old Caleb, he would turn up all +right. We were sure of that. So instead of wasting our time searching +for him we would give our immediate attention to capturing the +escaped parrot. That was the most important job, we concluded. + +It was our intention to secretly return the recovered parrot to its +cage in the wall hole. Later on, when Red had squared himself with +his aunt, we would tell the parrot’s owner the truth about his bird’s +unknown escape and its later supposed “theft.” + +We put in a busy forenoon. Covering the small town, we separately +searched the trees and housetops. But, as before, we met with no +success. Solomon Grundy was nowhere to be seen. + +Nor did we see anything of Caleb Obed, though we inquired for him at +different homes where he was known to drop in occasionally. No one +with whom we talked, even his closest friends, could tell us where he +was. + +It was now brought home to us that the townsman’s disappearance was +a more serious matter than we had imagined. So we gave his case our +main attention. Searching the still open house for possible clews +bearing on his disappearance, we found a bloody towel in the kitchen. +There were dried blood spots, too, in the kitchen sink. The sight of +blood always gags me. Like castor oil. So I kept away from the nasty +towel. Nor did I touch the sink where the bleeding man, after his +attack from the parrot, had plainly washed himself and dressed his +head wound. + +In an old sugar bowl in the cluttered cupboard we found a handful of +silver coins and six dirty five-dollar bills. This was proof to us +that Caleb hadn’t left town. For certainly, we reasoned, he wouldn’t +have gone away without his money, or without locking it up. + +But to make sure that the vanished one was still in town we went +to the depot where we inquired of the ticket agent if the missing +townsman had spent any of his money in the past two days for a +railroad ticket. The agent shook his head. He hadn’t seen anything of +Caleb for a week, he said. + +The Cap’n was all broken up at our failure to get track of the +vanished one. He was unable now to cook his own meals or otherwise +wait on himself. So it became our job to take care of him. When I +explained to Mother at the supper table that my old friend wasn’t +feeling well and needed me at his store that night to wait on him she +readily consented to the plan. And getting my pajamas I headed for +down town. + +Dusk came and I had seen nothing of my four chums. Still, I knew they +would be in the alley later on. That was their plan. So I had no fear +of the spy. + +The clock struck nine; then nine-thirty. And having helped the weary +old man out of his clothes and into his nightshirt, I went to bed +myself, on the sitting-room couch, settling in comfort for the night. + +Suddenly I was awakened by a piercing scream. + +“Jerry! Jerry! Hel-up! Hel-up!” + +It was the Cap’n! And from the terror in his screaming voice I could +imagine that he was being murdered in his bed. + +To reach his bedroom I had to cross the sitting-room. There was a +puddle of moonlight on the floor. I waded through it. My eyes picked +out a cane. I got it, wrapping my fist around the small end. With its +heavy gold head the cane made a swell club. + +But I had no occasion to use it. For there was no one in the moonlit +bedroom except the old man himself, who was now sitting up in the bed. + +“Jerry! Jerry!” the terrified voice rang through the house. + +I ran forward. + +“Here I am,” says I. + +I could see a pair of wild eyes in the moonlight. + +“Jerry, I saw it. It was right thar by the foot of the bed. An’ +it--it----” + +Here the voice broke. There was a sudden dead silence. Gee-miny +crickets! Maybe you think I wasn’t scared. I thought sure the old +man was dead. And I was all alone with him! + +“Cap’n!” says I, shaking him. “Cap’n! It’s me--Jerry. _Cap’n!_” But +he never moved! + +Well, you can see what an awful situation it was for me. An “it” had +scared the old man to death. And for all I knew to the contrary the +“it,” whatever it was--human or otherwise--might still be lurking in +some dark corner of the house to get a crack at me. + +I got a light first of all. Then I looked under the bed and in +the clothes closet. Nothing oozed at me. In the conclusion of my +search a groan came from the bed. I knew then that the old man was +still alive. So I wet a towel and mopped his face as a quick way of +bringing him back, to his senses. + +And right then I got a shock. I almost stared my eyes out, I guess. +For there on the unconscious one’s naked breast, visible to me in the +“V” of the unbuttoned nightshirt, was a tattooed black parrot. + +Well, I stood there staring, as I say, my thoughts jumping up and +down. And then the old man got his voice again. + +“Jerry! Jerry! Hel-up! Hel-up!” + +“Here I am,” says I, bending over the bed. + +“Jerry! I saw it. Jerry! Hel-up!” + +I got Doc Leland on the telephone then. For I could see that +something was out of kilter in the frightened one’s head. He kept +calling my name. Yet he didn’t seem to realize that I was standing +beside his bed. + +I had urged Doc to come in a hurry. And when he got there I explained +to him how I happened to be in the house. The Cap’n hadn’t been +feeling well, I said--his nerves had gone back on him. So, in +friendly service, I had agreed to stay with him and wait on him. + +The listener was puzzled at my story. + +“Um.... He must ’a’ had a bad dream.” + +I shivered. + +“It was something worse than a dream, Doc.” + +“You think he actually saw somethin’?” + +“I’ll tell the world! Gosh, Doc, you should have heard him. I thought +at first that he was being murdered. So I ran into his room. He was +sitting up in bed. His eyes were crazy. ‘Jerry! Jerry!’ he screeched +at me. ‘I saw it!’” + +“It,” repeated Doc, holding me with his puzzled eyes. + +“He said ‘it.’ But I don’t know what he meant.” + +“It,” says the other again, working his thoughts. “Um.... Couldn’t +’a’ bin a man, or else he would ’a’ said ‘him’ instead of ‘it.’” + +In the excitement my mind had been too jumpy to permit of clear +thinking. But somehow I had held to the belief that the spy was at +the bottom of the Cap’n’s scare. Now I was more at sea than ever. +For, as Doc had said, if the spy had been in the house, and the Cap’n +had seen him, certainly the old man wouldn’t have said he had seen +“it.” + +I was completely bewildered. What was it that the frightened one had +seen? What was the nature of the peril that had visited him in the +dead of night? And, further, where had this “peril” vanished to? + +_It!_ Could it be that a ghost had wandered into the store? I +shivered in the thought of it. + +Doc was working on the unconscious man now. + +“Poor piece of tattooin’,” says he, pointing to the chest design. +“Amatoor work. Ol’ Caleb Obed’s got the same kind of a Tom-fool thing +tattooed on him.” + +Three black parrots! One on the chest of a dead sailor; another on +the chest of a man who was strangely missing; the third on the chest +of a man who had just had the wits scared out of him. And on top of +all this a real black parrot--a living parrot of weird secrets. No +wonder I was befuddled in the mystery. + +In the next hour the stricken man was removed from his store to the +emergency rooms. He was a very sick man, Doc said. It would take a +week or two for him to get back on his feet. And in the meantime he +needed complete rest and careful nursing. + +In all this excitement, to my wonder, I had heard nothing from my +chums in the alley. And the fear now came to me that something had +happened to them. So I hurried outside to find them. But they weren’t +there! Nor could I find any trace of their ropes. + +Br-r-r-r! The dark alley gave me the creeps. And of no desire to stay +alone in the store I lit out for home. If my chums were in trouble +they would have to paddle their own canoe, I told myself. For the +night had already given me more than my share of adventure. + +It was two o’clock when Dad opened the front door for me. At sight +of me he wanted to know if I had lost my mind in coming home at that +hour. I told him that the Cap’n had been taken worse and had been +removed to the hospital rooms. He asked me several sleepy questions. +But I didn’t tell him everything. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE EMPTY GRAVE + + +My chums got me out of bed the following morning. + +“We can’t find Cap’n Tinkertop,” says Scoop, excited. “His store’s +closed, too.” + +I told the others where the old man was. + +“Why weren’t you on guard in the alley last night?” says I, feeling a +little bit sore toward them for not being on hand when I needed them. + +Scoop laughed sheepishly. + +“Jerry, I hate to admit it. But in a scrap last night the Strickers +got the best of us.” + +“They locked us in a barn,” says Red, “and kept us there till +midnight.” + +“So that’s where you were when I needed you, hey?” + +“Did you need us?” + +I told them my story. They were excited, I want to tell you. +Poppy pressed me with eager questions. Had I heard anybody in the +store?--had I noticed if any doors or windows were open?--had I +searched the store after Doc’s arrival?--and was I _sure_ about the +tattooed parrot on the Cap’n’s chest? + +I couldn’t answer “yes” to the first three questions, but I could, +and did, to the last one. Not only was the chest design a black +parrot, I declared, but it was a duplicate of the one in the dead +sailor’s picture. + +“And moreover,” says I, “old Caleb’s got the same thing tattooed on +him. For Doc told me so.” + +Visiting old Caleb’s house that morning, in the hope of finding the +old man there well and unharmed, we came upon a yardful of excited +people. For some wag had started the story that the vanished man +had committed suicide. And what led the neighbors to take stock in +the story was the known fact that the old man himself, on Monday +afternoon, had ordered a grave dug in the Tinkertop lot in the old +Scotch cemetery. He had told the sexton, so it was said, that a body +was being shipped to the lot owner for burial. But to date no body +had been received at the local express office. And everybody in +Caleb’s end of town was now saying that the vanished man, in planning +his intended suicide, had ordered the grave dug for himself! + +We took no stock in this story. Caleb wasn’t dead, we said. He was +hiding. But _why_ he was hiding, and where, was a complete mystery to +us. Yet we believed that the black parrot was in some way associated +with the old man’s disappearance. And we further believed that if we +could find him we undoubtedly would get the key to the mystery that +surrounded the strange parrot. + +Could it be, we then considered, that old Caleb had something to +do with the Cap’n’s scare? Was he creeping out of his hiding place +nights, to some secret purpose? This was an exciting thought. And +as we were convinced now that the Cap’n’s store--the death parrot’s +home--was the center of the mystery that involved the unusual black +bird, it became our decision to work in the store that night instead +of in the alley. + +Meeting us at the store at dusk, Poppy fixed five matches. I drew the +long one, which made me the “Cap’n.” + +“What am I supposed to do?” says I, uneasy in my prominent part in +the night’s coming adventure. + +“Your job,” says the leader, grinning, “will be to get into the +Cap’n’s bed in a perfectly natural way and pretend that you’re sound +asleep.” + +“And then what?” says I. + +“Something is trying to get the Cap’n. We know that. It was here last +night. And who can say that it won’t come back again to-night to +finish its job?” + +I shivered. + +“It may grab me,” says I. + +“If it does,” says Peg, laughing, “kiss it and kill it.” + +“I don’t want to kiss it,” says I, turning up my nose, “if it’s old +Caleb.” + +“I _hope_,” says Poppy, serious, “that it’s the spy.” + +Scoop was puzzled. + +“How can it be a man?” says he. “That would be a ‘him,’ as Jerry +says, and not an ‘it.’” + +“Maybe it was a man dressed up like a ghost,” says Peg. + +“_Good_ night!” says I, motioning for them to clear the track for me. +“I’m going home.” + +But I was joking, of course. I hadn’t the slightest intention of +going home. Even if I was to have a very risky part in the night’s +coming adventure I was determined to stay and see the thing through. + +Peg’s last remark had given us something to think about. A ghost was +an “it,” all right. But what could be old Caleb’s object, or the +spy’s, in playing ghost in the Cap’n’s bedroom? And, further, how had +the “ghost” gotten into the store? + +It seemed to me that the mystery became more confusing every minute. +Instead of solving it step by step, as we had done in other detecting +jobs, we were walking further and further into the darkness. + +“Let me get this straight,” says I to Poppy, when they talked of +putting me to bed. “You say I’m to let you fix me up to look like +the Cap’n, to make the whatever-it-is think that I’m the old gent +himself. Is that correct?” + +“You’ve got the right idea.” + +“And then what?” + +“You’re tucked into bed. See? The thing comes. It’s after the Cap’n. +Creeping up to the bed, it takes a peek at you. It thinks you’re its +victim. And then--” + +“_Hey!_” says I, cutting him off. “I thought you said you were going +to grab it before it grabbed me?” + +He laughed. + +“Don’t worry, Jerry. We won’t let it harm you.” + +“Just the same,” says I, shivering, “I’ve had jobs I liked better.” + +First they ruffled my hair and powdered it with flour to make it +white. Then they penciled “wrinkles” into my cheeks with a burnt +match. A wad of chewing gum made a neat wart for the side of my nose. +For chin whiskers I was given a whisk broom, held in place with a +string tied to my ears. I was even made to get out of my clothes and +dress my bare legs in the absent householder’s long white nightshirt. +A nightcap was the finishing touch, after which, having put me to bed +with a great deal of joking attention, the four crooks stepped back +to view the results of their dirty work. + +“Hi, Cap,” says Peg, saluting. + +“If you b’ys don’t quit pesterin’ me,” says I, mimicking the old man, +“I’ll run you out of here on the end of my peg-laig.” + +Poppy grinned. + +“Jerry,” says he, “you ought to go on the stage. For you’re a born +mimic. Honest. Why, you sound more like the Cap’n, and look more like +him, than the old man himself.” + +“If I don’t look like a corpse before the night is over,” says I, +“I’ll consider myself lucky.” + +When told to get into a hiding place in the room Red parked himself +behind the dresser. At Poppy’s orders Peg and Scoop wedged themselves +into the clothes closet. The fourth one flattened himself pancake +fashion under the bed. + +“Now,” says the leader, turning out his flashlight, “let’s have +silence and lots of it.” + +My heart started to thumping in the sudden darkness. And detecting a +slight noise in the alley I quickly turned my eyes to the window. Was +it the spy? Or was it a ghost? + +The alley sounds dying away into a deep silence, I started breathing +again. + +“If you fellows keep me here very long,” says I, shivering, “I’ll be +a nervous wreck.” + +“Sh-h-h-h-h!” says Poppy. + +“Why don’t one of you get in bed with me?” + +“You poor fish!” + +“You can pretend that you’re my wife. See? We’ll hang a sign on the +foot of the bed saying that we’re newly married. So the ghost won’t +be surprised when it sees you here.” + +“Keep still, I tell you.” + +I saw a chance to have some fun. And reaching for my clothes beside +the bed I searched the pockets for my ventrilo. + +“B-b-blood!” says I, in imitation of the death parrot. “Gu-gu-give me +a bucket of b-b-blood!” + +“You aren’t funny,” says Poppy. + +“I killed H-h-ham!” says I, in further fun. “I b-b-bit a hunk out of +his liver and v-v-voodooed him.” + +“I’ll come up there,” says Poppy, “and bite a hunk out of your liver +if you don’t dry up.” + +“B-b-blood!” says I. “Gu-gu-give me a bucket of b-b-blood!” + +“B-b-blood!” came the echo from under the bed, only Poppy said it so +faintly and so muffled-like that I hardly caught the word. + +“Golly Ned!” says I. “You can do it better than I can.” + +“Do what?” says he. + +“My, but you’re innocent!” + +“I didn’t do anything. Honest.” + +“Some one said, ‘B-b-blood!’” + +“It was you.” + +“It wasn’t either. It was _you_.” + +“All right,” says he, “have it your own way. I’ll agree to anything +you say if you’ll just shut up.” + +I had been told by the leader that I could actually go to sleep if I +wanted to, instead of pretending. But you can bet your Sunday shirt +that I had no intention of doing that. Not so you can notice it! + +Everything was deadly still now. And in the continued silence my mind +picked up the voodoo story. In imagination I saw the temple from +which the death parrot had been stolen by the two sailors. I could +see the building’s woven grass walls and thatched roof. At the altar, +where a fire was sputtering and snapping, was the parrot in its +glittering cage. The smoke from the altar fire had a stinking smell. +It made me think of Red’s sweaty feet. Half awake and half asleep I +got my chum’s feet mixed up with the parrot. A pair of feet in a gold +cage! What a funny sight! And where was the parrot? Oh, yes, it had +been stolen. I could see a jungle now ... a drifting raft ... a coral +island ... a dead man ... glassy, staring eyes.... + +Ker-_choo-o-o-o_! + +Golly Ned! A gunshot directly in my ear couldn’t have startled me any +worse than the sneeze that came out from under the bed. + +“For the love of mud!” says I. “Why don’t you kill a guy outright +instead of scaring him half to death?” + +“Keep still,” says Poppy. + +“Yah,” snickered the closet, “if you don’t quit talking you’ll loosen +your chin whiskers.” + +Here the dresser came to life. + +“Now what?” says Poppy, in disgust. + +“I can’t find my club.” + +“You and your club! We ought to use it on your head.” + +The dresser pranced around. + +“For the love of Pete!” + +“I’ve got to find my club.” + +“Why don’t you knock the house down?” + +“Did I make any noise?” + +“Oh, no!” + +“I’m awfully cramped in here.” + +“Come and get in bed with me,” says I quickly. + +“Stay where you are,” says Poppy. + +Dong!... dong!... gurgled the sitting-room clock in eleven mouthfuls. + +“Now, fellows,” says Poppy, earnestly, “let’s get down to business +and quit our nonsense. For this is a serious matter with me. Don’t +forget that Pa’s in jail, and the only way I can get him out is by +solving this mystery. So let’s be quiet, as I say.” + +In the silence that followed I heard a young mosquito clatter up and +down the window pane in search of human blood. Tick! tock! tick! +tock! chattered the lively clock. Tick! tock! tick! tock! I nodded +under the monotonous sound. Tick! tock! tick! tock! I nodded again. + +Suddenly my dozing mind was jerked awake. Like a powder flash. +Something soft and feathery had touched my bare feet. Under the +covers. Gee-miny crickets! You can believe it or not, but I was out +of that bed, sheets and all, in one jump. + +“B-b-blood!” came a shrill stuttering voice. “B-b-blood! Gu-gu-give +me a bucket of b-b-blood.” + +Getting my voice, I yipped at the top of my lungs. + +“The parrot!” says I. “It’s in the bed!” + +My chums sprang to life. I heard the closet door fly open; and from +the noise in the corner where the dresser was I could imagine that +Red had turned that piece of furniture upside-down. Then there was +another sound--a crash of broken glass. + +Having dug me out of the mountain of bedclothes, my chums told me +that the screaming parrot, in escaping from the room, had gone +through the window pane. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + IN THE OLD MANSE + + +The black parrot’s crashing escape from the Cap’n’s bedroom had left +us dumb and dizzy. In planning our night’s work we hadn’t expected +any such developments as this. In fact, we hadn’t thought of the +missing parrot at all. Certainly, it never had occurred to us that +the parrot was in any way connected with its master’s scare. We had +thought of almost everything else _but_ the parrot. + +Our first scattered conclusion was that the mysterious bird was +indeed possessed of uncanny powers and could thereby come and go of +its own free will. But we quickly got away from that crazy belief. +The bird hadn’t gotten into the bed of its own accord, we sensibly +agreed. Some one had put it there. + +But to what purpose? Yes, _why_ had the parrot been hidden in the +bed? Had the Cap’n been secretly marked for death, like the old +seadog in _Treasure Island_? And granting that either old Caleb or +the unknown spy was back of the evil scheme, was it the belief of +these two men, or one of them, that the black parrot would fatally +voodoo its master when he got into bed? + +I shivered at the thought of it. + +“What’s the matter, Jerry?” says Peg, watching me. + +“That was some narrow escape for me,” says I. + +“Fishhooks!” says he, laughing. + +“I suppose,” says I, stiffening, “that _you_ would have let the +parrot bite your leg off, hey?” + +“Why not?” says he. + +I didn’t say any more to him then. I wasn’t going to let him think +that I believed the voodoo story if he didn’t. But just the same I +watched my chance and gave my bare legs a careful once-over. And +I’ll tell you truthfully that it was a big relief to me to find that +the parrot hadn’t drawn blood on me with its bill. Now I was safe. +Whether the voodoo story was true or not I had nothing to fear. + +“It,” says Poppy, thinking. “We thought the Cap’n’s ‘it’ was a ghost. +But now we know it was the black parrot.” + +“We _think_ it was the parrot,” says I. + +“There’s no doubt about it in my mind.” + +“But why didn’t the old man say ‘parrot’ instead of ‘it’?” + +“I can’t answer that question any more than I can answer a dozen +others concerned in the mystery.” + +“And don’t forget,” says I, “that he said he had seen ‘it’ at the +foot of the bed--he didn’t say ‘it’ was _in_ the bed.” + +“What puzzles me,” Scoop spoke up, “is who brought the parrot here. +If there’s crooked work going on, I can’t make myself believe that +old Caleb is at the bottom of it. For we know how thick he is with +the Cap’n. And in close friendship like that he wouldn’t be likely to +scheme against the other one.” + +Poppy had been listening attentively. + +“Sometimes,” says he, “a good man is _made_ to do evil things.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Old Caleb may be a helpless tool of the other man.” + +“The spy?” + +“Sure thing.” + +“Aw!...” says Scoop. “I’d sooner think the spy was working alone.” + +“It gets my goat,” says Poppy, after a moment, “that we can’t capture +this man. We’ve been close to him--we’ve even seen him in the +dark--yet he always gets away from us. He could belong in the moon +for all we know about him.” + +“Don’t let that worry you,” says Peg. “For we’re going to get him in +the end.” + +“Yes,” says Poppy, sort of dogged-like, “we’ve _got_ to capture him. +We’ve got to do that in order to clear Pa’s name.” + +Scoop had gone to the broken window. + +“To-morrow,” says he, wanting to do the square thing by our old +friend, “we’ll all chip in and buy the Cap’n a new window glass. For +we’re sort of responsible for this accident.” + +We took turns standing guard throughout the balance of the night. But +nothing happened. And at seven o’clock we went home to breakfast. + +While we were replacing the broken glass that morning the Stricker +gang meandered into sight. + +“Window washers,” says Bid, getting a wrong idea of our work. + +“Flunkies,” says Jimmy Stricker, turning up his nose at us. + +“Cap’n Tinkertop’s pets,” says another one of the smart Alecks. + +Bid got real brave and put a foot into the alley. + +“Hello, Poppy,” says he. “Did you have a nice time in the barn the +other night?” + +“We picked out a barn for you,” says Jimmy, “because we thought you +were a donkey.” + +“Hee-haw! Hee-haw!” says Bid. Then he came closer. “Say,” says he, in +pretended earnestness, “do any of you guys with strong backs and weak +minds know where I can borrow a good wheelbarrow?” + +He thought that was funny! + +“Beat it,” says Poppy, “or I’ll tip this store building over on top +of you and sprain your good looks.” + +“Go on, you tramp! You couldn’t tip a mosquito over.” + +“I bet you anything you want to bet,” says I, sticking up for our new +leader, “that he can tip _you_ over with one hand.” + +“_Him?_ Don’t make me laugh. I might crack my face.” + +“If you did crack it,” says Scoop, “you wouldn’t lose anything out of +your head except water.” + +“You guys are a bag of wind.” + +“You’ll think we’re a cyclone,” says I, “when we open up on you some +day.” + +“Talk’s cheap.” + +“If you haven’t any other engagements this afternoon,” says Poppy, +“come around and we’ll measure you up for a grave in our private +cemetery.” + +Bid put out his chest then and raised his arm muscles. + +“When _I_ came to this town to live,” says he, strutting, “they had +to put an addition on the hospital.” + +“Yah,” says Scoop, “I saw that room. It’s padded on the inside and +has your name over the door.” + +“Watch me spit! Every time I do it I crack the sidewalk.” + +“That’s nothing,” says Peg. “One time I sneezed and blew the North +Pole over.” + +There was more of this crazy bragging talk. Both sides enjoyed it. +But I got mad as hops, let me tell you, when one of the smart Alecks +plastered me with a mud ball. + +Chasing the kid out of the alley with a club, I came back to my chums +fighting mad. + +“Why do we always let them get the best of us?” says I, wiping my +muddy face. “Why don’t we clean up on them?” + +Poppy grinned. + +“Hold your horses, Jerry. Our time’s coming.” + +“Yah, and so is the end of the world--but I don’t expect to live to +see it.” + +“We’re going to fix them to-night. Eh, Scoop?” + +“I’ll tell the world we are!” says the old leader. “Remember what I +told you the other night at the medicine show, Jerry?” + +“About the Indian’s ‘spirit letter’ trick?” + +“Sure thing. Well, Poppy and I have it all framed up to work the +letter trick on them to-night. Spider Phelps is going to help us. We +need a man on our side. And we can trust Spider, for he’s my cousin.” + +I gave a tickled yip when the complete scheme was unfolded to me. The +fun we were going to have! Oh, boy! A mud ball, or a dozen mud balls, +wasn’t one, two, three as compared with what the Strickers were going +to get. + +However, I lost some of my enthusiasm that noon. For I overheard +something at the dinner table that upset me. + +Mother had a lot to say during the meal. She had been down town that +morning, she told Dad, and had stopped at the emergency rooms to +leave some pansies with a sick neighbor lady who recently had been +repaired in the operating room. + +“And while I was there I looked in on the Cap’n. Poor old man! He’s +still flighty. The nurse says he has the strange hallucination that +old Caleb Obed has drowned himself in somebody’s cistern.” + +_Cistern!_ At the spoken word I suddenly pricked up my ears. And my +thoughts jumped to Red. + +“Tell me,” says Mother across the table, “is there any truth in these +stories that are going around about old Caleb ordering a grave dug +for himself and then committing suicide in some out-of-the-way place?” + +Dad shrugged. + +“That’s a queer thing,” says he slowly. “Caleb ordered the grave dug, +all right. I figure he’s cuckoo.” + +“Has he actually disappeared?” + +“As completely as if he had walked off the earth. I was talking with +the marshal about the case, and Bill tells me that he has ransacked +the town for the old coot without being able to find hide or hair of +him.” + +Mother sighed. + +“I hope the suicide story is untrue. For old Caleb was the best +cistern cleaner we ever had.” + +“What’s the matter with Negro Mose?” + +“Oh, I can’t exactly complain of his work. But I like old Caleb the +best of the two. However, if the latter isn’t available right now you +had better hire Mose. For I think our cistern ought to be cleaned +before a heavy rain comes.” + +“I’ll see Mose on my way through town,” says Dad. + +Well, as you can imagine, I did some quick work getting over to Red’s +house. + +“Your goose is cooked,” says I. + +“What do you mean?” says he. + +“Old Mose is coming to our house this afternoon to clean our cistern.” + +That put a sick look on the other’s freckled face. And while we were +talking over the unhappy situation, wondering if there was anything +that we could do to save ourselves, a fat woman bustled into sight +with an armful of rugs. + +“Sh-h-h-h!” says I. “Here’s your Aunt Pansy, now.” + +“Don-ald,” says the fat one, in a voice that was all honey and cream, +“if you’ll come here, like a dear little man, and shake these bedroom +rugs for Aunty I’ll make you a nice custard pudding for supper.” + +I beat it then. For it made me nervous to be around Red’s aunt. And +about two-thirty Poppy and the others came to my house in a delivery +wagon that they had borrowed from Scoop’s store. Getting their +signal, I ran into the street. + +“Jump in, Jerry. Where’s Red?” + +I told them of the freckled one’s predicament. + +“He’s a goner,” says I. “For old Mose is bound to find his truck in +the cistern.” + +“He sure was a dumb-bell,” says Scoop, “to pull that burglar trick.” + +“And as long as he was doing it,” says Peg, “why didn’t he use his +own cistern?” + +“Search me,” says I, shrugging. “But he’d be a lucky kid this minute +if he had.” + +Here Scoop got his eyes on something down the street. + +“It’s going to rain, fellows,” says he, laughing. “Look at the dark +cloud coming.” + +The “dark cloud” was old Mose, a ladder draped on one shoulder and a +coil of rope hung on the other. Each big hand gripped a pail handle. + +I figured that it would be safer for me to be away from home when the +silverware was brought up. So I quickly scrambled into the wagon, +driving with the others to Peg’s house where we got the “treasure +chest,” a sort of home-made trunk that his mother had dumped into +the alley during the spring housecleaning work. Made of heavy wood, +with a thick hinged cover, iron handles and iron corner pieces, it +was just the thing that we needed for our “buried treasure” trick. +Scoop’s father sells all kinds of cheap novelties in his store, and +going there, our chum got four tiny red wheelbarrows. + +Our truck gathered up, we then headed out of town on the Treebury +pike. In Happy Hollow a familiar freckled face came into sight over +the weeds beside the road. + +“Hi,” says Red Meyers, waving to us. + +Poppy pulled on the lines. + +“I thought you were home reënforcing the seat of your pants,” says he. + +“Where you headed for?” + +“The old Scotch cemetery.” + +“Hot dog! You can give me a lift.” Here the speaker bent over and +tugged at something in the weeds. “Gosh, but this truck is heavy.” + +Say, you should have seen the bundle of stuff that he had! Kettles +and pans and a baseball bat and a catching glove and bread and canned +beans and I don’t know what all. + +“Are your folks moving?” says the leader. + +“No, I’m running away.” + +“_What?_” + +“I’m headed for Montana.” + +“Haw! haw! haw!” says Peg, in his rough way. “Why didn’t you bring +along the kitchen stove and the player piano?” + +I couldn’t believe at first that Red was in earnest about running +away from home. Still, I reflected, it was just like him to start out +this way with a wagon load of silly truck. He sure is rattleheaded. + +There was a fearful clatter as the runaway pitched his frying pan and +kettles into the wagon. + +“Lookit!” says I, hooking a book. “‘Tricked at the Altar,’” I read. + +“It belongs to Sis,” says the sweating worker, shooing the flies off +his hunk of boiled ham. + +“Since when,” says the grinning leader, as the runaway wedged himself +into the seat with us, “did you get this grand and glorious idea of +populating Montana?” + +“Oh, it just came to me when I was flipping Aunt Pansy’s rugs. So I +grabbed my stuff and beat it.” + +“But what’s the _idea_?” + +“You ought to know.” + +“The silverware in the cistern?” + +“That and the dead parrot.” + +“Aw!...” says Peg, serious. “You aren’t really going to run away +from home to escape a licking, are you?” + +“Nothing else but.” + +“Red, you’re crazy. Why, kid, you won’t get two miles from here +before your folks catch you.” + +“I’ve got a scheme.” + +“Yah?” + +“You know the old manse in the Scotch cemetery?” + +“Where the sexton keeps the coffin cases?” + +“Sure thing.” + +Peg glanced back at the “treasure chest” and quartet of toy +wheelbarrows. + +“We ought to know the place,” says he, laughing, “for we’re headed +for there this very minute.” + +“I’m going to hide there,” says the runaway. “For two or three weeks. +Everybody will think I’m in Chicago or somewhere. See? They won’t +think of looking for me so close to home. Then, when the coast is +clear, I’ll make my getaway into the West.” He unfolded his arms in +a sweeping gesture. “Oh, you Montana!” says he. “The wild and woolly +life for me. Injuns. Mountain lions. Gila monsters. Rattlesnakes.” + +Well, the rest of us fairly busted ourselves laughing at this silly +talk. For it’s a fact that Red Meyers has about as little grit as +any kid in Tutter. On a camping trip one time he found a spider in +his pancake and was gaggy for a week. I had a picture of him living +a “wild and woolly” life in Montana. Oh, yes! He didn’t know a Gila +monster from a camel’s egg. As for chumming with rattlesnakes, if he +thought there was one in the same county with him he’d shiver his +back teeth loose. + +But we let on to him that we swallowed his crazy talk. It was fun for +us. + +Coming to the cemetery in which Caleb Obed had so strangely ordered +a grave dug, our eyes curiously sought the pile of fresh dirt. The +grave, we noticed, was covered with a canvas to keep it dry in case +of a sudden shower. Through the big pine trees in the background we +could see the dilapidated old manse, the place that the four of us +were heading for with our “treasure chest,” and also the place where +the runaway was intending to lay low until the way was clear for him +to skin out for Montana. + +A more direct course for us to have taken would have been through the +big cemetery gate, but it was our scheme not to attract attention, +so, passing the cemetery, we turned into a wood-lot road to the +left. Winding here and there in this unfrequented road, dodging +low-hanging limbs, we presently drew up at the back door of the +manse. Tying the horse to a fence, we first helped Red unload his +truck, then, leaving the runaway to manage his own affairs, the four +of us headed for the manse cellar with the chest and the four toy +wheelbarrows. + +In this windowless and doorless old building, a storage house for +wooden coffin cases, the sexton kept his grave-digging tools. And +helping ourselves to a pick and three shovels we quickly descended a +flight of rotten wooden stairs into as damp and spooky a cellar as +ever I had been in. Thinking of the near-by graves, I got a sudden +case of cold shivers. But I quickly got over that feeling. For +whatever idea I had of dead people coming back to earth it wasn’t to +be believed that a ghost or spook would be likely to meander into the +manse cellar at this time of day. The time for ghosts to do their +stuff was in the dark. I knew that. + +Well, getting quickly to work, we marked off a spot three feet from +one wall and six feet from another, sort of in a corner, and there +we dug a hole in the dirt floor about four feet deep. The hole +completed, we put the toy wheelbarrows into the chest, locked the +cover with a rusted padlock, and then dropped the box into the hole, +covering it with dirt, flush with the floor. + +Peg wiped his sweaty face. + +“I’m glad that job’s done,” says he. “Wow! I’m wringing wet.” He +looked around at the shadowy corners. “Say, this is a spooky hole! A +dozen black cats could hide down here and we’d never know it.” + +“Come on,” says I, starting for the stairs. “Let’s get out of here. I +don’t like the smell. It comes from the dead people on the other side +of the wall.” + +Scoop sniffed. + +“Um...” says he. “It smells like a dead rat to me.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + THE HAUNTED CISTERN + + +Coming out of the cellar, we found everything in the runaway’s +quarters in apple-pie order. To one side was a sort of provision +shelf made of two long coffin cases piled one on top of the other. +On another similar shelf the frying pan and kettles were neatly +arranged. In the middle of the room was a sort of library table, +built up of small coffin cases. Here we found the runaway hard at +work copying a farewell letter to his folks from the book, “Tricked +at the Altar.” + +“It wouldn’t be right,” says he, “for me to skip out to Montana +without telling Ma something about my plans. For she might worry.” + +Peg, the big monkey, lugged in an iron cemetery settee. It brightened +up the room, he said, and made it more homelike. Then he brought in a +withered “Gates Ajar” flower piece that had been thrown away. There +was nothing like having things cheerful, he said. + +But the pencil pusher was too deep in his letter writing job to give +any attention to the nonsense that was going on around him. I looked +in the book to see what he was copying. Here it is: + + DEAR FATHER: + + Unable to longer endure my unmerited shame, I am going to + the river. It is my last earthly wish that my innocent + child shall be brought up never to know the cruel trick + that was played on its unfortunate mother at the altar. + Good-by, forever. May I know a happier fate in the next + world. + Your erring daughter, + TESSIE. + +I let out a yip. + +“For the love of Pete!” says I. “I hope _that_ isn’t the letter +you’re writing to your mother.” + +He glanced up. + +“Oh, I’m changing it,” says he. “How’s this?” + + DEAR MOTHER: + + Unable to longer endure my shame in having killed Aunt + Pansy’s parrot, I am going to Montana to be a cowboy and + scalp Indians and Gila monsters. It is my last earthly wish + that you give Jerry Todd the custard pudding that Aunt + Pansy promised to make for me for supper. He will see that + I get it and not eat it himself. Good-by, forever. + + Your erring son, + DONALD. + + P.S. Please give Jerry a spoon with the custard as I forgot + to bring one along. + + P.S. If you haven’t got your spoons out of the cistern yet + you needn’t bother about sending me one. I can eat the + custard without a spoon. But be sure and sugar it. + +“Some kid, Red is,” says Peg, when we were on our way home in the +delivery wagon. + +“Some bluffer, you mean,” says Scoop, with a grunt. + +I thought of the note that I was carrying to the runaway’s mother. + +“Maybe he means business,” says I, thoughtful. + +“_Him_ run away?” says Peg, hooting at the idea. “Tell me next that +the moon is made of green cheese and see if I believe _that_.” + +Poppy laughed at his thoughts. + +“After a night or two in the old manse he’ll be glad enough to go +home to Aunt Pansy and take his medicine.” + +“And what Aunt Pansy will do to him,” says Peg, whistling. +“Spat-spat-spat on his china end.” + +I squirmed at the turn of the conversation. + +“Maybe,” says I gloomily, “he isn’t the only kid in Tutter who’ll get +a spat-spat-spat on his china end.” + +Coming into town, the others let me out of the wagon close to my home. + +“Aren’t you coming, too?” says I to Poppy. + +He shook his head. + +“I guess I better go down to the jail and see Pa. For he gets +lonesome for me.” + +“We’ll meet you after supper at the medicine show,” says Scoop. “The +invisible-ink letter is all written, telling about the wonderful +buried treasure in the old manse cellar, and I’ve fixed it with +Spider Phelps to hook one of the Indian’s sheets to-night when +they’re passed out and switch it for mine. See? Then Spider’s going +to offer my sheet to Bid, who, of course, will jump at the chance of +getting a ‘spirit letter.’” There was a contented laugh. “And this is +_some_ letter, eh, Poppy?” + +“I’ll tell the world!” says the leader. + +“I can imagine Bid’s excitement when he reads it,” says Scoop. “He’ll +show it to his gang, of course, for he won’t have the nerve to go +into the cemetery all alone. We’ll have an eye on them. And when they +start for the cemetery to dig up the treasure we’ll take a short-cut +and get there ahead of them, hiding to see the fun. Red will be on +the lookout for us. I told him not to show a light. And we’re to give +a ‘mewing cat’ signal, so he’ll know for sure that it’s us, and not +the enemy.” + +I more than half suspected that Mother or Dad would be waiting for +me at the front door with a paddle. So I didn’t put on any speed in +approaching the house. To the contrary I sort of piecemealed along. + +But, to my surprise, the house was closed. + +“Looking for your folks, Jerry?” says Mr. Dodson, who lives next door +to us. + +“Yes, sir,” says I. + +“The marshal was here this afternoon to see your pa about something. +Then Mr. and Mrs. Meyers came over and they all drove away in the +direction of Ashton.” + +Well, this was cheerful news! + +Two hours passed and still my folks hadn’t come home. But this didn’t +surprise me. The county courthouse is in Ashton. That is where the +Tutter people go to get marriage licenses and dog tags. And now I had +the feeling that my parents were at the courthouse trying hard to get +a pardon for me. They undoubtedly believed me to be as guilty as +Red. But even so they wouldn’t want to see me go to jail. For I was +just a boy. More than that I was _their_ boy. And they loved me. + +When dusk came I went down town. And who should I bump into, in +turning a corner, but Bill Hadley himself. At sight of the marshal’s +big star I pretty nearly panaked. + +“Kid,” says the officer, putting a heavy hand on me, “I’ve bin +lookin’ fur you.” + +I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. + +“Lulu kept supper waitin’ on you fur mor’n an hour,” says Bill, +naming his wife, an old school teacher of mine, as I say, and a chum +of Mother’s. “What’s the idea of disappointin’ us? Don’t you like our +grub? Or didn’t you git your ma’s note?” + +“Note?” says I, dizzy. + +“I was up to your house this afternoon talkin’ with your pa about +goin’ fishin’. Then Mr. and Mrs. Meyers come over and started coaxin’ +your folks to go with them to some kind of a party in Ashton. Your ma +said she didn’t like to go away and leave you to git your own supper. +‘Shucks,’ says I, ‘me an’ Lulu we bin wantin’ Jerry to come over to +our house to supper fur a coon’s age. You jest trot along,’ says I, +‘an’ we’ll take care of Jerry an’ see that he gits plenty to eat.’ +Your ma left a note fur you on the hall table. Didn’t you find it?” + +“No,” says I, and I sort of felt myself over to make sure that I +wasn’t dreaming. I had expected him to drag me off to jail. And here +he was talking to me like a chum! + +Well, he took me into a restaurant and ordered some fried potatoes +and beefsteak for me, with a lot of stuff on the side like apple +pie with ice cream on it and two kinds of bread and dill pickles +and fried cakes and jello and pears. There was pudding, too, and +strawberry shortcake and some kind of a salad with chopped-up red +peppers in it. Still dazed, I ate everything they set out. They +brought me a second portion of meat and potatoes and I ate that. +There was a big bowl of soup crackers near my plate and I ate that. +I didn’t leave a single cracker. As I look back the wonder to me is +that I didn’t eat the toothpicks or gnaw a hunk out of the wooden +counter. With the law standing behind me, urging me on, eating seemed +to be a sort of duty. So everything went down. + +Bill was called away before I had the counter cleaned off. I was glad +of that. He had talked to me like a friend, but I couldn’t quite get +away from the worried feeling that I’d wake up and find myself in +handcuffs. Besides I was having hard work now to get the food down. I +didn’t seem to have any room for it. + +Staggering out of the restaurant, I bumped into Tommy Hegan, a +neighbor kid. + +“Golly Ned!” says he, laughing. “You sure did scare the wits out of +old Mose this afternoon. He thinks your cistern is haunted. How did +you work it, Jerry?” + +I loosened my belt and drew a deep breath. + +“Work it?” says I. “Work what?” + +“The voice.” + +“What voice?” + +“The voice in the cistern that said, ‘Polly wants breakfast.’ I +laughed when Mose told me about it. He says he wouldn’t go near +your cistern again, to finish the job of cleaning it, for a hundred +dollars. It was a pretty slick trick, all right. Tell me how you +worked it, Jerry.” + +_Red’s parrot!_ I saw the whole thing in a flash. He had dumped the +parrot into the cistern along with the other stuff. And instead of +being dead, as we had supposed, the bird had been in a faint. And +now it was recovered! And the law as yet hadn’t found out about the +silverware! + +Boy, was I ever glad! Hoop-a-la! I kicked up my heels, only I +couldn’t kick very high because my tight stomach was sort of in the +way of my knees. Then down the street I went, lickety-cut, and into +our back yard. + +[Illustration: “POLLY WANTS BREAKFAST!” CAME IN A WILTED HOLLOW VOICE +FROM THE CISTERN. + +_Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot._ _Page 198_] + +“Polly!” says I, putting my head into the black cistern. “Polly!” + +“Breakfast,” came a wilted hollow voice from the in-flow tile. “Polly +wants breakfast.” + +The thing to do, I figured out quickly, was to tell Red that his +parrot was alive and then help him get it out of the cistern. It +would help our case if we could get the bird back into its cage +before our folks returned from Ashton. And if we could succeed in +bailing up the silverware so much the better. + +I started for the cemetery on the run, telling myself that things +were looking a lot brighter for us. And now comes the part of my +story that always gives Mother the shivers. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + VOODOOED + + +Coming to the dark cemetery, I paused to get my wind, my eyes +anxiously seeking the path that I had to take among the tombstones +in order to reach my chum. How weird the white shafts looked in the +filtered light! They seemed to be crouching, listening. I shivered, +dreading at the moment to enter the spooky place. + +Then I got a grip on myself. It was only a person’s fear of dark +cemeteries, I told myself, that made such places dangerous. It wasn’t +the scheme of the dead to harm the living. + +So, entering the cemetery in bolstered courage, I hurried along the +gravel road, trying not to let myself believe that something was +following me. But I kept looking back as a sort of precaution. I +couldn’t help it. Try going through a cemetery some dark night and +see how _you_ feel. Once a branch twisted under my foot and slapped +me on the leg. Boy, did I ever jump! + +The pines that I passed under were a hundred years old. And there +were tombstones in the cemetery fully as old as the trees. Once upon +a time a Scottish church, called a kirk, had stood on this hill. +A fire had wiped out the church. But the manse and the churchyard +remained. + +I had to pass close to the empty grave. And at sight of it queer +thoughts crept into my mind. Had Caleb actually ordered it for +his own use in strange foreboding of his early death? Had he been +voodooed? Was he dead, as the Cap’n suspected? + +“Dea-a-ad!” mournfully whispered the pines, picking up the thread of +my thoughts. “Dea-a-ad! Dea-a-ad!” + +Coming to the old manse, a black pile in the crowding darkness, I put +my head in at the door. + +“Red,” says I, breathing my chum’s name. + +There was no answer. Remembering about the cat signal, I gave a loud, +“Meow!” Still no response from within. + +“Red,” says I, louder. “It’s me--Jerry. I’ve got some good news for +you.” + +Lighting a match, I stepped, trembling, into the building, my eyes +seeking a safe path. The frying pan and ham, I noticed, were on their +respective coffin-case shelves. But of the runaway himself there was +no sign. + +“Red,” says I again, raising my voice. “_Red._” + +What I didn’t know was that the “runaway” had gone home, like the +big baby that he was at heart. His “Montana” talk was all a bluff. +In sending the note home he had figured that his mother would make +me tell her where her “erring son” was. Then, of course, mamma and +Aunt Pansy, all flustered, would hurry around to the front door of +the manse with the family sedan, begging Sonny, on bended knees, to +please come home again and give up his intended scheme of scalping +Indians and Gila monsters. In getting him back into the family circle +their joy, of course, would be so great that they would forget all +about wanting to punish him. + +Oh, Red’s tricky, all right! But what had sort of upset things for +him was the unexpected absence of his folks. His mother being away, +I had been unable to deliver his note, and consequently no one had +come for him, as he had expected they would, with the willing promise +that all would be forgiven. He had held out until sundown, and then, +shaking, had lit out for home. Late that night his folks found him +sound asleep on their back porch, the empty custard dish in his lap. + +But, of course, I didn’t know about the runaway’s deceitful scheme +until later on. And searching for him unsuccessfully in the old +manse, I became terrified at the thought that something had happened +to him. + +“Red,” says I in a trembling voice. And going to the doorway into the +cellar I peered down the stairs. “_Red._” + +The rotten stairs suddenly collapsing under my weight, I was pitched, +screaming, into the dark, foul-smelling hole. Plaster and rubbish +showered around me. Feeling about to get my bearings, my left hand +suddenly touched something yielding. Like an inflated football. I +froze in sudden horror. For I knew that the thing I had touched in +the dark was no football, but _a dead man’s face_. + +I fumbled in my pocket for a match. Getting one, I struck it. The +small blaze gave me a glimpse of a stretched-out form that had +been hidden from our sight that afternoon by the stairs. As I had +suspected, it was old Caleb Obed! + +I hadn’t believed the voodoo story in first hearing it--it was a +crazy tale, I had said. But after the mysterious appearance of the +black parrot in my bed I had been doing some thinking. And now I +knew the truth of the matter. There was no longer room for doubt. The +parrot’s story was only too true. + +How I got out of that stairless hole I don’t know. But I did get +out, somehow. And, screaming, I ran out of the cemetery and down the +road into town, where, completely forgetting about my promise to the +Cap’n, I sounded the alarm of the tragedy in the street. When the +story got to Bill Hadley’s ears he loaded his flivver full of excited +men and drove up the Happy Hollow road on the tear. + +Realizing that Dad ought to know the truth about my part in the death +parrot’s escape, I ran home, still trembling, determined to tell my +parents the whole story from beginning to end. For I realized that +immediate steps should be taken to kill the weird parrot. Otherwise +it might voodoo some one else. Every minute that it was permitted to +live human lives were in danger. + +Finding the house still in darkness, I switched on the lights. As I +did so the clock struck ten. How queerly I felt! I suddenly noticed +it. I worked my dizzy head on its rubbery support. Then I noticed a +peculiar pain in my left foot. + +Taking off my shoe and stocking, I found a swollen ankle. The foot +had been bleeding, too. There were matted drops on my big toe. + +Puzzled at first to account for the injury, I suddenly remembered +that _this_ was the foot that had touched the voodoo parrot in the +bed. + +Say, if ever there was a scared kid in the whole history of the world +it was _me_. The terrible thought jumped into my head that I had been +voodooed. The parrot had nipped me in the bed without the slight +injury showing at the time. + +I tried hard to fight down my fears. I didn’t want to believe that I +had been voodooed. For, if I had, I would die. There were no “if’s” +and “and’s” about that. The result of the voodoo was _death_. The +Cap’n had said so, and Caleb Obed’s death had proved it. The bare +thought of it drove me out of my senses. + +“Dad!” says I, running madly through the empty house. “Dad! Mother! +Dad!” + +But there was no one there to help me. + +Then to my great joy the front door bell rang. In the hall my hand +touched something cold ... the marble-topped table. _Marble!_ I +shrank back in horror. For marble was what tombstones were made of. + +“Good evening,” bowed the man at the door, and I saw in added horror +that he carried a bouquet of calla lilies. “I am a stranger in town. +Can you direct me to the home of Mr. W. W. Graves?” + +_Graves! Calla lilies!_ I slammed the door shut in the stranger’s +face, for I could think of him only as an omen of death itself. +Suddenly weak in the knees, I dropped, panting, into a seat in the +hall. _Marble! Graves! Calla lilies!_ The sweat ran down my cheeks. + +The dizzy feeling was now in my crammed stomach. Everything that +I had eaten for supper was going around and around. First the +strawberry shortcake chased the dill pickles, then the jello played +horse with the pepper salad. To vary the lively program, the pears +and everything else lined up in a game of leapfrog. + +I had turned on the parlor lights, wanting to drive away every +particle of darkness. And there on the parlor wall within range of +my eyes, nodding at me in the bright light, was my dead Grandfather +Todd’s picture. The eyes held a new expression. They seemed to be +_beckoning_ to me. + +Was I crazy? + +I ran out of the house. The shortcake now had a strangle hold on +the jello’s windpipe. The latter’s death struggles grew fainter and +fainter. Then the beefsteak, galloping to the jello’s rescue, kicked +the shortcake in the seat of the pants and the fight started all over +again. + +I bumped into a man in the street. + +“Howdy, Jerry,” says Mr. Ump. My eyes bulged at sight of the long +package under the sexton’s arm. All I could think of was a new shovel. + +Ten minutes later, having tripped on the sidewalk in front of Mr. +Kaar’s undertaking parlor, I tumbled into Doc Leland’s office, +where I faced six or seven surprised men, among them Bill Hadley +and Scoop’s father. A meeting of some kind was in progress. But the +meeting broke up in a hurry, let me tell you, when I galloped into +the room, capless, wearing only one shoe and stocking, yelling to Doc +to get busy and save my life. + +Springing up, Bill took my arms and drew my face close to his. + +“Why, Jerry!” says he, searching my eyes. “What’s the matter?” Then +he laughed. “Have you found another ‘dead man’?” + +The whole story came out then--how we had let the death parrot escape +and how it had voodooed Caleb Obed, killing him, and how I had been +voodooed in the Cap’n’s bed, and, in consequence, had been seeing +graves with marble tops and sextons carrying long-handled strawberry +shortcakes trimmed with calla lilies. + +“Um ...” grunted Doc, getting the hang of my wild story. “H’ist up +that foot that’s bin voodooed an’ let me take a peek at it.” + +The men were laughing now. And I wondered at it. + +“Um ...” says Doc, examining the inflamed ankle. “Bin swimmin’ in the +creek, hain’t you?” + +I nodded. + +“P’ison ivy,” says he, with a grunt. Thumping me in the stomach, he +inquired what I had had for supper. + +“Beefsteak and fried potatoes,” says I, “and strawberry shortcake and +pepper salad and dill pickles and jello and apple pie with ice cream +on it and pears and----” + +“That’ll do,” says Doc, and he acted as though he was sort of +disgusted with me. I guess he had the idea that I had been eating too +much. I was beginning to think so myself. + +Bill was laughing his head off now. + +“Why, kid,” says he, patting me on the back to brace me up, “you +hain’t bin voodooed. That fall of your’n into the cemetery cellar +upset your nerves. You’ve bin lettin’ yourself imagine things.” + +Mr. Ellery winked at Doc. + +“I think,” says he, laughing, “that the boy’s stomach has been upset +worse than his nerves.” + +“Old Caleb hain’t dead, Jerry,” Bill went on. “You thought he was. +But he hain’t. We brought him home a few minutes ago. He’s drunk, +that’s all.” + +I was still dizzy. + +“And he wasn’t voodooed?” says I. + +Bill laughed and gave me another friendly pat on the back. + +“Kid,” says he, “you’re funny.” + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + WHAT WE CAPTURED + + +Doc Leland had me lay down on a couch in his office while he doped my +ankle with medicine. + +“Um ...” says he, in the course of his work. “How does that feel?” + +“It stings,” says I, fidgeting. + +“Of course it does. But that hain’t a-goin’ to kill you.” + +I was told then that I would be all right again in a few days, but I +wasn’t to do any more swimming in the creek. For the sluggish stream +was full of poison, Doc said. + +The meeting was going on in the room. And from the earnest +conversation of the business men I gathered that they were up in +arms over old Caleb’s spree. It was a disgrace to the community, Mr. +Ellery declared. + +“I’ve got a boy growing up,” says he, meaning Scoop, “and if I am to +expect him to properly respect his country’s laws, and abide by them, +I’ve got to do my part, as a parent and citizen, and you fathers +have got to do the same, to see that the laws are obeyed. In short, +gentlemen, we’ve got to set our growing boys a good example in law +enforcement and cease this milk-and-water attitude of ours toward +a vicious traffic that we know exists in our midst. That is why I +suggested this informal meeting.” + +“I have said right along,” says Mr. Fisher of the Chamber of +Commerce, nodding in approval of Mr. Ellery’s speech, “that we could +stop the moonshine traffic if we got together.” + +Bill’s face reddened. + +“Is that an insinuation, Fisher, that I hain’t bin doin’ my duty?” + +“Not at all,” says Mr. Ellery quickly. “We didn’t get together +to-night to criticize anybody but ourselves. The point is, as I see +it, that we, as a community, have been entirely too lackadaisical in +our support of our officer.” + +“Until lately,” says Bill, “we hain’t had an awful sight of ‘moon’ +in town. As fur old Caleb’s case, I’ve got a’ idear who sold him +the stuff. But if we were to raid the guy I doubt if we’d git any +evidence. Fur them fellers is reg’lar snakes in coverin’ up their +tracks.” + +“Who is this bootlegger?” says Mr. Fisher. + +Bill gave a name that surprised and excited me. + +“Why! ...” says I, drawing the attention of the men to my couch. +“Maybe this bootlegger is the burglar.” + +There was a moment’s dead silence. + +“By gum,” says Bill, giving me a warm look, “I never thought of +_that_.” + +Doc’s office adjoins the emergency rooms. And at this point the +public health nurse tapped on the connecting door and entered. + +“I thought you might want to know,” says she to Doc, “that Cap’n +Tinkertop has partially regained his senses. He tells a queer story +about a ghost--as I understand it, the ghost of a dead sailor +brother. It might quiet him if you were to talk with him.” + +“Um ...” says Doc. “So he’s got somethin’ to tell us about a ghost, +has he? That must ’a’ bin the ‘it’ that he seen night before last.” + +Here the Cap’n himself pottered into the room, having gotten out of +bed of his own accord. + +“Caleb,” says he huskily, searching the room with restless troubled +eyes. “Caleb. Hais any of you gentlemen seed anything of ol’ Caleb +Obed? I’ve bin lookin’ fur him. But I kain’t find him.” + +Doc got the trembling patient safely into a chair. + +“Saturday,” says the old man, mumbling to himself. “Ham said--I was +to give him--the money--on Saturday night. Ham said----” + +“He’s talking about his brother,” says I to Doc. + +“But his brother’s dead.” + +The old man’s ears caught this. + +“Yes,” says he, nodding slowly, “my brother’s daid. Ham, I mean. But +he come back. He allus said he would, an’ he did.” Again the troubled +eyes searched the room, as though the muddled brain was seeking a +way out of its confusion. “Don’t you un’erstand? It was his _ghost_ +that I seed--his _spirit_. I woke up sudden. An’ thar he was at the +foot of the bed. An’ he said--he said--I was to give him back--his +money. He said--I haid lost his par’ot--I haidn’t kep’ my part of the +’greement--an’ I was to give him back his money--on Saturday night.” + +Mr. Ellery had been listening attentively. + +“What money is he talking about, Jerry?” + +I explained about the insurance money. + +The merchant gave a dry laugh. + +“I never was quite foolish enough to believe in ghosts,” says he, +“and particularly am I unwilling to take stock in a ghost that +tries to collect its own insurance money.” He paused in deep +thought. “I wonder,” he went on, “if we aren’t in touch with some +kind of a scheme to defraud the insurance company that carried the +two-thousand-dollar policy. To that point, this man Ham may not be +dead at all. He may have faked a death, scheming to recover the +insurance money in trickery from his not overly bright brother.” + +Bill was grim now. + +“I’m beginnin’ to think,” says he, waggling, “that they is some close +connection between this bootlegger an’ the Cap’n’s ghost. Fur, as +Jerry says, the robberies followed this feller’s appearance in town, +so why not this other trick, too? Anyway, this bein’ Saturday night, +we’ll jest do a little investigatin’ in that quarter.” Pausing, he +looked at me and laughed in his rough way. “How would you like to git +in the Cap’n’s bed ag’in, Jerry?” + +“Nothin’ doin’,” says I, shivering. + +“No? Well, calc’late we’ll have to use Fisher then. Fur he’s jest +about the Cap’n’s size. Come on, men.” + +“I’m going, too,” says I, jumping up. + +I looked for my chums in the street, but to my disappointment they +were nowhere in sight. Presently we turned the corner into School +Street. In the Cap’n’s store Mr. Fisher got into the old man’s bed, +as I had done the preceding night, while the other men distributed +themselves throughout the store in good hiding places. I was in the +bedroom closet with Bill. And, boy, maybe you think I wasn’t excited! + +There was a long wait. At least it seemed like an age to me. I heard +the sitting-room clock strike eleven; then eleven-thirty. + +Suddenly a hand pressed mine in the dark. + +“There!” says Bill, breathing the word in my ear. + +I had heard the sound, too--some one, or _something_, was on the +roof. Yet I had to stretch my ears to detect the light, muffled +footsteps. We heard the scuttle open. There were parrot-like +footfalls in the attic. Then the trapdoor in the sitting-room ceiling +was drawn up. Following a short, deep silence, a rope fell with a +slight thud to the floor. To a deep sleeper all of these sounds would +have passed unnoticed. + +We had left a lamp burning low in the room. And through the crack +in the closet door I now saw the dead sailor’s “ghost” approach the +foot of the bed, white-faced, its eyes staring and glassy, its breast +bared to show the tattooing. At this point the bed creaked slightly. +Afterwards the men joked Mr. Fisher, accusing him of shivering. And +to that point maybe he did shiver. It wouldn’t have been so very +surprising. Even with my hand in Bill’s I sort of shivered myself. + +“B-b-boaz Tinkertop,” stuttered the ghost, in a graveyard voice, “you +have lost my p-p-parrot. You have let it fall into e-e-evil hands. +So, having broken your s-s-solemn promise to me, I d-d-demand my +money back. _Give me my m-m-money!_” + +Here Bill threw open the closet door and flashed his gun. + +“Hands up!” he roared, which was a signal for the other men to tumble +into the room. + +Well, my story really ends with the “ghost’s” capture. As you +probably have guessed, the “ghost” was the Indian medicine man. But +the captured one was no real Indian--he was a younger black-sheep +brother of the Cap’n’s, a man long since disowned by his two older +law-abiding brothers. At one time he had been a character actor in an +Indian play, which explains how the “Indian” idea had become fixed in +his head. Of a naturally tricky mind, traveling around the country in +his later years in Indian disguise selling fake medicine publicly and +moonshine secretly was stuff to his liking. + +Angered in getting no lawful share of his oldest brother’s life +insurance money, he had thought up the scheme of stealing the death +parrot from its new owner and playing “ghost,” knowing how very +superstitious the Cap’n was. It was to find out where the black +parrot was hidden in the store that he had spied through the alley +windows. Fortunate for his evil purpose he had seen us take the +strange parrot out of its wall hole, as I have written down. That +was on Monday night--his first night in town. On Tuesday night he +had robbed the brickyard safe. Having found in old Caleb a steady +customer for his moonshine, he had gone to the old bachelor’s home +late Wednesday night, hoping to sell still more liquor. In the open +house he had seen the stuffed black parrot, and, stealing it in a +queer turn of humor, had directly afterwards switched it for the +sooted parrot. In stealing the live parrot that night he had thought, +of course, that he was getting possession of Solomon Grundy. Later +that same night he had robbed the Meyers’ home. And how the sooted +parrot got away from him there you already know. + +To-day as a result of his evil life he is in jail. The money that he +stole from the brickyard safe was recovered, and out of the three +thousand dollars we got five hundred dollars. Dad groaned in paying +us this big amount of money. But he had promised us one hundred +dollars apiece if we captured the burglar, so he had to keep his word. + +Poppy rented a home on Elm Street with his share of the money and +stocked the house with stuff to eat. He bought some second-hand +furniture, too. However, he didn’t have to buy very much furniture, +for our folks gave him a lot of stuff. Mr. Ott, of course, was freed, +but I really think he was sorry to leave his comfortable cell. +Strange to say a warm friendship had sprung up between the old man +and Bill. And to-day these two men get together and talk “detective” +stuff by the hour. Poppy says, though, that his father, now a regular +employee of Dad’s, has given up all hope of ever being a successful +sleuth. + +A rough man, Ham Tinkertop had taught his weird parrot its “blood” +talk. And it was the sailor, tattooed himself, who had tattooed his +two brothers and old Caleb. There was no mystery in the tattooing on +the Cap’n’s and old Caleb’s breasts, nor was there any mystery in the +dead sailor’s odd picture. As for the new grave, it was generally +concluded that old Caleb had been drinking when he had ordered the +grave dug. I am glad to write down in conclusion that we got the +old man to sign a temperance pledge. And he has kept his word, too. +To-day he hates the filthy stuff. I wish all men hated it. For, as +Dad says, moonshine is poison. And the thing for a fellow to do, if +he has any pride in himself, is to leave it alone. Bu-lieve me, I’m +never going to act smart when _I_ grow up and drink any of the rotten +stuff. + +If Mrs. Strange ever got track of her stolen mino bird I never heard +about it. It wasn’t her dead bird that old Caleb had. I sometimes +think it was a lucky thing for me that her bird was stolen. For it +was through the bird’s theft that Poppy came to our town to live. I +sure do like that kid. I never expect to have a pal that I like any +better. And he feels the same way toward me. It’s bully to have a +pal like that. So, as I say, I can’t feel sorry that the Cedarburg +woman’s bird was stolen. What was her loss was my gain. + +Able again to take care of his bird business, the Cap’n confessed to +us one morning that in his fear of the death parrot he had secretly +advertised the bird for sale. He knew he was doing wrong. His +conscience had hurt him, he said. And this probably explains why he +had been so terror stricken when the dead man’s accusing “ghost” +came. + +That same week we captured Solomon Grundy in Bid Stricker’s hen +house. Bid himself had earlier caught the bird, and, in an intended +trick on the parrot dealer (he had found out somehow that the Cap’n +had lost a black parrot), had put the bird in the old man’s bed, not +knowing that the storekeeper had been taken to the emergency rooms. +The enemy chief kept out of our sight while we were in his yard. +He has given us a wide berth ever since his recent “adventure” in +digging up a certain “buried treasure” consisting of four five-cent +toy wheelbarrows! + +Oh, yes, in conclusion I must tell you about poor Red. I slipped into +his yard the Monday after Bart Tinkertop’s arrest, and there sat +funny face on the back porch steps polishing silverware to beat the +cars. He had a cushion under him. His aunt was on the porch feeding +crackers to her half-starved parrot. And when I meandered around the +corner of the house she looked at me as though I was some miserable +thing that the cat had dragged in. So I promptly meandered back home +again. + +I don’t like that woman! + +And that is all for this time. In another book, POPPY OTT’S +SEVEN-LEAGUE STILTS, I will tell you how my new chum and I went into +business and made considerable money. Boy, did we ever have fun! A +smart rich kid who thought he was better than us tried to kick our +business in the seat of the pants. But, bu-lieve me, _he_ got a kick +in the seat of the pants before we got through with him. The things +Poppy did, with my help, make a mighty interesting story, I think. +There is a strange old man in this new book. Br-r-r-r! Through him we +became entangled in a most amazing and most bewildering mystery. Talk +about a shivery adventure! If _you_ don’t shiver when you read this +new book, the title of which I have given above, I’ll miss my guess. + + + THE END + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: + +Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent +hyphenation in the text. These, as well as jargon, dialect, obsolete +and alternative spellings, were left unchanged. + +Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like +this_. Obvious printing errors, such as missing or reversed order +letters and punctuation, were corrected. Eight misspelled words were +corrected. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75550 *** diff --git a/75550-h/75550-h.htm b/75550-h/75550-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b053e39 --- /dev/null +++ b/75550-h/75550-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8256 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Poppy Ott and the stuttering parrot | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} +/* Heading Styles */ + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + clear: both; + font-weight: bold; + page-break-before: avoid;} + +h1 { /* use for book title */ + margin: 1em 5% 1em; + font-size: 180%;} +h2 { /* use for chapter headings */ + margin:2em 5% 1em; + font-size: 140%;} +h3 { + margin: 2em 5% 1em; + font-size: 140%;} +h4 { + margin: 2em 5% 1em; + font-size: 120%;} + + /* Alternate Heading Styles */ +.h1head { + clear: both; + display: 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margin-right: 2%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: 2em; + padding-right: 2em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75550 ***</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>POPPY OTT +AND THE STUTTERING PARROT<br> +</h1> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" + alt="frontispiece"> + <p class="caption">“IT ISN’T EVERY PARROT THAT HAS TWO SERVANTS TO +GIVE IT A BAWTH.”</p> + <p class="center small"><i>Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot.</i>   <i>Frontispiece</i>—(<a href="#bawth"><i>Page 133</i></a>)</p> +</div><!--end figcenter--> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 style="display: none; visibility: hidden;">Advertisement</h2> +<div class="doublebox"> +<p class="center"> +<span class="muchlarger">POPPY OTT</span><br> +<span class="larger">AND THE<br> +STUTTERING PARROT</span><br> +<br> +<span class="small">BY</span><br> +<span class="large">LEO EDWARDS</span><br> +<br> +<span class="smcap">Author of</span><br> +<span class="small">THE POPPY OTT BOOKS<br> +THE JERRY TODD BOOKS</span><br> +<br> +<br> +<span class="allsmcap">ILLUSTRATED BY</span><br> +<br> +BERT SALG<br> +<br> +<br> +<span class="large ls">GROSSET & DUNLAP</span><br> +<span class="small ls">PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</span><br> +</div><!--end box--> +<p class="center">Made in the United States of America<br> +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1926, by</span><br> +GROSSET & DUNLAP<br> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> +To<br> +GLENN<br> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr muchsmaller">CHAPTER</td> + <td></td> + <td class="tdr pad1 muchsmaller">PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="One">I</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Two">II</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">In the Parrot Store</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">19</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Three">III</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Stuttering Parrot</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">29</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Four">IV</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Our New Chum</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">40</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Five">V</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Old Caleb’s Queer Story</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">51</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Six">VI</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Up the Creek</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">59</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Seven">VII</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Four Wheelbarrows</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">68</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Eight">VIII</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Escaped Parrot</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">73</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Nine">IX</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Voodooism</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">82</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Ten">X</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Robbery</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">96</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Eleven">XI</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Red’s Predicament</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">113</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Twelve">XII</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Burglar</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">127</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Thirteen">XIII</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Poor Polly!</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">132</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Fourteen">XIV</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Vanished Townsman</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Fifteen">XV</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">A Wild Night</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">155</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Sixteen">XVI</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Empty Grave</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">163</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Seventeen">XVII</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">In the Old Manse</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">174</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Eighteen">XVIII</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">The Haunted Cistern</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">190</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Nineteen">XIX</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">Voodooed</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">199</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr vlt"><abbr title="Twenty">XX</abbr></td> + <td class="tdh"><span class="smcap">What We Captured</span></td> + <td class="tdr vlb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">209</a></td></tr> +</table> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter singlebox"> +<p class="center"> +LEO EDWARDS’ BOOKS<br> +<br> +Here is a complete list of Leo Edwards’<br> +published books:<br> +</p> + + +<p class="center"> +THE JERRY TODD SERIES<br> +</p> +<ul class="small"> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd and the Whispering Mummy</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd and the Rose-Colored Cat</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd and the Oak Island Treasure</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd and the Waltzing Hen</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd and the Talking Frog</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd and the Purring Egg</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd in the Whispering Cave</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd, Pirate</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd and the Bob-Tailed Elephant</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief</span></li> +</ul> + + +<p class="center"> +THE POPPY OTT SERIES<br> +</p> + +<ul class="small"> +<li><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott’s Seven-League Stilts</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott and the Galloping Snail</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott’s Pedigreed Pickles</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott and the Freckled Goldfish</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott and the Tittering Totem</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Poppy Ott and the Prancing Pancake</span></li> +</ul> + + +<p class="center"> +THE ANDY BLAKE SERIES<br> +</p> + +<ul class="small"> +<li><span class="smcap">Andy Blake</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Andy Blake’s Comet Coaster</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Andy Blake’s Secret Service</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Andy Blake and the Pot of Gold</span></li> +</ul> + +<p class="center"> +THE TRIGGER BERG SERIES<br> +</p> + +<ul class="small"><li><span class="smcap">Trigger Berg and the Treasure Tree</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Trigger Berg and His 700 Mouse Traps</span></li> +</ul> +</div><!--end chapter and box--> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="h1head">POPPY OTT AND THE +STUTTERING PARROT</p> + +<h3 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER <abbr title="One">I</abbr></h3> + +<h4>POPPY OTT</h4> +</div> + + +<p>I guess you know who I am. My name is Jerry +Todd. I have written a lot of books about myself. +I’m writing this book, too. But it’s mostly +about another boy. A new kid. I’ll tell you about +him.</p> + +<p>You see, to start with, I live in Tutter. Our +town is the best small town in Illinois. Boy, we +have fun! In the summer time, I mean. One +reason why we have so much fun, I guess, is because +we have a smart leader. Scoop Ellery is +the gnat’s knuckles, let me tell you, when it comes +to thinking up interesting things to do. Peg Shaw +is a member of our gang, too. He’s a great big +guy. To look at him you’d think he was three +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span> +years older than Scoop and me. But he isn’t. He +just grew up faster. His folks fed him a lot of +tough beefsteak, I guess. Anyway, that’s what we +tell him in fun. We’re all in the same grade at +school. Even Red Meyers, who is a sort of runt +with freckles parked all over his face and a brick-colored +topknot.</p> + +<p>Well, to jump into my story, Red and I +started out one summer morning right after breakfast +to have an early-morning swim in the creek in +Happy Hollow. This is a peachy place to +swim. The willows growing there make it cool +and shady even in the hottest weather. You +never saw a place so crammed full of willows. +It’s a regular jungle. Tramps hang out there in +the summer time. But they don’t bother us when +we go there. We leave them alone and they leave +us alone. They know they’ve got to behave themselves. +If they didn’t the Tutter marshal would +lock them up in the town jail. Sometimes Bill +Hadley does lock them up to get rid of them. +After a night in jail they’re glad enough to get out +of town.</p> + +<p>Red and I ran into a couple of tramps this +morning on our way to the swimming hole. One +was a man, a quite oldish man, and the other +was a boy our age. Say, I wish you could have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> +seen the outfit they had! It was a sort of ramshackle +bungalow built on a rickety four-wheeled +wagon. The house had side windows, all of different +shapes and sizes. There was a back door +and a little back porch with a rickety railing. +Up in front a stovepipe poked its rusted snout +through the roof. Like everything else in the outfit +the stovepipe was wabbly and ready to fall to +pieces. It was some tacky outfit, all right. The +wonder to me was that it didn’t fall to pieces in +traveling the country roads.</p> + +<p>An old gray horse was staked out close to the +wagon. Talk about a <em>sway-back</em>! Say, that old +four-legged washboard had a gully in its back as +deep as the Illinois River. On the bottom side +its stomach bagged worse than the knees of Cap’n +Tinkertop’s everyday pants. It was awfully +proud of its ribs, or so it would seem, for every +rib was shoved out in plain sight. The tail was +bobbed. To help the old skate switch away the +mosquitoes and flies its owner had fastened a +frazzled-out rope to the stub. The old nag sure +did look funny swishing its rope tail. Red and I +had a good laugh to ourselves.</p> + +<p>“Some outfit,” says my chum, taking in the +rickety traveling bungalow and the ten-cent horse.</p> + +<p>“That must be the guy who owns it,” says I, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> +pointing to a stoop-shouldered old man who had +pottered into sight from the deeper willows.</p> + +<p>The newcomer hadn’t seen us. And shuffling +up to the bungalow, he rapped on a window.</p> + +<p>“Poppy,” says he. “Poppy Ott. You git up +now. Or I’ll come in thar with a stick.”</p> + +<p>Some one inside yawned like a young steam +engine.</p> + +<p>“<em>Poppy!</em>” says the old man, sharper-like.</p> + +<p>“Uh-huh,” says a sleepy voice.</p> + +<p>“You git up now,” says the old man. “You +hear me? You hain’t took care of Julius Cæsar +yet. An’ I’ve got to go to town on business.”</p> + +<p>Here a tousle-headed kid came into sight on +the bungalow’s fancy back porch. And at sight +of him Red pinched my hand and giggled.</p> + +<p>“Lookit, Jerry,” says he, pointing. “Huckleberry +Finn has come to town.”</p> + +<p>The kid was a dead-ringer for Huckleberry +Finn, all right. His shirt was ripped at the neck +and his pants were three sizes too big for him. +They hung on him like Charley Chaplin’s pants. +And did a kid ever have dirtier feet! <em>Good</em> night! +I wondered what his bed sheets looked like.</p> + +<p>“Did you eat, Pa?” says the kid, stretching and +yawning.</p> + +<p>“Two hours ago,” says the old man.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> +“Leave anything?”</p> + +<p>“They’s some stuff under the wagon.”</p> + +<p>While the kid was messing around in a box +where food was kept, the old man got out a whisk +broom and dusted his clothes. He looked pretty +respectable when he got through.</p> + +<p>Red got my ear.</p> + +<p>“Lookit, Jerry! What’s he doing now?”</p> + +<p>“Polishing something,” says I.</p> + +<p>“It’s a badge,” says Red, sort of breathless-like. +“A policeman’s badge. Gee! He must be +a detective.”</p> + +<p>“Yah,” says I, in a sudden cold feeling toward +the old man. “Like old Mr. Arnoldsmith.”</p> + +<p>If you have read my book, JERRY TODD +AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY, you’ll +remember Mr. Anson Arnoldsmith. The old +shyster! He gyped me out of a dollar and a quarter. +And ever since then I’ve been leary about +meeting “detectives.”</p> + +<p>Red was excited.</p> + +<p>“I bet he <em>is</em> a detective, Jerry.”</p> + +<p>“I’d sooner think he was a dog catcher,” says I.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any dogs.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe he’s got ’em in the wagon,” I laughed.</p> + +<p>“We’ll help him, Jerry.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> +“We’ll keep away from him,” says I quickly, +thinking of old Mr. Arnoldsmith.</p> + +<p>“We can detect, too,” says Red. “We know +how.”</p> + +<p>“If he’s a detective,” says I, “he better detect +a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush and get busy +on his little Poppy.”</p> + +<p>Red snickered.</p> + +<p>“Poppy,” says he, speaking the boy’s name. +“<em>Some</em> name.”</p> + +<p>“They ought to call him squash blossom,” says +I. “For he looks more like a muddy squash than +he does a poppy.”</p> + +<p>The old man put his polished badge out of +sight under his coat.</p> + +<p>“Now, Poppy,” says he, businesslike, sort of +working his shoulders up and down to make his +coat fit better, “you jest curry Julius Cæsar, like I +tell you, an’ brush him down nice an’ neat. An’ +when you git that job done you better git up on +the roof with some tar an’ see ’bout fixin’ that hole +whar it rained in on me last night. I’ve told you +before ’bout fixin’ it. So git busy now an’ do it. +Fur it may rain ag’in to-night. An’ I hain’t awantin’ +to wake up like I did last night an’ find +my mouth plum full of rain water. You hear +me?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> +“Yes, Pa,” says the kid, over the top of a hunk +of bread.</p> + +<p>As this was the first boy tramp we had ever seen +our curiosity was aroused. It would be fun, we +thought, to talk to him and thus get his story. +For undoubtedly in traveling here and there he +had met with a lot of exciting adventures. So we +decided to stick around.</p> + +<p>Finishing his breakfast, the kid got out a currycomb +and brush and began massaging the ribs +of the four-legged washboard. He kept at this +job until his father had pottered out of sight in +the direction of town. Then he sat down on a +stump and sort of buried his face in his hands.</p> + +<p>Red was puzzled in watching the other.</p> + +<p>“What’s he doing now, Jerry? Crying?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s go over and find out,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Aw!... He wouldn’t want us to catch him +crying. He’d be ashamed.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe he’s sick,” says I, “and needs attention.”</p> + +<p>“<em>You</em> aren’t a doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I can give him a stomach rub,” says I, grinning.</p> + +<p>“Yah, and probably <em>he</em> can give you a punch in +the snout if you get smart with him. He looks +tough. You better stay here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> +Here the kid lifted his face. We saw then +that he hadn’t been crying. He had been thinking +about something, like a fellow does sometimes +when he’s troubled. And whatever his thoughts +had been they had led him along until he was the +maddest kid imaginable.</p> + +<p>Getting up from his seat, he jumped up and +down in his mad streak, sort of shaking his +clenched fists. Say, he acted like he was crazy. +We could hear him talking to himself, too. But +we couldn’t make out what he was saying, for we +were too far away.</p> + +<p>“What the dickens?...” says Red, blinking +puzzled-like at the strange-acting one. “What’s +wrong with him?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe he sat down on a hornet,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Aw!...”</p> + +<p>“Go over and put a nickel in him,” says I, in +further nonsense, “and see if he’ll play a tune.”</p> + +<p>“Sh-h-h-h!” says Red. “He’ll hear you.”</p> + +<p>Sort of quieting down, the kid went back to his +currying job. We watched him for several minutes, +wondering what was next on the program. +Pretty soon he put away his currycomb and brush +and went over to the bungalow. I figured that he +was going to climb on the roof and sling some tar, +as his father had ordered him to do. Instead he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> +thoughtfully walked around and around the +wagon, sort of squinting at it and shaking his +head. Taking hold of a wheel, he gave it a shake. +Golly Ned! The old bungalow rattled in its +wabbly joints like the skeleton that Doc Leland +donated to the Tutter public school. I <em>know</em> how +that old skeleton rattles, for one day I fixed some +strings to it and the teacher was so scared when +it waved its bony hands at her that she almost +jumped out of her skin. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/i_008.jpg" + alt="There go the wheels"> + <p class="caption">“LOOKIT, JERRY! THERE GOES THE WHEELS!”</p> + <p class="center"><i>Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot.</i>   <a href="#wheels"><i>Page 9</i></a></p> +</div><!--end figcenter--> + +<p>Well, we were right-down curious about the +strange kid now. He was up to something. We +could see that plain enough. So we decided to +stick around a while longer.</p> + +<p>Going back to where the old nag was staked +out in a grassy spot, the kid did something to the +horse that made it kick. Bingo! Up went its +rope tail and out shot its hind feet like a double-barreled +battering ram.</p> + +<p>Red grabbed my arm when the young horse +tender led his nag over to the wagon and backed +it up against a front wheel.</p> + +<p>“<em>Good</em> night! He’s making his old horse kick +the wagon to pieces. Lookit, Jerry! <a id="wheels"></a>There goes +the two hind wheels.”</p> + +<p>The four wagon wheels kicked to pieces, the +kid led the horse back to its pasture and then +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> +squatted, contented-like, in the shade of a tree +with a book.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what got into him,” says Red, completely +puzzled.</p> + +<p>“He’s cuckoo,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Aw! ... It’s only old men who get cuckoo.”</p> + +<p>“How about yourself?” says I, grinning.</p> + +<p>“You aren’t funny,” says he.</p> + +<p>Well, we stuck around. There’d be some excitement, +we figured, when the old man came home +and found his bungalow squatting on the ground +instead of on wheels. As for the kid, he sure had +us guessing with his queer actions. We couldn’t +make him out at all. And curious, too, about the +book that he was reading, we crawled closer.</p> + +<p>“It’s a schoolbook,” says Red. “What do you +know about that?—<em>him</em> studying an arithmetic!”</p> + +<p>The kid had paper and a pencil. He was working +problems. One problem seemed to stump him. +He figured and figured. But he couldn’t get the +right answer.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he looked up and caught our eyes.</p> + +<p>“Say,” says he, as unconcerned over our presence +as you please, “can you kids do fractions?”</p> + +<p>We felt foolish in being caught. We hadn’t +figured on this. We had thought to ourselves +that we were too smart to be caught. I had to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +admit to myself now that the kid wasn’t as much +of a squash as I had let myself believe.</p> + +<p>“I can’t get this problem,” says he, and he dug +at his tousled hair with his pencil, looking more +puzzled than ever. “It’s about a steamboat. +Going up stream the steamboat travels sixteen and +two-thirds miles per hour. Going down stream it +travels twenty-seven and one-half miles per hour. +It is three hours and seventeen minutes longer +going up stream than down. How far did it go?”</p> + +<p>Red and I had had that problem in school. So +we got busy and worked it. And now that I was +close to the kid I saw what bright, snappy eyes +he had. I liked his looks. He interested me. +And I kind of forgot about his old clothes and +dirty bare feet.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you wonder,” says he, putting away +his arithmetic, “why I made old Julius Cæsar kick +the wagon wheels to pieces.”</p> + +<p>“Did you know we were watching you?” says I, +in surprise.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“I saw you kids in the weeds,” says he, “when +I first got out of bed.”</p> + +<p>Red and I traded sheepish glances.</p> + +<p>“We thought we were hid,” says I.</p> + +<p>That made the ragged one grin. And in that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +moment I liked him better than ever. For he +had a good grin. I could see that he would make +a swell pal, all right. He was smart, too.</p> + +<p>And I had called him a squash! I wanted to +kick myself at the thought of it. It was <em>me</em> who +was the squash.</p> + +<p>Then, taking a liking to us, he told us his +story. Maybe we thought it was fun, he said, +thoughtful-like, to travel around the country like +a tramp and skip school and go dirty. But for his +part he was sick and tired of the lazy, shiftless +life.</p> + +<p>“That is what I was thinking about when you +saw me on the stump,” says he. “I felt pretty +blue. Things were getting worse for us. In +thinking about it I got mad. And I suddenly made +up my mind that I’d stay right here. I wouldn’t +go a step farther, I said. Pa, of course, would kick +on that. <em>He</em> would want to keep on going until +the old wagon dropped to pieces in the middle of +the road. Thinking about the old wagon dropping +to pieces sort of put an idea in my head. Why +not fix the wagon, says I, so he <em>couldn’t</em> move it? +Then he’d have to stay here and settle down and +be somebody, like other men. So I got busy. You +saw what I did.... Say, can you tell me where +I can get a job?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> +“How old are you?” says I.</p> + +<p>“Fifteen,” says he.</p> + +<p>I shook my head.</p> + +<p>“You’ve got to be sixteen,” says I, “to get a +job in this state. I know, for my dad runs a brickyard.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to get a job of some kind,” says he, +determined-like. “For one of us has got to work +if we’re going to eat.”</p> + +<p>“Why doesn’t your father get a job?” says Red.</p> + +<p>The kid laughed at that.</p> + +<p>“Pa work!” says he. “That’s funny. He’s too +busy detecting to work.”</p> + +<p>Red was excited again.</p> + +<p>“Is your pa a detective?”</p> + +<p>“He thinks he is,” says the kid.</p> + +<p>“We saw his badge,” says Red.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” says the kid, nodding, “he takes a lot +of pride in that tin badge of his. It cost him six +dollars. I had a row with him the day he sent +for it. I told him that the detective company he +was writing to was a fake and all they wanted out +of him was his money. But he wouldn’t listen to +me. And ever since then he’s been making a +monkey of himself. Some detective, <em>he</em> is. Huh! +He’s my own father, and I suppose I ought to +stick up for him, but if he was anybody else’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +father I’d say he was an old dumb-bell. When +Ma was alive she sort of kept him busy. Still, he +didn’t do very much work at that. He’d sit +around the kitchen reading his old detective books +and let her take in family washings. When she +died he just quit working altogether. That was +two years ago. Look at me! Here I am fifteen +years old and I haven’t been in the eighth grade +yet.”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t worry me,” says Red, who hates +school, “if I never got in the eighth grade or any +other grade.”</p> + +<p>“I thought it was fun at first,” says the kid, “to +skip school. But I feel different about it now. +For I can see that a fellow has got to go to school +or be a dumb-bell like Pa. And it’s a cinch I +don’t want to grow up and be like <em>him</em>. I guess +not. I want to go to school, I do. And I’m going +to go to school, too—right here in Tutter. I’ve +made up my mind to that.”</p> + +<p>I was looking at the flattened wagon wheels.</p> + +<p>“What’ll your pa say,” says I, “when he comes +home and sees the wreck?”</p> + +<p>The kid shrugged.</p> + +<p>“He’ll be mad, of course. But I should worry.”</p> + +<p>“Will he lick you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> +“<em>Lick</em> me? Pa? Shucks, he couldn’t catch me. +Besides,” came the easy laugh, “why should he lick +<em>me</em>? <em>I</em> didn’t do it. Old Julius Cæsar did it.”</p> + +<p>“When’s your pa coming back?” says Red.</p> + +<p>“Oh, when he gets through sleuthing ... if +he doesn’t get locked up in the town jail. He’s +been in jail three times this summer. That’s the +kind of a detective <em>he</em> is. Probably right now he’s +crawling along some alley on his hands and knees +searching for finger prints, or something like that. +He tries to be like the detectives in books. It +makes me sick. No wonder the cops lock him up +on suspicion.”</p> + +<p>Red grinned.</p> + +<p>“He ought to show the cops his detective badge. +Then they wouldn’t lock him up.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the trouble,” says the kid. “It’s his +tin badge that gives him away.”</p> + +<p>“And he isn’t a real detective?” says Red, disappointed.</p> + +<p>“<em>Him?</em> Of course not. But he thinks he is, +as I say. And snooping into things that are none +of his business is what gets him into trouble.”</p> + +<p>“We were down this way yesterday,” says I, +“but you weren’t here then.”</p> + +<p>“We pulled in late last night,” says the kid. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> +“Pa’s been crazy to get here. He’s been talking +about coming here ever since he started working +on that black-parrot case.”</p> + +<p>Red pricked up his ears in new interest.</p> + +<p>“Black-parrot case,” says he. “What do you +mean by that?”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t a real parrot,” says the kid, “but it +could talk like a parrot. And it was coal black. I +think it was a mino bird. Yes, that is the name. +It came from India. A woman in Cedarburg +owned it. Mrs. Casper Strange. And when it +was stolen she offered a reward of a thousand +dollars for its return.”</p> + +<p>“A thousand-dollar parrot!” says Red. “I +can’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she has oodles of money! A thousand +dollars doesn’t mean anything to her. We lived +in Cedarburg, you know. Pa told her that he was +a detective and would get her parrot for her. So +she hired him. That is, she told him she would +pay him a thousand dollars if he was successful.”</p> + +<p>I was puzzled.</p> + +<p>“But why did your pa come <em>here</em>?” says I. +“You say he was crazy to get here. Does he +think the stolen parrot is in Tutter?”</p> + +<p>“Search me,” says the kid, shrugging. “All +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> +of a sudden he got a notion to come here, as I +say. And here we are.”</p> + +<p>Red laughed.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he came here to search old Cap’n +Tinkertop’s bird store.”</p> + +<p>The kid gave the speaker a quick look.</p> + +<p>“Old Cap’n Tinkertop,” says he.</p> + +<p>“He’s a friend of ours,” says Red. “He runs +a parrot store.”</p> + +<p>A queer look came into the kid’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” says he at length, “if Pa is as dumb +in his detective work as I thought. Tinkertop! +That was the name of a man who worked for the +rich Cedarburg woman.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t the Cap’n,” says I quickly. “For he’s +lived in Tutter for years.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Ham</em> Tinkertop,” says the kid after a moment. +“That was the man’s name. He used to +be a sailor.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” says Red quickly. “Ham Tinkertop +and the Cap’n were brothers. Don’t you remember, +Jerry?—the brother died and the Cap’n +went away to the funeral. And when he came +home he had a lot of money. That was when he +started up his bird store.”</p> + +<p>I <em>did</em> remember about the Cap’n going away +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> +to his brother’s funeral. And at the time of the +old man’s return I had wondered at his sudden +wealth.</p> + +<p>“When was it,” says the kid, “that this old +friend of yours was in Cedarburg to his brother’s +funeral?”</p> + +<p>“The week of my birthday,” says Red. +“Around the tenth of June.”</p> + +<p>“That was the week,” says the kid, “that the +black parrot was stolen.”</p> + +<p>I looked at my chum and he looked at me.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” says I, taking his arm. “Let’s +snap into it and find Scoop Ellery. He ought to +know about this.” +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h3 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER <abbr title="Two">II</abbr></h3> + +<h4> +IN THE PARROT STORE</h4> +</div> + + +<p>As I say, old Cap’n Tinkertop had brought +home a wad of money from his brother’s funeral. +The dead sailor had been buried in Cedarburg. +The week of the funeral a valuable black parrot +had been stolen from a wealthy Cedarburg woman +for whom the dead sailor had worked. We had +just gotten that story from the Ott kid. And in +consequence I now had the troubled suspicion that +there might be some unworthy connection between +our old friend’s sudden wealth and the vanished +bird. I couldn’t figure it out. But I felt that +Scoop Ellery could. For he’s smart in solving +mysteries. So Red and I turned back into town to +find the leader and tell him the story exactly as +the Ott kid had told it to us.</p> + +<p>“I bet you,” says Red, as we jogged along, +“that the old man came here on a clew.”</p> + +<p>“You mean Mr. Ott?” says I.</p> + +<p>The other nodded.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> +“He’s shadowing the Cap’n. See?”</p> + +<p>I was puzzled.</p> + +<p>“But why should the Cap’n steal a parrot at +his brother’s funeral?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the mystery.”</p> + +<p>“And if he did steal it,” says I, “where is it?”</p> + +<p>“More mystery,” says Red.</p> + +<p>“Do you think Poppy’s father suspects that the +Cap’n has the parrot here?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing. He’s got a clew, I tell you. +That’s what brought him here.”</p> + +<p>The Cap’n’s bird store is in a little old building +on School Street, which is one of our main business +streets. This is the same building where +Spider Phelps ran his shooting gallery the winter +poor Mrs. Higgins sneezed her false teeth halfway +across the Methodist church when they were +giving out the Christmas presents. We had +helped our old one-legged friend move his shabby +furniture and other truck into the rooms in the +back part of the store. And we had helped him +put up his sign. Here it is:</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Cap’n Boaz Tinkertop’s</i><br> +<br> +<i>BIRD STORE</i><br> +<br> +<i>Our Parrots are the “Talk” of the Town</i><br> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> +Turning into School Street on a dog-trot, our +ears were suddenly punctured by one of the +screechiest screeches you could imagine. It came +from the parrot store. And when we got there, +there was Red’s aunt, Mrs. Pansy Biggle, standing +on a store chair sort of flopping her feet up +and down like a dancing duck and jiggling her +skirts. Boy, she looked funny. I had to laugh. +She’s kind of fat. I guess she weighs three hundred +pounds. One time she had a husband, but +he fell in the river, or something, and they never +found him again. She lives at Red’s house and +runs a down-town store for women. Sells hats +and dresses. Her store is just across the street +from the Cap’n’s store. Last winter she had +Micky Gallagher, the one-eyed Tutter carpenter, +saw a hunk out of her front door so that she +could go in and out in her new fur coat without +wedging.</p> + +<p>I couldn’t imagine what in time was the matter +with her. Then I got my eyes on a small white +thing skittering around on the floor. And, boy, +did I ever laugh! All this fuss over a little white +mouse! And a tame mouse at that.</p> + +<p>The parrots in the store were screeching like a +train of runaway cars on a rusty track. I could +hear a shrill chattering sound, too. And when I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> +looked closer I saw a small monkey hopping +around on the floor.</p> + +<p>I knew then what had happened. The butcher’s +pet monkey from next door had gotten into the +bird store and had let the white mice out of their +cage. And now the monkey was twitching feathers +out of the parrots’ tails. No wonder the +helpless birds were screeching bloody murder!</p> + +<p>Well, a lot of people came on the gallop to see +who was being murdered. Old Mr. Blighty was +one of the first ones there. He thought the store +was on fire. And what do you know if he didn’t +skedaddle to the corner on his rheumatic legs and +turn in a fire alarm. Some one else turned in the +police call. And pretty soon Bill Hadley, the +town marshal, came scooting into sight in his +police flivver. The fire truck came, too, rippety-tear, +and the firemen ran the hose out and started +squirting water into the bird store. That was an +awful unlucky thing for Red’s aunt. For she got +a squirt of water plum in the face. She quit +screeching then. She couldn’t screech, I guess. +Her screecher was clogged with water.</p> + +<p>Cap’n Tinkertop was in the back part of his +store playing checkers with old Caleb Obed. +That’s the lazy Cap’n for you! He doesn’t take +care of his business at all. We’ve had to run his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> +store for him ever since he started it. All he +does is play checkers and fool away his time. He +thinks he is the best checker player in Tutter. +And old Caleb has the same conceited opinion of +himself. So every day they fight it out in the +back part of the store. They were so deep in +their game now that they never knew that anything +unusual was going on up in front.</p> + +<p>The firemen were mad as hops when they +learned that there wasn’t any fire. Bill Hadley +was roaring mad, too. My, but didn’t he prance +around! I kind of kept out of reach of his club. +I didn’t want him to get the frisky idea that I had +anything to do with the two false alarms.</p> + +<p>Scoop and Peg were there. And when the +crowd melted away the four of us went into the +store to see how much damage had been done. +The place was a wreck, all right. The caged parrots +looked more like half-drowned cats than +birds. Red’s aunt looked half-drowned, too. +And, boy, was she up on her ear! She’s forever +laying the law down to Red. He gets blamed for +everything. And now she lit into him right.</p> + +<p>Scoop sort of took charge of the store, being +the leader.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything I can do for you to-day, Mrs. +Biggle?” says he, wading behind the counter, his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> +shoes going slosh! slosh! slosh! in the water on +the floor.</p> + +<p>“I think you’ve done enough,” says the angry +milliner, sort of snapping it out like a dog fighting +another dog for a bone. She got down from +her perch, still glaring at poor Red. “Just look +at my dress! It’s rooned.”</p> + +<p>Scoop didn’t say anything to that. He just let +her talk. So did Red. And pretty soon she +calmed down. Her parrot had escaped, she said. +That is what had brought her into the store. She +had come on the run to ask the Cap’n how to coax +the bird back into its cage.</p> + +<p>Our leader told her that we would do the parrot-catching +act for her. We were the best parrot +catchers in the county, he bragged, grinning. And +when she had gone he started giving us our orders. +We were to get out and scout around, he said. +And if we got sight of the parrot we were to report +to him.</p> + +<p>Before I had a chance to tell the leader about +the mystery that Red and I had stumbled into, +the old detective himself meandered into the store.</p> + +<p>At sight of the newcomer Scoop clutched my +arm, excited-like.</p> + +<p>“That’s him, Jerry,” says he in a low voice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> +“Do you know him?” says I, surprised.</p> + +<p>“This morning I caught him snooping in the +store. When I asked him what he wanted he +said he was looking around to see if we had any +black parrots. I told him that our parrots were +all green and yellow. But he hung on. He +wanted to get a black parrot, he said. He seemed +to think we ought to have one in stock.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a detective,” says I.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“He’s looking for a black parrot that was +stolen from a rich woman in Cedarburg,” says I.</p> + +<p>The leader stared at me for a moment or two. +And in watching his face I could see that he was +putting something together in his mind.</p> + +<p>“Cedarburg,” says he. “Why, that’s the town +where the Cap’n’s brother used to live.”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing,” says I, nodding. “And this black +parrot that I’m telling you about was stolen the +week the Cap’n was there to his brother’s funeral.”</p> + +<p>Speaking quickly and in a low voice, I told the +leader about the Ott kid and about the stolen mino +bird. While we were talking the old detective +pottered out of the store and disappeared in the +street.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> +“Say, who was that old prune, anyway?” says +Peg, heaving across the room to where we were.</p> + +<p>“He’s a detective,” says I.</p> + +<p>“What do you suppose he asked me for?”</p> + +<p>Scoop grinned.</p> + +<p>“A black parrot?”</p> + +<p>“How did you know?” says Peg.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I waited on him this morning.”</p> + +<p>“We better ring up Bill Hadley,” says Peg, +naming the marshal, “and have him unlock one +of his padded cells and shove this old geezer in. +For that’s where he belongs. A black parrot! +Haw! haw! haw! He’ll be asking for a ringtailed +caterpillar next.”</p> + +<p>Scoop shook his head thoughtful-like.</p> + +<p>“The old man isn’t cuckoo, Peg. As Jerry +says, he’s a detective. He’s working on a parrot +case.”</p> + +<p>Then we told the big one about the stolen +black parrot.</p> + +<p>“But there’s no black parrot here,” says he, +looking around the store.</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure of that,” says Scoop. There +was a queer tone to his voice now, and I watched +him curiously as he fished a piece of crumpled +paper out of his pocket. “The old man dropped +this clipping on the floor when he was here this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> +morning. It came out of his pocket with his +handkerchief. It’s an ad out of a newspaper. +Read it.”</p> + +<p>Peg and I hooked the clipping, eager to see it. +Here it is:</p> + +<p class="unindent indent5 small">FOR SALE: Genuine black parrot. Talker.<br> +Address Lock Box 23, Tutter, Illinois.</p> + +<p>“Why,” says Peg, “that’s the Cap’n’s post-office +box number.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” says Scoop.</p> + +<p>“Evidently,” says I, using my head, “the old +detective saw this ad in the newspaper. That is +what brought him here.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the clew I told you about,” says Red +promptly.</p> + +<p>“But if the Cap’n has the stolen parrot,” says +Peg, puzzled, “where is it? And why in Sam +Hill did he steal it?”</p> + +<p>“The old man’s queer,” says Scoop, trying to +account for the act.</p> + +<p>“Queer and tricky both,” says I, remembering +some things that had happened in the store that +were of no particular credit to our old friend, +like the time he sold the swearing parrot to the +Presbyterian minister and lied about it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> +“You’re right,” says Scoop, nodding. “And if +he’s up to some kind of trickery in this ‘black +parrot’ deal, we ought to cut in on him and stop +him. For we’re taking care of him, sort of. And +we’ve got to see that he doesn’t do anything +crooked.”</p> + +<p>“If he stole the parrot,” says Peg, “<em>that’s</em> +crooked.”</p> + +<p>“Of course. But <em>did</em> he steal it? We don’t +know that he did. I hope he didn’t.”</p> + +<p>Red had gone to answer the telephone.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” says he. “My aunt wants to know if +we’ve seen anything of her parrot yet.”</p> + +<p>Scoop started for the door.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Jerry. You, too, Red. Peg, you +stay here and run the store. If old Sherlock +Holmes comes in again, pump him. Pump the +Cap’n, too, if you can. We’ll be back in an hour +or so.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h3> +</div> + +<h4>THE STUTTERING PARROT</h4> + + +<p>We were crazy to begin work on the mystery +that had bobbed up in front of us. But we had no +chance to do any regular detecting that morning. +For we had to scour the town in search of Red’s +aunt’s escaped parrot.</p> + +<p>At noon we were ready to give up the search. +We were tuckered out. It’s no fun, let me tell +you, traipsing around in the hot sun for hours at +a time. I had a crook in the back of my neck +from squinting into treetops.</p> + +<p>At the store Peg told us that the milliner had +been called into Chicago on sudden important business. +She wasn’t likely to be back for several +days, he said. So we decided to discontinue our +parrot hunting for the day. Anyway, as the leader +said, the parrot would probably come home of +its own accord when it got dark. So why chase +our legs off in the hot sun trying to find it?</p> + +<p>Peg then told us that the Cap’n and old Caleb +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> +had gone fishing in the Illinois River. So we +gave the parrots their usual dinner of boiled corn, +after which we did some house-cleaning in the +rooms in the back part of the store. We have to +do that for the Cap’n. Having a peg-leg, it’s hard +for him to get around. Anyway, to come right +out with the truth, he isn’t very particular about +keeping his store and living rooms clean. He’s +right-down lazy.</p> + +<p>Red was swishing the broom in the sitting room. +Suddenly he gave a yip.</p> + +<p>“Lookit!” says he, holding up something in his +hand.</p> + +<p>Scoop laughed.</p> + +<p>“What’d you find?” says he. “A three-dollar +bill?”</p> + +<p>“A black feather,” says Red.</p> + +<p>That made the leader jump.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” says he, excited.</p> + +<p>“It’s a parrot feather, too,” says Red. “I +picked it up on the floor.”</p> + +<p>“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” says Peg. +“And where there’s a black feather there’s a +feather duster.”</p> + +<p>“Or a mino bird,” says I quickly.</p> + +<p>We were sure now that the black parrot, as we +called it, was hidden in the store. And determined +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> +to find it, we went through the place from +top to bottom. We looked in all the cupboards. +We looked in the stuffy attic, too, and in the +drygoods boxes in the dark cellar. But we didn’t +find anything. I could see that Scoop was +stumped.</p> + +<p>It came supper time and the Cap’n hadn’t come +home yet. So we fed the parrots some more +boiled corn and closed the store for the night. +There was an Indian medicine show on the public +square. We took it in, stopping at our old friend’s +store on our way home. But to our surprise he +wasn’t there.</p> + +<p>Scoop had planned to stay all night with the +Cap’n to sort of watch for Mrs. Biggle’s parrot +in case it came to the bird store instead of going +back to the millinery store, as it was his idea that +our parrots might attract the stray one. And now +he begged us to keep him company. It wouldn’t +be any fun, he said, staying in the store all alone. +So I telephoned to Mother, to let her know where +I was, then we turned in, two of us sleeping in +the old man’s bed and the other two on a folding +couch in the sitting room.</p> + +<p>Red and I had the couch. He’s a mean kid to +sleep with. He kicks like a mule. About the +time you get set in a nice cozy dream he cranks +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> +up his number eights and, bingo! you get a wallop +in the slats.</p> + +<p>“Cut it out,” says I, growling, when he had +awakened me for the third time. “What do you +think this is?—a pile-driving contest?”</p> + +<p>“Jerry,” says he in a hollow whisper, sort of +hanging to me in the dark, “I heard something.”</p> + +<p>“So did I,” says I. “I heard my slats crack +when you rammed your foot into them. Have a +heart, kid. I ain’t made of cast-iron.”</p> + +<p>“I heard a voice,” says he.</p> + +<p>“It was me,” says I. “I was warbling canary +stuff in my sleep. I get that way from being in +the bird business.”</p> + +<p>“<em>You</em> don’t stutter,” says he.</p> + +<p>I sat up then.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” says I. “What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“It was a stuttering voice,” says he.</p> + +<p>“Probably Scoop and Peg,” says I. “They’re +trying to act funny with us and scare us.”</p> + +<p>He shimmied around under the covers.</p> + +<p>“Say, Jerry,” says he in a graveyard voice, +“don’t you feel scared?”</p> + +<p>“Scared?” says I. “What is there to be scared +of?”</p> + +<p>“I feel that way, kind of. Like something +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> +<em>spooky</em> was going to happen. Gee! Ain’t it +<em>dark</em>!” +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/i_032.jpg" + alt="It's time to eat"> + <p class="caption">“H-H-HAM! IT’S T-T-TIME TO E-E-EAT!” CAME THE VOICE +LOW AND GASPING LIKE.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot.</i>   <i><a href="#timetoeat">Page 34</a></i></p> +</div><!--end figcenter--> + + +<p>“Something <em>will</em> happen, all right,” says I, “if +you don’t dry up and let me go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t <em>think</em> it was a dream,” says he, sort +of checking up on his thoughts.</p> + +<p>“What?” says I, yawning.</p> + +<p>“The voice.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, for the love of mud!”</p> + +<p>“It said H-h-ham! H-h-ham!”</p> + +<p>“Ham and eggs,” says I.</p> + +<p>“No, just ‘H-h-ham!’ Like that. It was a +queer voice, too. Like some one choking.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a cheerful guy to sleep with,” says I. +“Don’t you know any stories about ghosts or murders? +Let’s have a good one—one with a lot of +blood in it.”</p> + +<p>“Jerry, there’s something queer about this +store.”</p> + +<p>“Yah,” says I, “you’re in it.”</p> + +<p>“About the Cap’n, I mean—putting that ad in +the newspaper, and everything. Wonder where +he is.”</p> + +<p>“Fishing,” says I, with another yawn.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t he come home?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe a big bullhead bit his peg-leg off.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> +“Do you suppose he’s really got the stolen parrot +here?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll have a real black eye,” says I, “if you +don’t dry up.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” says he, “it was the parrot I heard.”</p> + +<p>I hooted.</p> + +<p>“A stuttering parrot!” says I. “You’re good.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly the other ducked under the covers +and tried to wind himself around me like a grapevine.</p> + +<p>“<em>Jerry!</em> Did you hear it?”</p> + +<p>The blamed calf! He had <em>me</em> scared, too.</p> + +<p>“Hear what?” says I. And the rattle in my +back teeth sounded like a Ford on a rocky hill.</p> + +<p>“The voice.”</p> + +<p>I listened.</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham!” came a voice in the darkness. +“H-h-ham!”</p> + +<p>I got a grip on myself.</p> + +<p>“I bet it’s Scoop and Peg,” says I. “I’m going +to get up and find out.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!...” shimmied the grapevine, tightening +its hold on me. “Don’t get up.”</p> + +<p>But I did. And going into the bedroom, I +found my two chums sound asleep.</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham!” came the voice again, sort of low +and gasping-like. “H-h-ham! C-c-cut out his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> +heart and f-f-fry it in butter. <a id="timetoeat"></a>It’s t-t-time to +e-e-eat.”</p> + +<p>I was right-down scared now. There was something +spooky about that stuttering voice. Weird +is the word to use, I believe. And giving Scoop +and Peg a shake to wake them up, I told them to +pile out.</p> + +<p>We got a hand lamp. And when the voice came +again we traced it to a large picture on the sitting room +wall. It was a picture of the dead sailor. +Remember that! We took the picture down. +There was a hole in the plastered wall. And in +the hole was a coal-black parrot in a wicker cage.</p> + +<p>Besides being black all over, like a crow, it was +a funny-looking parrot. It was pretty big in its +body, with an awfully big curved bill. And it +had bleary eyes. That is, as we held the lamp +up to the hole the big black bird sort of leered +back at us as though it was half full of gin. You +know what I mean. And when it talked it weaved +back and forth like a drunken man. I began to +wonder what kind of a woman this Mrs. Strange +was, to bring up a parrot like this! It acted like +a barroom parrot to me.</p> + +<p>As can be imagined, we were excited in the black +parrot’s discovery. And gathered around it, our +eyes fastened on it, we were kind of depressed, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> +too, in the knowledge that our old friend was indeed +a thief. We could not doubt that now. For +here was the stolen parrot in his home.</p> + +<p>Peg had been studying the bird with puzzled +eyes.</p> + +<p>“What do you call it?” says he.</p> + +<p>“It’s a mino bird,” says Red.</p> + +<p>The big one grunted.</p> + +<p>“It looks like a common old parrot to me.”</p> + +<p>“Parrots are green and yellow,” says Red, acting +as though he knew all about it. “And mino +birds are <em>black</em>. See?”</p> + +<p>Peg loves to argue.</p> + +<p>“Is a white hen a hen?” says he.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” says Red.</p> + +<p>“And what is a black hen?—a dickey bird?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a hen,” says Red.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” says Peg. “A hen’s a hen whether +it’s black or white or brown or green. And so is +this bird a parrot. The color doesn’t make any +difference in its name. It’s a <em>black parrot</em>. Get +me?”</p> + +<p>“H-h-hello,” says the parrot, blinking at us in +the lamplight, its head cocked on one side. +“H-h-hello, you dirty b-b-bums.”</p> + +<p>That tickled Red.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +“It’s looking at you, Peg. It’s got <em>your</em> number, +old hardhead.”</p> + +<p>Scoop bent down.</p> + +<p>“Hi, old shoe polish,” says he, grinning.</p> + +<p>That set the parrot to laughing. Say, it could +laugh just as good as anybody. And it looked +funny, too, with its bleary, blinking eyes and +cocked head. Pretty soon we were laughing as +hard as it was.</p> + +<p>We got it an apple. And all the while it was +eating the apple it kept blinking at us, sort of, and +saying funny things. It was a peachy parrot, all +right. We wished we owned it.</p> + +<p>“What’s your name?” we inquired.</p> + +<p>“S-s-solomon.”</p> + +<p>“King Solomon,” says Scoop, bowing.</p> + +<p>“S-s-solomon Gu-gu-gu——” says the parrot, +stuttering to beat the cars.</p> + +<p>“Look out there,” says Peg, laughing. “You’ll +gag yourself to death.”</p> + +<p>“Gu-gu-gu——” says the parrot. It stopped +and turned around three times. “Gu-gu-gu——”</p> + +<p>“Here,” says Peg, “have another apple.”</p> + +<p>“Gu-gu-GRUNDY!” says the parrot, sort of +screeching out the full name. “S-s-solomon +Gu-gu——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> +“Never mind,” says Peg. “We know you can +say it. So don’t kill yourself.”</p> + +<p>That seemed to make the stutterer mad.</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham!” it screeched. “H-h-ham! Put +’em in irons.”</p> + +<p>Here the clock struck twelve. I don’t know +why it is, but when a clock strikes twelve at night +a fellow always thinks of ghosts. At least I do. +So you can imagine the scare I got when Red suddenly +let out an old gee-whacker of a scream.</p> + +<p>“The window!” says he, pointing.</p> + +<p>We looked quick. But we were too late to see +anything.</p> + +<p>“What was it?” says Scoop, getting his voice.</p> + +<p>“A man’s face.”</p> + +<p>“Was it the old detective?”</p> + +<p>“No-o,” says Red, shaking his head. “It +wasn’t him. First I saw a pair of eyes. Sort of +<em>burning</em> eyes. Then I saw the full face. It was +a man’s face. But it wasn’t the detective. I’m +sure of that.”</p> + +<p>There was an alley along-side the bird store on +the west side. The sitting room had a door and +two windows opening into this alley. And it was +at one of these windows that Red had seen the +mysterious face.</p> + +<p>As I say, I was scared stiff. I was kind of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> +rattled, too. I get that way when I’m scared. +But I wasn’t so rattled but what I could put two +and two together and make four. The spy was +after the black parrot. I could see that, all right.</p> + +<p>Scoop had tiptoed to the door.</p> + +<p>“Listen!” says he, with his ear to the panel.</p> + +<p>We could hear some one in the alley. Just outside +the door. And suddenly there was a scream. +Then we heard something fall.</p> + +<p>“Let me in,” says a voice.</p> + +<p>It was the Ott kid!</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” says Scoop.</p> + +<p>“My father has been hurt. Help me—<em>please</em>!”</p> + +<p>When a kid is in trouble, and begs for help, you +can’t go back on him even if you have to run risks +in helping him. So we did what was right and +unlocked the door.</p> + +<p>Our hand lamp made a puddle of light in the +alley. And there in front of the open door lay the +old detective. There was blood on his forehead. +He looked dead to me. I shivered at sight of him.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h3> +</div> + +<h4>OUR NEW CHUM</h4> + + +<p>Well, there wasn’t any more sleep for us <em>that</em> +night. First of all we got the old detective into +the Cap’n’s bed. Then we sent a hurry-up call +for Doc Leland. But old Doc was out of town. +So we had to get busy and take care of the injured +man ourselves.</p> + +<p>He was talking now. But it wasn’t sensible +talk. He didn’t know what he was saying or what +was going on around him. The whack that he +had gotten on the head had jammed his brain +wheels.</p> + +<p>“Pretty birdie,” says he, sort of rambling-like, +a vacant look in his watery eyes. “Pretty birdie +in the treetop.”</p> + +<p>Having done everything possible for the injured +man, Scoop screwed down the wick of the +bedroom lamp.</p> + +<p>“Now,” says he to the patient, “close your eyes +and go to sleep. You’ll be all hunky-dory in the +morning. All you need is a little sleep.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> +“My haid,” says the old man, feeling of his +damaged upper story. “It hurts.”</p> + +<p>“Keep your hands down,” says Scoop, taking +the pottering hands and putting them down. +“You mustn’t touch the bandage. For if you do +you’re liable to start the cut to bleeding again.”</p> + +<p>“I can hear the birdies,” says the old man.</p> + +<p>“Of course you can,” says Scoop. “There’re +nice birdies, too. And if you’ll lay still and listen +to them they’ll sing you to sleep.”</p> + +<p>I was anxious to have a talk with the Ott kid. +For I figured he could clear up the mystery of the +spying face. So I was glad when Scoop signaled +to the kid to follow us into the sitting room.</p> + +<p>“Now,” says the leader, giving the other one a +steady eye, “you can loosen up, if you will, and +tell us what you know about this.... Who did +it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” says the kid.</p> + +<p>Scoop scowled.</p> + +<p>“Come on, tell us the truth.”</p> + +<p>“I <em>am</em> telling the truth.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence.</p> + +<p>“Jerry and Red tell me,” says Scoop, “that +you’re all right. They say they’ve made friends +with you. But <em>I</em> don’t know whether we can trust +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> +you or not. It looks to me as though you’re +covering up something.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t anything to cover up,” says the kid, +his eyes seeking the door of his father’s bedroom +in a troubled way.</p> + +<p>“Were you and your father together in the +alley?”</p> + +<p>“No. He was struck down before I got here.”</p> + +<p>“But what was he doing here at this time of +night?”</p> + +<p>“You ought to know.”</p> + +<p>“Sleuthing?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>“And were <em>you</em> sleuthing, too?”</p> + +<p>“I followed Pa to town to look out for him,” +says the kid, flushing at Scoop’s sarcasm. “I +didn’t want him to get locked up. He gave me +the slip a block or two from here. Then I heard +a scream. I found him in the alley. And that’s +all I know.”</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t there any one else in the alley when +you got here?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“And you haven’t any idea who hit your +father?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>The kid was telling the truth. I could see that. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> +The leader could see it, too. And suddenly he +shoved out his hand.</p> + +<p>“Shake,” says he. “If you’re a friend of my +pals, and they trust you, you’re my friend, too.”</p> + +<p>“Ditto,” says Peg, getting in on the hand shaking.</p> + +<p>The kid was uneasy.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose,” says he, watching the door +of his father’s room, “that Pa’ll be all right in +the morning, as you say?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing,” says Scoop. “It isn’t a bad cut. +He got hit with a club, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t have happened,” says the kid, +after a moment, “if he had stayed at home to-night +as I wanted him to do. But he wouldn’t +listen to me. He never does.”</p> + +<p>Scoop’s forehead was puckered.</p> + +<p>“It puzzles me,” says he, “who hit your father, +and why.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it was the Cap’n,” says Peg.</p> + +<p>“But why should the Cap’n come here on the +sly?” says I. “That doesn’t make sense to me.”</p> + +<p>“He’s got a secret, Jerry. You know that.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” says I, “and he’s got a temper, too. +And if he had seen us in here he would have made +short work of kicking us out.”</p> + +<p>Scoop got a flashlight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> +“We can soon tell if it was the Cap’n,” says he.</p> + +<p>We followed him outside. I kind of shivered +in the darkness. It was heavy. Like a black +blanket. The alley looked awfully spooky and +risky to me.</p> + +<p>We found footprints under the window where +Red had seen the spying face. But we found no +prints of a peg-leg. So we knew the spy wasn’t +our queer old friend.</p> + +<p>“Whoever it was,” says Scoop, “he saw us with +the black parrot. There’s no doubt about that.”</p> + +<p>“What?” says the kid, staring. “Is the black +parrot <em>here</em>?”</p> + +<p>“We discovered its hiding place about an hour +ago,” says Scoop. “The spy saw us feeding it. +That was just a minute or two before your father +was struck down.”</p> + +<p>There was a bright look in the kid’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“I can see what happened,” says he. “Pa surprised +the man at your window. See? And then +the man wheeled with a club.”</p> + +<p>“I’d know the man,” says Red, “if I was to +see him again. For he had a mean face. Like a +killer.”</p> + +<p>I shivered.</p> + +<p>“For the love of mud!” says I, trying to cut the +darkness with my eyes. “Shut up and stay shut. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +You give a fellow the creeps. A killer! Br-r-r-r! +Let’s go inside.”</p> + +<p>We were pretty well acquainted with the new +kid now. And we started calling him Poppy.</p> + +<p>“I like that name,” says he, “better than my +real name.”</p> + +<p>“What is your real name?” says Scoop.</p> + +<p>“I hate to tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Is it worse than Poppy?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Is</em> it! Nicholas Carter Sherlock Holmes +Ott. How do you like that?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Good</em> night!” says Scoop. “Who gave you +that name?—some half-baked librarian?”</p> + +<p>The kid laughed.</p> + +<p>“My father named me after his two favorite +detective heroes. But just forget about the name. +I don’t tell it to everybody. Poppy suits me +better, as I say. The Cedarburg kids gave me +that nickname because I peddled popcorn.”</p> + +<p>Scoop grinned.</p> + +<p>“In <em>this</em> gang,” says he, joking, “we stand by +each other and use each other right. So you’ve +got our promise never to disgrace you in public +by calling you by your real name. From now on +you’re Poppy Ott to us. And we’ll just forget +that you ever had any other name.”</p> + +<p>“You tell ’em,” says Peg.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +“And now,” says the leader, “let’s get down to +business. For, as I see it, we’ve got a real job +ahead of us in solving this parrot mystery. Here’s +the dope. The Cap’n has a stolen parrot in his +house. Maybe <em>he</em> stole the parrot; maybe some +one else stole it. Anyway, as I say, the parrot is +here. But before we turn it over to the law, to +be returned to its rightful owner, I’d like to have +a day or two to dig into this thing. For instance, +who is the spy? What’s he after? Is it the black +parrot? Does the Cap’n know about the spy? +Is that why he has been hiding the parrot? You +can see what we’re up against. There’s a lots +bigger mystery here than we thought. And if +something <em>dark</em> is piling up around the Cap’n—something +that is liable to harm him, I mean—and +he’s innocent, I think we ought to stand by +him and help him.”</p> + +<p>“He’s got the stolen parrot,” says I. “We +know that. So how can he be innocent?”</p> + +<p>Scoop nodded, grave-like.</p> + +<p>“You’re right, Jerry,” says he. “It does look +as though the Cap’n is behind the stealing. But +I’m going to give him a chance to clear himself. +And if he <em>can’t</em> do that ... well, then, Poppy, +we’ll let your pa have the parrot. And if the +law steps in on the Cap’n to punish him he’ll have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> +to take his medicine. For it isn’t my scheme to +shield him if he’s guilty. Not so you can notice +it.”</p> + +<p>“I’m beginning to feel ashamed of myself,” +says Poppy, with a gentle look toward the bedroom. +“I thought Pa was an old dumb-bell in +his detecting. But if he gets this thousand dollars +I’ll have to admit that he’s pretty smart.”</p> + +<p>“The thousand dollars,” says I, glad in the +thought, “will set you up in a good home.”</p> + +<p>“It seems almost too good to be true,” says +Poppy, his eyes shining. “A thousand dollars! +I’m beginning to feel proud of Pa, kind of.”</p> + +<p>Red laughed in the sudden turn of his thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Say,” says he, “what did your pa say about +the broken wagon wheels?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” says Poppy, “he got mad and jawed +around. But he shut up when <em>I</em> got mad worse. +I told him what was what. The old wagon was +going to stay right here, I said. I told him if +he put any more wheels on it I’d smash <em>them</em> to +pieces, too.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t have to live in the wagon,” says I, +“when you get the thousand dollars. For then +you can rent a regular house.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind living in the wagon,” says he. +“What I don’t like is being a tramp.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> +Peg laughed.</p> + +<p>“We’ll help you put a foundation under the +wagon and fix it up swell.”</p> + +<p>“Hot dog!” says I. “That will be fun.”</p> + +<p>“And we’ll put out a sign,” says Scoop in nonsense.</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>PRIVATE DETECTIVE</i><br> +<br> +Whatever your mystery<br> +You’ll have it not<br> +If you bring it to<br> +Horatio Calabash Ott.<br> +</p> + +<p>Poppy couldn’t see anything funny in that.</p> + +<p>“No,” says he, shaking his head. “I don’t +want you to put out a detective sign. I want Pa +to quit his foolish detecting and do something +useful.”</p> + +<p>“But he’s making money,” says I, thinking of +the thousand dollars.</p> + +<p>“He hasn’t got the money yet,” says Poppy. +“And even if he does get it I have a hunch that +this will be his first and last successful case. Luck +was with him this trip.”</p> + +<p>We had put the black parrot back in its wall +hole before unlocking the alley door. And now +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> +we brought the bird out. At sight of it Poppy +gave a queer cry.</p> + +<p>“I knew it was too good to be true,” says he, +acting as though the world had dropped from +under him.</p> + +<p>Scoop caught his breath.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” says he quickly.</p> + +<p>“Pa’ll never get a thousand dollars for <em>that</em> +bird. For it’s a real parrot—can’t you see? It’s +a coal-black parrot. It isn’t the stolen mino bird +at all.”</p> + +<p>Peg was in his glory.</p> + +<p>“What’d I tell you?” says he to Red, acting +superior.</p> + +<p>Scoop’s eyes were fastened on the black bird.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” says he at length. “If +this isn’t the stolen bird, what bird is it?”</p> + +<p>“S-s-solomon Gu-gu-gu——” says the parrot, +cocking its funny eyes at us.</p> + +<p>“It’s trying to tell you who it is,” says I, laughing.</p> + +<p>“Gu-gu-gu——” says the parrot. Then it +whistled. “Gu-gu-GRUNDY. Solomon Gu-gu-GRUNDY. +Nice Solomon Gu-gu-GRUNDY. +Gu-gu-give me a k-k-kiss.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead, Red,” says I, “and let it smack +you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +“And get a hunk bit out of my nose!” says the +freckled one, scowling at me. “What do you take +me for?—a pumpkin?”</p> + +<p>“K-k-kiss the c-c-cook,” says the parrot. “K-k-kiss +the cook and t-t-tickle her back with a p-p-poker. +When do we e-e-eat? Gu-gu-give me +some blood. I k-k-killed him! I k-k-killed him! +Gu-gu-give me a bucket of blood. I like blood. +Gu-gu-give me a bucket of blood.”</p> + +<p>Scoop shook his head.</p> + +<p>“We’re finding out secrets,” says he, with a +queer laugh. “But I’ll be blamed if I know what +it’s all about.”</p> + +<p>Peg bent over the leering parrot.</p> + +<p>“Say,” says he, in a steady voice, “who did you +kill, anyway? Tell us.”</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham,” says the parrot, sort of dull and +rasping-like. “H-h-ham. I killed H-h-ham. +Blood. Gu-gu-give me some blood.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h3> +</div> + +<h4>OLD CALEB’S QUEER STORY</h4> + + +<p>I’ve got a pretty good head on me. In solving +mysteries I can think things out pretty good. Still +there are times when my mind goes jumpy. If a +mystery takes a sudden surprising turn I get excited. +I was that way now.</p> + +<p>The stuttering parrot’s “blood” talk had befuddled +me. Like Scoop, I couldn’t make sense +of it. And I was disappointed, too, in the thought +that now Poppy Ott’s father would lose out on +the thousand-dollar reward that the Cedarburg +woman had offered for the return of her stolen +mino bird. I had wanted Mr. Ott to get the +thousand dollars so that Poppy could have a good +home like the rest of us. But if this bird of the +Cap’n wasn’t the stolen mino bird—if, instead, it +was a real black parrot, as Poppy declared—it +was a cinch that the old detective wouldn’t be able +to turn it in for the big reward.</p> + +<p>Our new chum looked sort of crushed.</p> + +<p>“Poor Pa,” says he. “It’ll pretty nearly flatten +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> +him out when he learns that he has been trailing +the wrong parrot. It’ll be an awful blow to him.”</p> + +<p>As I say, we didn’t go back to bed that night. +We were too excited to be sleepy. At daybreak +we were still talking about the mystery. Going +outside, we searched the alley. But we found no +clews.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ott got up at six o’clock. He was all +right now, only his head ached. At first he was +suspicious of us and snapped us up when we tried +to quiz him. But Poppy made him understand +that we were his friends.</p> + +<p>To our disappointment the old man couldn’t +tell us very much about the spy.</p> + +<p>“It was a man, a’ average-sized man, an’ that’s +all I know,” says he. “I seed him at the windy. +He was lookin’ inside. I got up behind him to +show him my star an’ arrest him on suspicion. +An’ then he turned quick-like an’ hit me on the +haid with a club.”</p> + +<p>“Did he say anything to you?” says Scoop.</p> + +<p>“No, he jest turned quick an’ hit me.”</p> + +<p>“And you didn’t see his face?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>Nothing was said to the old detective about the +stuttering parrot. In planning things Scoop had +asked Poppy not to tell his father about the hidden +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +parrot until we had had a chance to talk with +the Cap’n. For the hidden parrot was the Cap’n’s +secret. And we had no right to peddle the secret +without our old friend’s permission.</p> + +<p>Breakfast over, Poppy started off with his +father, then came back.</p> + +<p>“I want to thank you fellows,” says he earnestly, +“for taking me into your gang. I don’t +look like much. But you won’t be sorry you +picked me up, I can tell you that much.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you take your pa home and come back?” +Scoop invited. “You can help us solve the mystery.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to look for a job.”</p> + +<p>Red is a dumb-bell in blurting out things.</p> + +<p>“Before you start looking for a job,” says he, +“you better go home and put on your Sunday +clothes.”</p> + +<p>Poppy’s face reddened.</p> + +<p>“<em>These</em> are my Sunday clothes,” says he, looking +down at himself. “And they’re my Monday +clothes and my Tuesday clothes, too.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a lot of clothes at home,” says I +quickly. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll take you home +and fix you up. For, as Red says, you’ll stand +a better chance of getting a good job if you look +neat.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> +“I’ll be back,” says he.</p> + +<p>The Cap’n didn’t come home to breakfast. +That puzzled us. And then, to our surprise, old +Caleb Obed came around for his regular morning +checker game.</p> + +<p>Scoop stared at the pottering newcomer.</p> + +<p>“I thought you and the Cap’n had gone fishing,” +says he.</p> + +<p>“<em>Me?</em>” says old Caleb, cocking his glass eye at +us. “<em>Me</em> an’ the Cap’n, you say? No, sir, it +wasn’t <em>me</em> an’ the Cap’n—it was jest the Cap’n, +himself.”</p> + +<p>“He isn’t home yet,” says Scoop.</p> + +<p>“Um ...” says old Caleb, waggling. “Skeered +to come home, he be. That’s what’s keepin’ +him away. He’s skeered that I’ll up an’ beat him +like I did yesterday. I guess he knows <em>now</em> who’s +the best checker player in this town. I showed +him up yesterday, I did. Seven games it was, an’ +I beat him every one. <em>He</em> didn’t git a game even.”</p> + +<p>Scoop winked at us as a signal for us to keep +still and let him do the talking.</p> + +<p>“Say, Caleb,” says he, “do you happen to know +what the Cap’n feeds his black parrot for breakfast?”</p> + +<p>Old Caleb’s jaw dropped.</p> + +<p>“Heh?” says he, staring.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> +“I suppose we ought to take good care of the +parrot,” says Scoop, “until the old man gets +home.”</p> + +<p>Caleb’s face was full of suspicion now.</p> + +<p>“How come,” says he, with narrowed eyes, +“that you-all know ’bout that pesky par’ot? I +thought it was a secret.”</p> + +<p>Scoop grinned.</p> + +<p>“Some parrot, isn’t it, Caleb? It’s the first +stuttering parrot I ever saw.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” says the old man, in a sudden talkative +streak, “an’ it’s the only <em>black</em> par’ot in the whole +world. Ham Tinkertop could ’a’ sold it fur a lot +of money, I guess, it bein’ a freak. But, no, sir, +he wouldn’t let it go. He had a reason fur keepin’ +it. I heerd him talkin’ ’bout it to the Cap’n the +last time he was here, which was the summer the +Cap’n got stuck in the rat hole in his kitchen floor +with his peg-leg and had to be sawed out. ‘Boaz,’ +says Ham to his brother, only he didn’t say it jest +like that, fur you know what a awful stutterer +he was, ‘Boaz,’ says he, ‘strange as it may seem +to you, knowin’ what you do ’bout Solomon +Grundy, they hain’t a man in the world outside of +yourself that I think as much of as I do of that +thar par’ot. That’s a fact. An’ if you’ll give him +a good hum when I’m daid an’ gone, with no ill +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> +feelin’ ’gainst him fur what you know ’bout him—only +keepin’ a sharp eye on him, of course, so he +won’t do nobody any damage—if you’ll do that, +Boaz,’ says Ham to the Cap’n, with me a-listenin’ +in, like I say, ‘I’ll promise to make over my life +insurance money to you.’”</p> + +<p>Scoop gave us another wink.</p> + +<p>“I’ve often wondered,” says he to the talkative +one, “how much money the Cap’n brought home +from his brother’s funeral.”</p> + +<p>“Two thousand dollars,” says old Caleb +promptly. “I was with him the day he put the +insurance money in the bank.”</p> + +<p>Scoop laughed.</p> + +<p>“Gee! I wish some one would will <em>me</em> two +thousand dollars for taking care of a parrot. The +Cap’n’s lucky.”</p> + +<p>A queer look flashed into the old man’s +wrinkled face.</p> + +<p>“Um.... Mebbe the Cap’n’s lucky. An’ +mebbe he ben’t.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that?” says Scoop +quickly.</p> + +<p>The old man started for the door.</p> + +<p>“I come here to play checkers,” says he, snappish-like, +“an’ not to tell secrets.” He paused in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +the doorway, his beady eyes hidden under shaggy +brows. “But let me give you young fellers a +pointer,” he added. “Don’t you git too clost to +that thar par’ot. It <em>acts</em> all right; an’ you <em>think</em> +it’s all right. But it’ll nab you in a minute if it +gits a chance. An’ if that happens you’re a-goin’ +to be sorry, I kin tell you that much.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” says Scoop, when the old gossip had +taken himself away, “I guess we know now where +the parrot and the money came from.”</p> + +<p>“And we know why the parrot stutters,” says +I, thinking of the Cap’n’s stuttering brother, who +undoubtedly had taught the bird to speak.</p> + +<p>“It’s a disappointment to me,” says Scoop, +“that there isn’t some connection between this +bird and the stolen mino bird. I had hoped for +a lot of mystery.”</p> + +<p>“How about the man at the window?” says I. +“<em>He’s</em> a mystery.”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing,” says Red.</p> + +<p>“I wonder who he is,” says Scoop, thinking.</p> + +<p>“And <em>I</em> wonder,” says Peg, “what old Caleb +meant by that queer talk of his. You could think +from his warning that the stuttering parrot was +some kind of a peril.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe the parrot has a bad disease,” says I. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> +“Maybe that is why the Cap’n has been hiding it.”</p> + +<p>“If it has a harmful disease,” says Scoop, “it +ought to be killed.”</p> + +<p>“But the Cap’n was paid two thousand dollars +for taking care of it. See? He doesn’t dare to +kill it.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as though it knew what we were talking +about, the black parrot lifted its voice in its +wall hole.</p> + +<p>“B-b-blood! B-b-blood! Give me some b-b-blood!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h3> +</div> + +<h4>UP THE CREEK</h4> + + +<p>Poppy came along about nine o’clock. And I +noticed right away that he had been in the creek. +I didn’t say anything about it, though. I thought +it might not be polite for me to let on to him that +I noticed any change in him. But I was glad that +he had washed himself. I knew that Mother +would like him better now.</p> + +<p>Scoop and Red were out parrot hunting. And +leaving Peg to run the store, Poppy and I hurried +down the street. Pretty soon we came to our +house. Mother was baking cookies.</p> + +<p>“This is Poppy Ott,” says I, introducing my +new chum.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to know you, Poppy,” says Mother, +giving the new acquaintance a warm handshake. +“Have a cookie,” says she.</p> + +<p>“I brought Poppy home with me,” says I, “to +try some of my old clothes on him.”</p> + +<p>Mother caught on.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> +“Fine!” says she, in her usual generous way. +“I was wondering the other day what we’d do with +that brown corduroy suit of yours. It’s perfectly +good. And you never wear it.”</p> + +<p>“Gee!” says Poppy, when we were in my bedroom. +“You’ve got a swell mother.”</p> + +<p>“And I’ve got a swell dad, too,” says I. “Wait +until you meet him.”</p> + +<p>“Did you say he runs a brickyard?”</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he’ll give Pa a job,” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>“He hires a lot of men,” says I.</p> + +<p>“I want Pa to work at something useful,” says +Poppy, “and quit his silly detecting. I’ve tried +to get him to go to work before, but he wouldn’t. +But he’s got to go to work this time. I’ve made +up my mind to that.”</p> + +<p>“Here,” says I, bringing out the suit that +Mother had mentioned, “jump into this and we’ll +go over to the brickyard and see Dad.”</p> + +<p>Poppy looked like a million dollars in good +clothes. My suit fitted him swell. I gave him a +shirt, too, and a necktie and some stockings and +shoes. To finish off I slipped him a cap and the +price of a haircut.</p> + +<p>“You’re the best friend I ever had, Jerry,” +says he, when we came out of the barber shop.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> +“And we’re going to keep on being friends,” +says I, feeling good in what I had done.</p> + +<p>“Forever and ever,” says he earnestly.</p> + +<p>We met Red on our way to the brickyard. He +hadn’t seen anything of his aunt’s parrot, he said. +While we were talking about the escaped parrot a +gang of boys our age came into sight from Zulutown, +which is the name that the Tutter people +have for the tough end of town where Cap’n +Tinkertop used to live.</p> + +<p>“Step this way, folks,” says the gang’s smart +leader, letting on that he was a showman, “and +see Dumb-bell, the red-headed baboon, who picks +his teeth with a crowbar and walks a clothesline +on his hind legs just like a human bein’.”</p> + +<p>This wasn’t the first time that Bid Stricker and +his gang of roughnecks had called our freckled +chum a baboon. And I didn’t blame poor Red +for getting huffy. For a fellow can’t help his +looks. If he had red hair and freckles he was +made that way in heaven.</p> + +<p>“Lookit!” says Jimmy Stricker, Bid’s mean +cousin. “They’ve got a new kid in the gang. +Let’s initiate him with a brick.”</p> + +<p>“Who are they?” says Poppy, getting my eye.</p> + +<p>“The Zulutown gang,” says I.</p> + +<p>“They don’t act like friends of yours.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> +“<em>Friends!</em>” says I, turning up my nose at the +smart Alecks. “I should hope not. They hate +us because we’re smarter than they are. And +every chance they get they pick on us.”</p> + +<p>“Hello, Poppy,” says Bid, sneering-like. “We +know <em>you</em>.”</p> + +<p>“The kid tramp!” says Jimmy. “Isn’t he cunning +in Jerry’s old suit.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s your ‘Charley Chaplin’ pants, +trampy?” says Bid.</p> + +<p>Poppy turned to me again.</p> + +<p>“Do you care,” says he, quiet-like, “if I go over +there and knock their blocks off?”</p> + +<p>“It’s five to three,” says I.</p> + +<p>“You and Red take one apiece,” says he, “and +I’ll take the other three.”</p> + +<p>The cowardly enemy beat it into Zulutown when +we took after them. And putting them out of our +thoughts, we separated, Red going in search of +Scoop while Poppy and I headed for the brickyard +office where Dad was.</p> + +<p>It was my Grandfather Todd who started the +Tutter Vitrified Brick Company. That was in +1884. When he died the business became Dad’s. +Some day, I suppose, when I get to using a safety +razor three times a week, I’ll be a partner in the +business. It’s going to be fun being a partner +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> +of Dad’s. We found my future partner dictating +letters to his secretary, Miss Tubbs.</p> + +<p>“Howdy, Jerry,” says he, acting glad to see me. +Then he grinned at Poppy. “Who’s your +friend?” says he, joking. “Some influential brick +buyer?”</p> + +<p>I told him who Poppy was.</p> + +<p>“He’s going to live in Tutter,” says I, “and +go to school here. And we want to get his father +a job in the brickyard.”</p> + +<p>“Um ...” says Dad, thinking. “I can’t recall +any detecting jobs that we have open right +now.... How old is your father?”</p> + +<p>“Sixty-two,” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>“Too old to push a truck,” says Dad, shaking +his head. “But if he’s dependable I might be able +to use him as a night watchman. For Denny +Corbin quit me last night. Suppose you send the +old gentleman around this afternoon so I can +have a talk with him.”</p> + +<p>When we were in the street Poppy said that +things were coming his way fast. He had a home +that wasn’t on wheels, he said. And he had good +clothes and good friends.</p> + +<p>“I only hope,” says he, “that Pa won’t do something +silly on his new job and lose it.”</p> + +<p>“Dad’ll be patient with him,” says I.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> +“Your dad’s swell, Jerry.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Your</em> dad is going to be swell, too,” says I, +“when we get through with him.”</p> + +<p>In that moment Poppy’s eyes seemed to see +things a thousand miles away.</p> + +<p>“I only wish Ma was alive,” says he, dreamy-like.</p> + +<p>It was on the end of my tongue to tell him that +we would get a new ma for him. But I checked +myself. He might not like that, I thought. Still, +it was a thing to keep in mind, I told myself. I +had heard it said by older people that it takes a +good wife to keep a man steady. We wanted to +keep Mr. Ott steady. And it might be, I told +myself, that a new wife was the very thing he +needed.</p> + +<p>At the store Peg told us that he had had a long distance +telephone call from the Cap’n.</p> + +<p>“The old dumb-bell! What do you know if +he didn’t go to sleep in his fishing boat last night +and float down the Illinois River. He woke up +down at Oglesby. Now he’s rowing back.”</p> + +<p>I laughed.</p> + +<p>“Where did you say he woke up?”</p> + +<p>“Down at Oglesby.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know that anybody ever woke up +down there,” says I, in nonsense.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> +Later on Scoop and Red dragged themselves +into the store empty-handed.</p> + +<p>“Good-by parrot,” says the leader, dropping +wearily onto the counter.</p> + +<p>Red swabbed his face.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go swimming,” says he. “I’m about +melted.”</p> + +<p>Locking the doors, and posting a notice that +the store would be open again at one o’clock, we +headed out of town on the Treebury pike, going +up the Happy Hollow road past the Scotch +cemetery.</p> + +<p>“Lookit!” says Scoop, pointing over the cemetery +fence. “They’re digging a grave.”</p> + +<p>“What of it?” says I. “Graves don’t interest +me.”</p> + +<p>“But they’re digging <em>this</em> grave in Cap’n +Tinkertop’s lot.”</p> + +<p>Red laughed at his thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Maybe they’re going to bury the Cap’n’s +wooden leg,” says he.</p> + +<p>“I’d sooner think,” says Scoop, thoughtful-like, +“that they were planning to bury the dead +sailor.”</p> + +<p>“But <em>he</em> was buried over in Cedarburg,” says I.</p> + +<p>“They can dig a man up and bury him twice, +can’t they?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> +“You’re crazy,” says I.</p> + +<p>In the time that we were dressing after our +swim Peg and Red got into an argument over the +escaped parrot. It was fun to listen to them talk. +For Red gets hot-headed when he tries to argue.</p> + +<p>“What?” says Peg, turning up his nose. “Do +you mean to call that ordinary hunk of green +feathers that your aunt buys crackers for a +<em>parrot</em>? Boy, you don’t know what a real parrot +is. Take Solomon Grundy. Um ... there’s +a parrot worth owning, let me tell you.”</p> + +<p>“My aunt’s parrot can lick it,” says Red, strutting +around like a bantam rooster.</p> + +<p>Peg hooted at that.</p> + +<p>“Your aunt’s parrot!” says he. “Go on! Your +aunt hasn’t got a parrot. All she’s got is an empty +bird cage.”</p> + +<p>“I can catch her parrot,” says Red, bragging +reckless-like.</p> + +<p>“Yah,” says Peg, “and you can catch cold, too.”</p> + +<p>The freckled one was on his high horse now.</p> + +<p>“Here’s my jackknife,” says he, slamming the +knife down, “and here’s a jaw breaker and here’s +a shooter and a box of fishhooks. Now, wise guy, +I’ll bet you the whole caboodle that my parrot can +lick your parrot. Put up or shut up.”</p> + +<p>Peg hooked the piece of candy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> +“Um-yum!” says he, smacking.</p> + +<p>Red looked silly. He saw now that Peg had +been arguing in fun. As for old hefty, he was in +his glory. He likes to get Red’s goat. And he +has learned from experience that the easiest and +surest way to tease the smaller one is to argue +with him about his stuff or his family’s stuff. For +Red has the conceited idea that whatever stuff the +Meyers family owns is the best stuff of its kind in +the world.</p> + +<p>Poppy hadn’t been with us up the creek. And +on our way home we met him in the road.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got something for you,” says he, grinning. +And what do you know if he didn’t pull the lost +parrot out of his coat.</p> + +<p>“Hot dog!” says Red.</p> + +<p>“I found it in the willows,” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>Taking the parrot, Red fell behind with Peg. +We could hear the two of them whispering and +giggling together, the best of pals again. Coming +into town, Scoop and Peg turned south on Grove +Street and Red and I went on alone.</p> + +<p>“What’s eating you?” says I, when the freckled +one kept on giggling.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” says he, acting big, “Peg and I know +something.”</p> + +<p>And that is all I could get out of him.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h3> +</div> + +<h4>FOUR WHEELBARROWS</h4> + + +<p>“Jerry,” Mother told me, when I tumbled into +the kitchen where she was mashing the potatoes +for dinner, “there’s a note for you on the +Victrola.”</p> + +<p>“Who from?” says I.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Caleb Obed,” says she.</p> + +<p>I was surprised.</p> + +<p>“What’s the old man writing to me for?” says +I.</p> + +<p>“It’s about a wheelbarrow,” says she.</p> + +<p>I got the note. Here it is:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jerry</span>: I just got word from Cap’n Tinkertop +and he wants you to meet him at the river +bridge at two o’clock with a wheelbarrow.</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Caleb Obed.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Here Dad came into the kitchen and started +fooling around.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> +“The Cap’n must be on his way home with a +boatload of bullheads,” says he, when he had +read the note.</p> + +<p>Mother laughed.</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” says she, “the old man is tired from +his long row and wants Jerry to wheel him home +in style.”</p> + +<p>I was looking at the note.</p> + +<p>“We haven’t got a wheelbarrow,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Sure thing we have,” says Dad. “Look in +the garage behind the old porch screens.”</p> + +<p>When dinner was over I got the wheelbarrow +and started out. It was a mile to the river. And +I can’t say that I was very crazy over my job. +But I didn’t back down on account of the hot +sun. I didn’t want to disappoint the Cap’n. +We’re good friends and he does things for me. +Besides I wanted to find out the truth about the +stuttering parrot. And I figured it would help +me if I were to get on the good side of him. He +would tell me more then.</p> + +<p>I couldn’t figure out, though, why the old man +wanted me to meet him at the river bridge with a +wheelbarrow. Certainly it wasn’t to bring home +a big catch of bullheads, as Dad had said in fun. +Could it be, I asked myself, that there was some +mystery back of his note?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> +Red was ahead of me in River Street. I got my +eyes on his bow legs. And when I got closer to +him I saw in surprise that he was trundling a +wheelbarrow like mine.</p> + +<p>“It’s for the Cap’n,” says he, when I overtook +him. “He had old Caleb Obed write me a note +to meet him at the river bridge.”</p> + +<p>“Old Caleb wrote me a note, too,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Good night!” says Red, staring at my wheelbarrow. +“The old man must be bringing home a +ton of coal.”</p> + +<p>We had a good sweat in our walk in the hot +sun. Coming to the river bridge, we saw old Caleb +fishing over the railing. Peg was there, too. And +what do you know if our chum didn’t have a +wheelbarrow as big as Red’s and mine put together.</p> + +<p>Old Caleb was shaking his shaggy head and +talking in a loud voice.</p> + +<p>“No,” says he, “I didn’t write you no note ’bout +a wheelbarrow. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ +’bout.”</p> + +<p>Peg showed how he could scowl.</p> + +<p>“How about this?” says he, shoving a piece of +paper under the old man’s nose. “It’s got your +name on it.”</p> + +<p>“Um.... Let me see.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> +“Right there,” says Peg, jabbing with his +finger.</p> + +<p>In the time that the near-sighted one was fumbling +around for his spectacles we heard Scoop +coming down the river road. He was whistling +and stepping it off as big as cuffy.</p> + +<p>“Lookit!” says Red, sort of squeaky-like, grabbing +my arm and pointing to the newcomer.</p> + +<p>“Another wheelbarrow!” says I, going dizzy.</p> + +<p>“It’s kind of wabbly,” says Scoop, when he had +joined us, “but it’s the only one in our block that +I could find.” Here his gab trailed away in a +sudden discovery. “What in Sam Hill?...” +says he, blinking. “Four wheelbarrows! Is it +an epidemic?”</p> + +<p>Here a row of monkey faces was lifted into +sight out of the weeds.</p> + +<p>“Haw! haw! haw!” says Bid Stricker, jeering-like.</p> + +<p>I saw then where the notes had come from. +And did I ever feel cheap! To let a dumb-bell +like Bid Stricker fool us this way! <em>Good</em> night!</p> + +<p>We took after the smart Alecks, running them +into town. But we couldn’t catch them.</p> + +<p>Old Caleb was cackling to himself when we +came back to the bridge.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> +“Heh! heh! heh!” says he, shaking all over. +“They fooled you slick, didn’t they?”</p> + +<p>“Wait and see what <em>they</em> get,” says Scoop, mopping +his face and glaring in the direction of town +where we could see the enemy kicking up dust in +the river road.</p> + +<p>“You’re goin’ to git back at ’em, hey?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Are</em> we?”</p> + +<p>Peg grunted.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to punch Bid Stricker in the snout.”</p> + +<p>“You take Bid,” says I, “and I’ll take Jimmy.”</p> + +<p>Scoop laughed.</p> + +<p>“Do you know what <em>I’m</em> going to do,” says he.</p> + +<p>“What?” says Peg.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to think up a snappy trick to play +on them. That’ll be more fun than beating them +up.”</p> + +<p>“Hot dog!” says I, looking ahead to fun.</p> + +<p>Yes, I was full of giggles. For I knew how +smart Scoop was in thinking up tricks. But I +guess I would have been full of shivers, instead, +if I had known what we were heading into. In +the trick that we later prepared for the Strickers +I got the worst of it. Br-r-r-r! I don’t like to +think about it. And to this day I always tremble +when I go into a dark cellar. I expect to touch +something <em>cold</em>.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h3> +</div> + +<h4>THE ESCAPED PARROT</h4> + + +<p>As I say, old Caleb Obed and the Cap’n are +pretty thick. What one knows the other knows. +They’re that way. They jangle like a couple of +silly kids in playing checkers. But in other ways +they’re the closest of friends.</p> + +<p>Now old Caleb got the idea in his head that we +were neglecting his friend’s bird business. And +he started jawing at us.</p> + +<p>“I might ’a’ knowed,” says he, scowling at us, +“that you b’ys wouldn’t tend to business. Here +you be traipsin’ ’round the country with four +wheelbarrows an’ the store locked up. When the +Cap’n gits home I’m a-goin’ to tell him ’bout this.”</p> + +<p>Scoop got mad.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” says he. “We should worry what +you tell him. If he doesn’t like the way we run +the store he can stay home and run it himself.”</p> + +<p>“I’m a-goin’ back to town,” says Old Caleb, +pulling in his fishing line. “I hain’t a-goin’ to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> +see my ol’ friend’s business go to pot. No, sir. +I’ll jest run it myself till he gits home.”</p> + +<p>“Help yourself,” says Scoop. “We don’t get +anything out of it, anyway.... Come on, +gang.”</p> + +<p>“What are we going to do with the wheelbarrows?” +says I.</p> + +<p>The leader grinned.</p> + +<p>“We might have a parade,” says he, “and +wheel ’em into town.”</p> + +<p>“Yah,” says I, “and have the Strickers hoot at +us. Nothin’ doin’,” and I dumped my wheelbarrow +into the weeds.</p> + +<p>The other fellows followed my example. Then +we set out for town.</p> + +<p>Red and Peg, I noticed, had their heads together +in more whispered secrets.</p> + +<p>“What’s eating you guys?” says Scoop, watching +the others.</p> + +<p>“Ask Red,” says Peg.</p> + +<p>“Ask Peg,” says Red.</p> + +<p>The leader got huffy at the gigglers.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Jerry,” says he, pulling me aside. +“We don’t have to hang around with them if they +don’t want us to.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the idea of getting sore at them?” +says I, when we were alone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> +He gave me a hidden grin.</p> + +<p>“I’m not sore,” says he. “I’m just letting on. +Don’t you catch on, Jerry? They’re going to +have a parrot fight.”</p> + +<p>“Hot dog!” says I.</p> + +<p>“It’ll be ‘dead dog’ for them,” says he, laughing, +“if the Cap’n comes home and finds black +parrot feathers scattered all over his house. For +you know the old man’s temper.”</p> + +<p>“There they go,” says I, pointing to the gigglers, +who had hurried away from us. “They’re +heading for the store.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll get into the Cap’n’s attic,” says Scoop, +“and watch them through the trapdoor in the +sitting-room ceiling. That’ll be fun, for they +won’t know we’re there. And when the show is +over we’ll give them the horselaugh.”</p> + +<p>The other two stopped in a candy store, so we +managed to get ahead of them. At the bird store +we went up a fire escape to the flat roof.</p> + +<p>“The Cap’n doesn’t know it,” says Scoop, raising +a scuttle, “but last week when he was away +to the county fair I lost the front-door key and +had to get into the store this way.”</p> + +<p>The attic that we dropped into was stuffy and +dusty. I got cobwebs in my teeth. I hate spiders. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> +And I shivered in the thought of swallowing one +of the nasty things.</p> + +<p>Scoop raised the trapdoor in the sitting-room +ceiling.</p> + +<p>“Here we are,” says he.</p> + +<p>The parrot heard us.</p> + +<p>“Why does it keep calling for Ham?” says +Scoop.</p> + +<p>“That was the name of its master,” says I, +thinking of the dead sailor.</p> + +<p>“I know that,” says Scoop. “But now that +the man is dead I should think the bird would +forget about him.”</p> + +<p>“I k-k-killed him!” came from the parrot in a +shrill, screechy voice. “I k-k-killed him! B-b-blood! +B-b-blood! Gu-gu-give me some b-b-blood!”</p> + +<p>Scoop shook his head.</p> + +<p>“If <em>we</em> only knew what that parrot knows,” +says he.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“It has a secret, Jerry. This ‘blood’ talk isn’t +mere chatter. There’s a meaning back of it.”</p> + +<p>The parrot was still talking when Peg and Red +appeared at the alley door.</p> + +<p>“Nobody at home,” says Peg, coming into the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> +room below us, “except Solomon Grundy and the +parlor lamp.”</p> + +<p>Red had his aunt’s parrot in a shoe box.</p> + +<p>“My bird’s ready,” says he, strutting around, +“whenever yours is.”</p> + +<p>Peg heaved across the room to the hidden wall +hole.</p> + +<p>“Howdy, King Solomon,” says he, taking down +the picture that hid the hole.</p> + +<p>The parrot bristled in its cage.</p> + +<p>“Gu-gu-git out, you dirty b-b-bums.”</p> + +<p>The big one laughed.</p> + +<p>“Hey!” says he. “Don’t you talk that way to +me, you hunk of petrified ink, or I’ll bite your +cupola off.”</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham!” says the parrot, screechy-like. +“R-r-rattle their skulls, H-h-ham. R-r-rattle their +skulls.”</p> + +<p>This brought the other parrot to life.</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” came a thin voice from the shoe +box. “Polly wants breakfast.”</p> + +<p>Peg laughed.</p> + +<p>“Polly will want a casket pretty quick,” says +he.</p> + +<p>“Don’t kid yourself,” says Red, sleuthing the +table edge for a wad of chewing gum that he had +parked there earlier in the day.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> +“Your parrot sounds like a hunk of cake,” says +Peg.</p> + +<p>“Cake with rat poison in it,” says Red.</p> + +<p>“Poor Polly!” says Peg. “You better take a +last fond look at your bird, Red. For it’s heading +into sudden death.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t scare me. Bring on your old +feather duster, you big bluffer. I’ll show <em>you</em>.”</p> + +<p>“How are we going to work it?” says Peg, +squinting at the bristling black parrot with a calculating +eye.</p> + +<p>“Search me,” says Red. “This is my first parrot +fight.”</p> + +<p>“We might put ’em in the Cap’n’s churn and +crank it up.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s put ’em in a big cage,” says Red. “Then +we won’t get clawed.”</p> + +<p>Peg skidded into the store and came back +with a cage.</p> + +<p>“I’ll put my bird in first,” says Red.</p> + +<p>Old Solomon Grundy was boiling mad now. +<em>He</em> knew there was crooked work going on!</p> + +<p>“Golly Ned!” says Peg, jumping back to save +his fingers. “Did you see him slap his tin shears +at me?”</p> + +<p>Red purred.</p> + +<p>“Talk to him,” says he. “Be gentle.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> +The big one tried it again.</p> + +<p>“Hold ’er, Newt,” says Red. “She’s a-rearin’.”</p> + +<p>“I pretty nearly lost an elbow that time,” says +Peg.</p> + +<p>“Can’t we hold the cage doors together?” says +Red. “Then we can make old Solomon get into +the big cage. See?”</p> + +<p>Peg shimmied around.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got it,” says he. “Now, git a broom and +poke around in the small cage.”</p> + +<p>Red gave a swat with the broom, shoving Peg +in the face.</p> + +<p>“For the love of mud!” says the big one, +spitting up broom straws. “What do you think +you’re doing?—shooting pool?”</p> + +<p>“The broom slipped,” says Red, trying to keep +his face straight.</p> + +<p>“My right arm’ll slip,” says Peg, “if you don’t +back up. <em>Good</em> night! You sure are dumb. +Look where you’re shoving after this.”</p> + +<p>“I did look,” says Red, “but you moved.”</p> + +<p>They fooled around for several minutes, Peg +with the cage and the other one with the broom. +But let me tell you they didn’t put anything over +on Solomon Grundy!</p> + +<p>“Now!” says Peg, shoving the cages together.</p> + +<p>Red jabbed with the broom. He jabbed so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> +hard he knocked the cage out of Peg’s hands. +Solomon Grundy was loose in the room now. And +was there <em>action</em>! Boy, if I live to be a hundred +and fifty years old I never expect to see anybody +move any faster than those parrot fighters did. +Around and around the room they went, ducking +and dodging the furious fighting bird. Sliding for +base, sort of, Red managed to get under the sofa. +In the same time Peg got into the bedroom.</p> + +<p>Here the alley door opened.</p> + +<p>“Um ... I kin see Donald Meyers under the +sofy,” says the newcomer in a cackling voice. +“What you doin’ under thar, Donald? Be you +hidin’ on the Cap’n?”</p> + +<p>Before Red could answer there was a strangling +scream.</p> + +<p>“Murder!” says Scoop, dropping down through +the trapdoor. “Come on, Jerry.”</p> + +<p>Peg came running from the bedroom just as I +landed kerflop! in the middle of the sitting-room +floor.</p> + +<p>“Who screamed?” says he.</p> + +<p>“Old Caleb Obed,” says I.</p> + +<p>Red crawled out of his hiding place. His eyes +were as big as saucers.</p> + +<p>“I saw him,” says he. “Solomon Grundy flew +at him and he let out a screech and beat it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> +Scoop was in the alley now. We could see him +crawling along on his hands and knees. He was +trying to capture something with his cap.</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham!” says a familiar rasping voice.</p> + +<p>I gave a cry.</p> + +<p>“It’s Solomon Grundy!”</p> + +<p>Too quick for the leader, the stuttering parrot +flopped its funeral-like wings and disappeared +over the roof of Red’s aunt’s millinery store on +the opposite side of the street.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h3> +</div> + +<h4>VOODOOISM</h4> + + +<p>Red and Peg were in a pickle. There was no +doubt about that. Their parrot fight having +ended in the escape of the black parrot—the +mystery parrot, as we now called it—they knew +that the Cap’n would go for them when he found +out what they had done.</p> + +<p>Scoop and I hadn’t been asked in on the others’ +fun. In fact the parrot fighters had acted kind of +smart with us. So now we paid them back by telling +them that the black parrot’s escape was their +funeral and not ours.</p> + +<p>Still, we wouldn’t go back on them, we said, +having fun with them in their predicament. If +they ended up in the town jail we would call on +them, brotherly-like, and keep them in peanuts +and chewing gum.</p> + +<p>Wanting to save his hide, Red said he guessed +he would hike into the country and visit his relatives +for a spell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> +“My Uncle Charley keeps cows,” says he, “and +I can help him milk them. So he’ll be glad to +have me around.”</p> + +<p>Scoop hooted.</p> + +<p>“<em>You</em> milk a cow!” says he. “You’ll be telling +us next that you know how to husk pumpkins.”</p> + +<p>“If a cow stepped on you,” says I to the guilty +one, “it would be worse than going to jail.”</p> + +<p>“Stop talking about jail,” says he, shivering. +“You give me the jimjams.”</p> + +<p>Scoop waggled serious-like.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if it’s true,” says he, “that Bill Hadley +feeds his prisoners on bread and water.”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely,” says I.</p> + +<p>“I can’t swallow it, though,” says Scoop, “that +Bill really mixes the bread and water in the cat’s +dish.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen the dish,” says I.</p> + +<p>This kind of crazy talk didn’t scare Peg like it +did poor Red. But just the same old hefty was +worried in the thought of what he had done. He +realized that he was in a serious predicament.</p> + +<p>Then Scoop put his wits to work in the others’ +behalf. The scheme that he suggested was a darb, +all right. But Red held off.</p> + +<p>“Gosh!” says he, more worried than ever. +“What’ll my aunt say?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> +“She won’t know anything about it,” says Scoop. +“For she’s in Chicago, you say.”</p> + +<p>“But why use <em>my</em> parrot?” says Red. “Why +don’t you use one of the store parrots?”</p> + +<p>“They aren’t big enough,” says Scoop. “Yours +is the only one in the store Solomon Grundy’s +size.”</p> + +<p>Red shrugged.</p> + +<p>“All right,” says he, giving in. “I’ll take a +chance. But, boy, I can see my finish if I get +caught. You don’t know my aunt! She’s a rip-snorter, +let me tell you.”</p> + +<p>It was the leader’s scheme to blacken Red’s +green parrot with soot and put it in the escaped +parrot’s cage. That would give us a chance to +capture the missing parrot without having an +empty cage in the wall hole to give us away. +Later on we would switch the real black parrot +for the sooted parrot. The Cap’n never would be +the wiser. He wouldn’t know that his black parrot +had been out of the house. Thus his temper +would be saved and our two chums would escape +trouble.</p> + +<p>I was given the job of putting the sitting room +in order. And in returning the Cap’n’s dead +brother’s picture to its wall hook I noticed something +about the enlargement that had escaped +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> +me in the other times that I had handled the picture.</p> + +<p>In the tattooing on the dead sailor’s bare chest +was a black parrot. It was the only thing pricked +into the skin in black ink. All around it were +colored designs—anchors and flowers and moons +and things like that.</p> + +<p>While I stood there staring at the unusual picture, +my thoughts bobbing around in my head, +Scoop yipped to me to come into the kitchen and +see the fun.</p> + +<p>I found him rubbing soot from the stove into +Red’s parrot’s green feathers.</p> + +<p>“Solomon Grundy, Jr.,” says he, laughing.</p> + +<p>The parrot eyed us reproachful-like in its +smudgy disgrace.</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” it whimpered. “Polly wants +breakfast.”</p> + +<p>“What’ll you have for breakfast this morning?” +says Peg, in fun. “Some fried fishhooks or +some boiled shoe buttons?”</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” says the parrot again. “Polly +wants breakfast.”</p> + +<p>I drew the leader into the sitting room.</p> + +<p>“I’ve made a discovery,” says I.</p> + +<p>“So did Christopher Columbus,” says he, grinning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> +“Lookit!” says I, taking him up to the dead +sailor’s picture.</p> + +<p>“A black parrot!” says he, following my finger.</p> + +<p>“I bet you there’s a connection between this +picture and the real parrot,” says I. “For this +man owned the mystery parrot. He was a sailor. +And you know how many secrets a sailor has.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe he was a pirate,” says Scoop, letting +his imagination jump along. “The pirate ship +was called the <em>Black Parrot</em>. See? And all the +pirates had this black-parrot symbol tattooed on +them.”</p> + +<p>“And the real black parrot,” says I, “was the +ship mascot. Just like the cook’s parrot in <cite>Treasure +Island</cite>.”</p> + +<p>The leader laughed.</p> + +<p>“Jerry,” says he, “we’re a crazy pair. We’ve +got too much imagination.”</p> + +<p>“Just the same,” says I, hanging on, “I bet you +there <em>is</em> a secret to the tattooed parrot. You wait +and see.”</p> + +<p>We had planned to turn the store over to old +Caleb when he came around. That would give us +a chance to go parrot hunting. But to our surprise +the old man didn’t come back.</p> + +<p>So we put Peg in charge of the store. Then +the rest of us started out, each one taking a different +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> +course. I went to the left into Zulutown. +But nowhere on the house roofs or in the trees +did I catch sight of the escaped black bird.</p> + +<p>Hoping that one of my chums had been more +successful than me, I started back, still keeping a +sharp lookout for the lost parrot. Pretty soon I +met Red limping down the street. He looked like +the last rose of summer.</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ doin’,” says he wearily.</p> + +<p>I was kind of grouchy.</p> + +<p>“All we’ve done this week,” says I, “is search +for lost parrots. First it was your aunt’s parrot +and now it’s the Cap’n’s parrot. I suppose it’ll +be somebody else’s parrot to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The other one laughed.</p> + +<p>“Poppy Ott ought to be here. For he’s a better +parrot hunter than us.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t seen Poppy since noon,” says I.</p> + +<p>“I met him down town right after dinner,” +says Red. “He was making the rounds of the +stores for a job. But he hadn’t landed anything.”</p> + +<p>“His pa’s got a job,” says I. “He’s going to +do night watching in Dad’s brickyard.”</p> + +<p>Red waggled.</p> + +<p>“I like that kid,” says he, thinking of our new +chum. “I hope he stays here.”</p> + +<p>Coming to the store, we heard the Cap’n’s voice. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> +But he wasn’t raving at Scoop and Peg. So we +knew he hadn’t found out about the soot trick.</p> + +<p>“Howdy, b’ys,” says he, when we joined him +in the sitting room. “Awful hot afternoon, hain’t +it? I purty nearly melted rowin’ home. Um.... +I’ve learnt a lesson, I have. The next time +I go fishin’ you won’t ketch me goin’ to sleep in +my boat.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly a wilted voice came out of the wall +hole.</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” says Red’s parrot, whimpering-like. +“Polly wants breakfast.”</p> + +<p>The Cap’n gave us a quick searching look.</p> + +<p>“Um.... You b’ys kin go home now if you +want to,” says he, trying to get rid of us. “I +won’t be a-needin’ you any more to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” says the parrot again. “Polly +wants breakfast.”</p> + +<p>I remembered then that this “breakfast” talk +was about the only thing that Red’s parrot could +say.</p> + +<p>Peg got my ear.</p> + +<p>“Say, Jerry,” says he, “have you got your ventrilo +handy?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing,” says I, feeling in my pockets.</p> + +<p>“Then you better crank it up.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> +“What do you want me to do,” says I, “make a +sound like a gold fish?”</p> + +<p>“That blamed parrot of Red’s can’t stutter. +We never thought of that. So you’ve got to +stutter for it. See?”</p> + +<p>Maybe you know what a ventrilo is. It’s a +little tin jigger that you put in your mouth to +throw your voice. Like in ventriloquism. I +paid ten cents for mine. The day I got it I took +it to school to fool the teacher. I thought it +would be fun to throw my voice into the wastepaper +basket. But I didn’t know how to work it +that day. I hadn’t practiced. And instead of +having fun with the teacher she spotted me right +off and sent me up to the principal.</p> + +<p>But I learned how to work the ventrilo afterwards. +So I was ready now to do some voice +throwing at Peg’s orders.</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham!” says I, trying as best I could to +make my voice sound like the black parrot’s. +“H-h-ham! Rattle their skulls, H-h-ham. Rattle +their skulls.”</p> + +<p>The Cap’n was on needles and pins.</p> + +<p>“You b’ys better clear out,” says he.</p> + +<p>Scoop laughed.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Cap’n? Are you afraid +we’ll find out about your black parrot?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> +The old man’s jaw fell.</p> + +<p>“Heh?” says he, staring.</p> + +<p>“We know you’ve got a black parrot over there +behind your brother’s picture,” says Scoop. “So +you needn’t try to cover up on us. We know it +was your brother’s parrot, too; and we know that +he paid you two thousand dollars for taking care +of it.”</p> + +<p>“I swan!” says the fidgeting old man, sort of +gasping in his surprise. “What all <em>don’t</em> you b’ys +know?”</p> + +<p>“H-h-ham!” says I again. “H-h-ham! Bring +me some h-h-ham and eggs and a b-b-bucket of +b-b-blood.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you give your bird some fresh +air?” says Scoop. “<em>Good</em> night! It’ll suffocate +in that hot hole. Have a heart, Cap’n.”</p> + +<p>The old man was fearfully worked up.</p> + +<p>“You b’ys keep ’way from that that pesky +par’ot,” says he in a panting voice. “Don’t you +go near it to let it git a crack at you. Cats an’ +codfish—<em>no</em>! Why, if you knowed what I know +’bout that thar devilish par’ot you wouldn’t come +in the house even. No, you wouldn’t! <em>Me</em>—I +keep out of its reach, let me tell you. A feller, +saiz I, is got only one life to live, an’ I hain’t a-goin’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> +to run no chance of havin’ my life cut short +by no voodoo par’ot.”</p> + +<p>Scoop was dancing in excitement now.</p> + +<p>“Voodoo parrot!” says he. “What do you +mean by that, Cap’n? Tell us.”</p> + +<p>“B’ys,” says the old man, more composed now, +“that thar par’ot is a’ awful worry on my mind. +Yes, ’tis. Sometimes I wish that my fool brother +haid kep’ his devilish par’ot an’ his money, too. +Fur every minute that it’s in the house thar’s a +risk to me an’ to anybody who might come in. +That’s why I’m keepin’ the bird hid. I never +told you b’ys ’bout it, fur I didn’t want you nor +nobody else ’round here to know that it was here.”</p> + +<p>“Is ‘voodoo’ a disease?” says Scoop.</p> + +<p>At this question the old man then told us that +voodooism was a sort of sorcery practiced by the +natives of Haiti. On one of his trips to the island +the tattooed sailor had learned about a strange +“voodoo” parrot in a native temple. The natives +called it the “death parrot” because it was black. +They were afraid of its bite. It could kill people, +they said. It was a “voodooer.” The tattooed +sailor and another man named Bige Morgan got +up the scheme of swiping the black parrot in fun. +And one night they stained their bodies to look +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> +like natives and got into the temple. Pretty soon +the natives all over the island knew that the voodoo +parrot had been stolen. They were crazy. +They found out about the two sailors. And to +save their lives the sailors put to sea on a raft. +The wind blew them into the ocean. Two or +three days later they landed on a coral island. +Here Bige Morgan died suddenly.</p> + +<p>“When I first heerd the story,” says the Cap’n, +“I told Ham that it warn’t no par’ot bite that +killed Bige. Nope. He was p’isoned from +somethin’ he eat. Or mebbe it was a snake bite. +But Ham allus was a superstitious cuss. <em>He</em> +believed in spirits. Why, if I’ve heerd him tell +it once I’ve heerd him tell it a hundred times how +<em>he</em> was a-goin’ to come back when he was daid an’ +talk to me. So, with them idears in his head, I +never could quite git him to believe that they was +no foundation to the voodoo story. An’ to that +p’int, b’ys, I calc’late that it warn’t no good thing +fur me to be talkin’ ’bout it so much to him. Fur +it’s a fact I kind of got a halfway superstitious +fear of the blamed par’ot myself. Ham wouldn’t +kill it. He was skeered to kill it—skeered, I +mean, that it would bring him bad luck. When he +was rescued from the island he took the par’ot +with him. An’ he haid it fur years an’ years before +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> +he died. He kep’ it shet up whar it coldn’t +git a whack at nobody with its bill. Since I +brought the par’ot home I’ve kep’ it shet up, too. +That was the safest plan. An’, as I say, when I +feed it I don’t git clost up to it. Fur it’s a fact, +b’ys, I don’t <em>know</em> that it hain’t a voodooer. I +kain’t hardly swallow the story. But on the other +hand I kain’t prove that they is no truth in the +story without me tryin’ the bird out on somebody; +an’, of course, I won’t never do <em>that</em>. Great guns—<em>no</em>! +So you kin see why I don’t want you fellers +to git near it. Jest leave it alone. Prob’ly nothin’ +would happen if it did take a nip at you. Still, as +I say, I hain’t sure. It’s better, saiz I, to be +safe than sorry. The wrong time to wonder if +mushrooms is toadstools is after a feller is got ’em +in his stomick.”</p> + +<p>Well, we didn’t laugh at the silly old man in +his own house. But we sure did whoop ’er up +when we were outside. Such a crazy story!</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” says Scoop, “we’ll catch Solomon +Grundy and switch birds on the old gilly. +Then in a week or two we’ll tell him the truth +about the parrot’s escape. It’ll put him easy, I +bet, to learn that the voodoo story is bunk.”</p> + +<p>“If we’re going to keep his mind easy,” says I, +“we better keep him away from old Caleb.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> +“Why so?”</p> + +<p>“Old Caleb was bit by the parrot. Red says so. +And if the Cap’n finds out about it he’ll worry +himself sick.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll call on old Caleb after supper,” says +Scoop, “and sort of hush him up.”</p> + +<p>Knowing that the stuttering parrot had come +from Cedarburg, the same place where the mino +bird had been stolen, we had thought for a while +that there might be some secret connection between +the two unusual birds. But now we put this +thought completely aside. It was true that our +old friend had been in Cedarburg the week of the +mino bird’s theft. But that was just a happenstance, +Scoop said.</p> + +<p>The thing that puzzled us now was the newspaper +advertisement. No mention had been made +of this by the Cap’n in his talk with us. Yet we +knew for a certainty that he had advertised the +black parrot for sale.</p> + +<p>Was he cheating? Having promised his +brother to keep the bird, was he now trying to get +rid of it on the sly?</p> + +<p>“We’ll ask him about the advertisement,” says +Scoop, “and see what he says.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s quiz him about the spy, too,” says I.</p> + +<p>“I had thought of doing that,” says the leader.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +We figured now that the mystery was pretty +much cleared up. All that was left was the spy. +And the Cap’n probably could tell us who the +prowler was.</p> + +<p>What we didn’t suspect was that the spy was +the biggest part of the mystery of all. Yes, sir, +the <em>real</em> mystery lay ahead of us. A lonely cemetery, +an empty grave, a weird voice out of another +world. <em>That</em> was the kind of stuff we bumped +into in working on the mystery.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h3> +</div> + +<h4>THE ROBBERY</h4> + + +<p>Mother was putting the supper on the table +when I got home.</p> + +<p>“We won’t wait for your father,” says she, “for +Poppy’s hungry after his hard work and wants +to eat.”</p> + +<p>I counted four plates on the table.</p> + +<p>“Hot dog!” says I. “Is Poppy going to eat +with us?”</p> + +<p>“He’s upstairs in the bathroom washing his +face and hands,” says Mother. “I asked him to +stay to supper. He’s a good boy, Jerry.”</p> + +<p>“You tell ’em,” says I.</p> + +<p>“What do you suppose he’s been doing this +afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Job hunting?”</p> + +<p>“Not all the afternoon. He came to the back +door about three o’clock and asked me if he could +mow the lawn. I was surprised at first, for that’s +your job. Then I thought maybe you had asked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> +him to do it. But he said you hadn’t. He wanted +to do it, he said, to repay us for the clothes we +gave him this morning.”</p> + +<p>“I noticed that the grass was cut,” says I.</p> + +<p>“He worked on the lawn for two hours. Then +he fixed the hinge on the back door. He’s handy +with tools.”</p> + +<p>I hadn’t thought of Poppy doing anything like +this to repay us for the clothes we had given to +him. But I could see now that he had done the +right thing. He wasn’t the “gimme” kind of a +kid, that was one sure thing. He was willing to +work for what he got. I liked his spirit.</p> + +<p>Giving my cap a throw, I beat it upstairs to the +bathroom.</p> + +<p>“Hi,” says I, digging my new chum in the ribs.</p> + +<p>“Hi, Jerry,” says he, acting glad to see me.</p> + +<p>“You should have been with us this afternoon,” +says I. “We had a barrel of fun.”</p> + +<p>“I was busy,” says he. Then he laughed. +“Say,” says he, his eyes twinkling, “do you know +where I can get a good wheelbarrow?”</p> + +<p>I took my medicine with a grin.</p> + +<p>“Any time you want a wheelbarrow,” says I, +“just write me a note.”</p> + +<p>“I heard about the four fake notes,” says he, +laughing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +“The Strickers are blabbing it all over town, +hey?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing.”</p> + +<p>“They won’t think it’s so funny,” says I, “when +we turn the tables on them.”</p> + +<p>“Do I get in on the fun?” says he eagerly.</p> + +<p>“<em>Do</em> you?” says I. “Kid, we need you. For +there’s five of them. And with you on our side +we’ll be even numbers.”</p> + +<p>Red weaved into the house while we were eating +supper. His stomach was all out of kilter, +he said, rubbing it. It was his sister’s baking-powder +biscuits.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t dast to go in swimming to-night,” +says he, waggling serious-like. “I’d sink.”</p> + +<p>Mother laughed.</p> + +<p>“Shame on you,” says she, “for talking that +way about your sister’s cooking. Clara is a +good cook for a young girl.... Is your mother +still in Chicago?”</p> + +<p>“She went to Chicago with Aunt Pansy,” says +Red.</p> + +<p>I grinned at the sufferer.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you eat here while your mother’s +away?” says I.</p> + +<p>He jumped at the chance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> +“Can I, Mrs. Todd?”</p> + +<p>“No, you can’t,” says Mother. “I wouldn’t +offend your sister by encouraging you to come here +for your meals.”</p> + +<p>A groan came from the unhappy one.</p> + +<p>“If I die before Ma gets home,” says he, rolling +his eyes like a sick cow, “bury me under the +mulberry tree.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll bury you under a gooseberry bush,” +says Poppy.</p> + +<p>Supper over, my two chums went outside as +Dad breezed in.</p> + +<p>“Well,” says he, mussing up my hair, “we have +a new night watchman at the factory.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ott?” says I, grinning.</p> + +<p>“Sure thing. And for his son’s sake I hope he +tends to business and makes good. But I don’t +feel enthused. For he’s an absent-minded old +codger.”</p> + +<p>“Jerry has been telling me some very interesting +things about this old detective and his son,” +says Mother. “The boys have taken Poppy into +their gang. And they’re going to take him to +school in September and help make a home for +him. I think that’s fine.”</p> + +<p>Dad gave me a look that made me feel good.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> +“Jerry’s all right,” says he, bragging on me. +“I wouldn’t trade him for a million-dollar shoe +brush.”</p> + +<p>Passing into the street, Poppy and Red and I +meandered to the corner, where we met Scoop and +Peg. The others were headed for old Caleb’s +place, so we joined them. Coming to the old +bachelor’s house, we found the front door wide +open. But no one answered when we knocked. +So we went around the house to the weedy garden, +thinking that the old man might be there. But +he wasn’t.</p> + +<p>Peg got his eyes on a man next door.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Mr. Obed?” says he.</p> + +<p>“<em>Him?</em>” says old Paddy Gorbett. “I hain’t +seed him since the middle of the afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“His front door’s wide open,” says Peg.</p> + +<p>“Course ’tis. <em>He</em> never locks it. Why should +he? He hain’t got nothin’ in thar worth stealin’ +’cept mebbe his stuffed birds.”</p> + +<p>We had seen old Caleb’s case of stuffed birds. +He has a lot of them. Fixing up stuffed birds is +a hobby of his. He has been doing it for years.</p> + +<p>Scoop was thirsty. And when he went into the +open house to get a drink we followed him. That +was all right. For old Caleb was our friend.</p> + +<p>Red is quick with his eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> +“Lookit!” says he, pointing. “Here’s a new +bird. It must be Mrs. Solomon Grundy.”</p> + +<p>We ran across the room to the stuffed-bird +collection.</p> + +<p>“It’s a dead-ringer for the Cap’n’s parrot,” says +the observing one.</p> + +<p>Peg saw a chance to start an argument.</p> + +<p>“A black crow,” says he, turning up his nose.</p> + +<p>“Like so much mud,” says Red, bristling. “It’s +a black parrot. See its bill.”</p> + +<p>Poppy was interested in the stuffed bird.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t a crow,” says he, “and it isn’t a parrot. +I wonder if it isn’t a mino bird.”</p> + +<p>Red gave a yip.</p> + +<p>“Maybe it’s the stolen mino bird,” says he, +excited.</p> + +<p>“Jinks!” says Peg, his thoughts jumping along. +“It could be. For old Caleb was at the sailor’s +funeral. Don’t you remember, fellows? He +went with the Cap’n.”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing,” says I, checking back in my +memory.</p> + +<p>“I bet a cookie,” says Red, “that this <em>is</em> the +stolen mino bird. Old Caleb hooked the bird +for his collection. See?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Strange told my father,” says Poppy, +“that she would pay him a thousand dollars for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> +the mino bird. But, of course, the bird isn’t worth +anything to her dead.”</p> + +<p>Red screwed up his forehead.</p> + +<p>“Is she a mean woman?” says he, after a moment.</p> + +<p>“Mean? I don’t think so. Why do you ask +that?”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking,” says the freckled one, “that +she could put old Caleb in jail for this.”</p> + +<p>I didn’t like the thought of old Caleb going to +jail. And I told the others that we ought to keep +still about the new stuffed bird until we knew for +sure that it was indeed the stolen mino bird.</p> + +<p>Poppy took this as a direct hint.</p> + +<p>“I give you my promise,” says he, “that I won’t +say anything to Pa about this. It would only +excite him and take his mind away from his work. +Anyway, he isn’t a detective any more—he’s a +night watchman. So why should I tell him? It +will be better for me to keep still.”</p> + +<p>I grinned.</p> + +<p>“You say your pa isn’t a detective any more,” +says I, “but <em>you</em> are.”</p> + +<p>“No,” says he, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes you are,” says I. “Scoop and I and +Red and Peg are Juvenile Jupiter Detectives. +And if you’re going to be in our gang you’ve got +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> +to be a Juvenile Jupiter Detective, too. It’s fun.”</p> + +<p>“However,” says Scoop, laughing in the recollection +of the way old Mr. Arnoldsmith +skinned us, “it won’t cost you a dollar and a +quarter to get in, as it did each of us. We’ll let +you in free.”</p> + +<p>It was getting dark now. We could hear the +Indian medicine man tooting his bugle to draw a +crowd to his free show. So we hurried down town +to see the fun.</p> + +<p>A lot of people were gathered around the show +wagon. But we got good places up in front. A +kid always can do that. Bid Stricker was there. +I gave him a stiff-arm. He didn’t dast to shove +back, for he saw my gang. But he had a mean +grin. He was thinking about his wheelbarrow +trick, I suppose. I can’t bear that kid!</p> + +<p>The Indian’s face was the color of my Sunday +shoes—a sort of reddish tan. He had long black +hair and black eyes. I never saw sharper eyes in +a man. He wore head feathers and his leather +pants and jacket had leather fringe. For shoes +he had on a pair of beaded moccasins.</p> + +<p>Before he started doing his tricks he gave a +lecture, telling about himself. It was “me” did +this and “me” did that. His talk sounded silly +to me. If he was as smart in book education as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> +he said, and really had been to an Indian college +in Pennsylvania, why didn’t he use his education +and say “I” instead of “me”? I figured it out, +though, that he talked this way to sound more like +a real Indian. It helped him to get business.</p> + +<p>His magic tricks were better than his lecture. +White handkerchiefs were changed into fancy +flags; a wooden cube was made to cross the stage +from one hat to another. I don’t remember all +of the tricks. But that doesn’t matter. The only +trick that comes into my story is his “spirit writing.”</p> + +<p>“My friend Bill,” says he, starting the trick, +“a heap fine friend Bill was. Poor Bill him die. +Bill him go to happy hunting ground. But Bill +him come back in spirit. Sure thing, Bill him +come back to-night. Bill him write spirit message.”</p> + +<p>Here he passed out four blank sheets of writing +paper. And people wanting to get a “spirit letter” +from “Bill” were told to write their names on the +sheets. That was to mark them. Then the sheets +were rolled up together and put into a glass tube. +The tube was corked at the ends. We could see +the sheets through the glass. After a few minutes +the sheets were taken out. And what do you know +if they didn’t have writing on them!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> +“Yes, Bill him heap smart spirit,” says the +Indian. “Bill him tell everything. Bill him tell +old bachelor how to get fine squaw. Sure thing. +White squaw. Me mean wife. You call him wife +and me call him squaw. One time Bill him tell +white man where money hid. Deep down in +ground. Man he go dig hole. Get money. Rich +man. To-morrow night Bill him write more spirit +letters. Maybe Bill him tell where more money +hid. Deep down in ground. Then <em>you</em> get rich. +Bill him heap smart spirit.”</p> + +<p>At Scoop’s signal we got out of the crowd.</p> + +<p>“Hot dog!” says he. “Now I know how we can +get even with the Strickers and pay them back for +that wheelbarrow trick. The ‘spirit letter’ trick +of the Indian’s gave me an idea. I know how to +do that trick. It’s easy.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it real magic?” says I.</p> + +<p>“Real magic?” says he. “Don’t make me +laugh, Jerry. There isn’t such a thing as real +magic. The letters are written ahead of time with +invisible ink. And there’s a chemical in the corks +that causes the writing to show up when the sheets +are shut up in the tube. See? But Bid Stricker +doesn’t know the trick—I could tell so from his +face. All right—listen to this.”</p> + +<p>There was some quick talk.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> +“Jinks!” says I. “Do you think you can work +it?”</p> + +<p>“Leave it to me,” says the leader.</p> + +<p>Red had some money. So we invited him to +treat us to ice-cream cones as a sort of celebration +of our coming revenge. Then we had some +bananas and chocolate bars.</p> + +<p>It was ten-thirty now. So we got ready to do +some spy capturing in the Cap’n’s alley.</p> + +<p>“It would be my scheme,” says Scoop, taking +the lead as usual, “to stretch a rope at each end of +the alley. We’ll let the man in. See? Then +when he tries to run away we’ll raise the rope and +trip him up.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll get an awful bump,” says I.</p> + +<p>“We should worry about that. The harder he +falls the easier it will be for us to capture him.”</p> + +<p>“What are we going to do with him after we +get him?” says I.</p> + +<p>“Make him talk. Maybe we’re all wrong in +thinking that old Caleb stole the mino bird. +Maybe it was this spy.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so,” says I quickly. “For I’d hate to +see old Caleb get into trouble.”</p> + +<p>“If the spy has the stolen mino bird,” says Peg, +“or knows where it is, it’s a cinch, with him hanging +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> +around here this way, that there <em>is</em> some connection +between the two black birds after all.”</p> + +<p>Scoop waggled.</p> + +<p>“The Cap’n has told us a part of his parrot’s +secret. But I’m convinced that he hasn’t told us +everything. He’s keeping something back.”</p> + +<p>“We should have quizzed him about the spy,” +says I.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” says Scoop, “we could have done that. +But I think it will be more fun to capture the +spy and get his story first-handed. That’s my idea +of real detective work.”</p> + +<p>So we got the Cap’n’s clothesline and cut it in +the middle. This gave us two ropes long enough +for our purpose. Fixing the ropes, one at each +end of the alley, we lay down in the dark.</p> + +<p>It came eleven o’clock; then twelve o’clock.</p> + +<p>“He ought to come pretty quick,” says Peg. +“For he was here at midnight last night.”</p> + +<p>“Sh-h-h-h!” says Scoop.</p> + +<p>“I hope he doesn’t come at all,” says Red, who +had been scared from the start.</p> + +<p>“We’re five to his one,” says Scoop. “So +what’s there to shiver about?”</p> + +<p>“He’s a man,” says Red. “And he’s got an +awful mean face. I’d hate to have him swish his +club at <em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +Peg chuckled in the dark.</p> + +<p>“I bet he’ll carry a knife to-night,” was the +way old hefty further cheered up the frightened +one. “A dagger with a double edge.”</p> + +<p>Red gurgled.</p> + +<p>“<em>Good</em> night!” says he. “Let’s beat it.”</p> + +<p>We lay in hiding until one o’clock, then gave up +our job and started for home. We’d have to try +our luck some other night, we said.</p> + +<p>The down-town streets were empty. No one +was in sight except us. But pretty soon the deep +quietness of the business section was broken by +a rattling flivver. The car came into sight on the +tear. As it passed us we saw that the driver was +Bill Hadley, the Tutter marshal.</p> + +<p>“Something’s happened,” says Scoop, excited. +“Come on, fellows. Let’s follow him.”</p> + +<p>We set out on the run. Bill, of course, was +traveling many times faster than us. But we +managed to keep his red tail light in sight.</p> + +<p>“He turned into the brickyard,” says I, panting.</p> + +<p>Poppy gave a queer throat sound.</p> + +<p>“I knew it,” says he. “It’s Pa. He’s done +something.”</p> + +<p>The brickyard office was all lit up. Dad was +there. We could see him through the open door. +We could see Bill Hadley, too, and old Mr. Ott.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> +Dad had been rummaging the safe.</p> + +<p>“Cleaned out as slick as a whistle,” says he. +Then he turned to Poppy’s father, who was standing +like a dumb-bell in the middle of the room. +“You’re <em>some</em> watchman, you are!... Lock +him up, Bill. For there’s a lot of money missing.”</p> + +<p>The old detective got his voice.</p> + +<p>“Heh?” says he, cackling-like. “Lock me up, +you say? Lock <em>me</em> up? What fur? I hain’t +done nothin’.”</p> + +<p>Bill snapped a pair of handcuffs on the pottering +wrists.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been suspicious of you,” says he, scowling, +“ever since you hit town.”</p> + +<p>The old detective drew himself up.</p> + +<p>“Um ...” says he in dignity. “Mebbe you +don’t know who I be.”</p> + +<p>Bill grunted.</p> + +<p>“I admit it,” says he, “but I hain’t worryin’ +none about it.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” says the old man, “I want you to know +that I am a member of the purfession.”</p> + +<p>“Which purfession?” says Bill, with a sneer. +“Safe crackin’ or bootleggin’?”</p> + +<p>“I am a detective, sir,” says Mr. Ott in continued +dignity.</p> + +<p>“You’ll be a ‘defective,’” says Bill, grim-like, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> +“when I get through with you—you old crook!”</p> + +<p>Poppy flew into the office then.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you dare to call Pa a crook,” says he, +facing Bill with flashing eyes. “For he isn’t a +crook. He never did a crooked thing in his life. +He’s queer. But he isn’t bad.”</p> + +<p>Bill stared.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” says he.</p> + +<p>“He’s my father,” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>“In that case,” says Bill, “mebbe I better lock +both of you up.”</p> + +<p>“Pa isn’t guilty,” says Poppy, dogged-like. +“He wouldn’t steal a penny, I tell you.”</p> + +<p>Bill is awfully blunt.</p> + +<p>“Is the old guy cuckoo?” says he, pointing to +the prisoner with a jab of his elbow.</p> + +<p>Poppy flushed.</p> + +<p>“No,” says he angrily, “Pa isn’t cuckoo. He’s +just queer. But that’s none of your business.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” says Bill, “queer and cuckoo +mean the same thing.”</p> + +<p>That hurt Poppy. And at the moment I wished +I was big enough to knock the tar out of Bill. +The big bully!</p> + +<p>Our new chum had his father by the arm now.</p> + +<p>“What happened, Pa?” says he. “Tell me +about it. Maybe I can help you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> +The old man acted dizzy.</p> + +<p>“Why,” says he, feeling his way into his +thoughts, “I was a-sittin’ in here an’ all of a +sudden a man come in. He said he was the president +an’ general manager of the company. ‘You +hain’t the man what hired me,’ says I. ‘No,’ says +he, ‘that was my brother. We run the brickyard +together,’ says he. ‘I’m the president and general +manager and my brother’s the secretary and treasurer.’ +He gimme a cigar an’ sit down at that +desk over thar an’ started fussin’ with them +papers. ‘Lots of times,’ says he, ‘I git up in the +middle of the night and come down here and work +for an hour or two.’”</p> + +<p>“Did he ask you to open the safe so he could +rob it,” says Bill, sarcastic-like, “or did he open +it hisself?”</p> + +<p>“<em>He</em> opened it. He did it while I was makin’ +my rounds in the brickyard. When I come back +the safe was open, as I say, an’ the man was +gone.”</p> + +<p>“And so was my three thousand dollars,” says +Dad angrily.</p> + +<p>“I figured mebbe the safe door ought to be shet. +So I telyphoned to you, Mr. Todd. An’ +then——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> +“We know the rest,” says Dad, sort of disgusted-like.</p> + +<p>“If they’s bin a robbery here,” says the old +detective, looking at the safe, troubled-like, “you +kain’t blame me. Fur the man said he was your +brother, Mr. Todd. Yes, he did. An’ when you +hired me you never told me that you didn’t have +a brother.”</p> + +<p>Bill scowled at the stoop-shouldered prisoner.</p> + +<p>“You’re a puzzle to me,” says he. “I don’t +know whether you’re the slickest crook that ever +hit this town or the dumbest.”</p> + +<p>In the next hour Poppy’s father was taken to +the jail and locked up in one of the steel cages. +Our new chum was all broken up by the arrest. +It was discouraging, he said.</p> + +<p>Then he clenched his fists, like a fellow does +when he gets ready to fight.</p> + +<p>“I told you fellows that I didn’t care about +being a detective,” says he, his jaw squared. “But +I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to be a detective +and catch this robber. This was <em>your</em> case an +hour ago. But now it’s <em>my</em> case. I’m going to +take the lead, if you don’t mind. For I’ve got +more at stake than you have.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span><h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h3> +</div> + +<h4>RED’S PREDICAMENT</h4> + + +<p>We were sore at Bill Hadley now. And I +must confess, too, that I was a little bit sore at +Dad. This thing of locking up Poppy’s father +was all wrong, we said—only, of course, not wanting +to hurt me, the other fellows didn’t say very +much about Dad’s part in the unfair arrest in +front of me.</p> + +<p>The law had it figured out that the dull-minded +old detective knew more about the safe robbery +than he was willing to admit. He was acting +dumb to cover up, Bill Hadley said. But <em>we</em> +knew that the old man was innocent. And that +is why we were so het up over his arrest.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when I had cooled off, I had to +admit to myself that Dad had acted within his +business rights in ordering the old detective’s +arrest. For he didn’t know anything about the +old man’s character except what we had told him. +He had no proof that the odd-acting one wasn’t +a crook.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> +But you know how it is with a boy in a case +like that. He sort of lets his feelings decide +things for him. And just now, as I say, in a +steady belief in our new chum, our feelings told +us that old Mr. Ott was wholly innocent of any +unworthy part in the safe looting. And when +Poppy made the vow in front of the town jail +where the red water hydrant is that he’d go to +the ends of the world, as it were, to bring the real +thief to justice, and thus clear his father’s name, +we told him, as loyal pals, to lead on and we +would follow. We were with him until the last +dog was hung, we said.</p> + +<p>And of the four of us no one was more sincerely +willing to accept the new leadership than Scoop, +himself. I thought that was pretty fine and generous +of my old chum. He had been the leader +heretofore. But now he was cheerfully willing +to let Poppy do the leading. He recognized +Poppy’s right to leadership.</p> + +<p>That’s the way for a boy to be, I think. The +leadership “hog” doesn’t register with me at all. +A fellow has got to give and take in this world. +He can’t be the drum major and head the procession +<em>all</em> the time.</p> + +<p>To go back to the old detective’s arrest, we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> +were sore at Bill Hadley, as I say. Dumb-bell +and bully that he was, he would get no help from +us, we said, in hot conversation. We would keep +away from him. We would work on our own +clews and pick up new ones. And in the end we +would show <em>him</em> a thing or two about clever +detecting.</p> + +<p>You can see what I mean. <em>We</em> knew about the +spy. And, further, we knew that the spy, for unknown +reasons, was interested in the Cap’n’s +parrot. The spy, of course, was the man who +had robbed the brickyard safe. We had little +doubt about that. So all we had to do in order +to capture the law breaker was to lay for him +near the Cap’n’s store. We’d get him sooner or +later.</p> + +<p>But first, we said, we would find out all we could +from the Cap’n about the mysterious prowler. +And in that plan we agreed to meet at the bird +store the following morning at nine-thirty.</p> + +<p>Poppy went home with me that night. Mother +let us sleep late. Breakfast over, we went up the +creek to the jungle to take care of the rope-tailed +horse and see that everything was shipshape +around the wagon.</p> + +<p>“You better lock up,” says I to Poppy, “and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> +come home with me until your pa is free again. +Bring your horse, too. You can keep it in Red +Meyer’s barn. He won’t care.”</p> + +<p>Going to the bird store, we found old Cap’n +Tinkertop in a peck of trouble.</p> + +<p>“It’s Solomon Grundy,” says he, pottering +nervously about the room. “They’s somethin’ the +matter with him. He hain’t actin’ like hisself at +all.”</p> + +<p>A wilted voice came out of the wall hole.</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” says the sooted parrot. “Polly +wants breakfast.”</p> + +<p>The troubled look deepened in the old man’s +eyes.</p> + +<p>“See?” says he, nervous-like. “They’s somethin’ +the matter with that thar par’ot. He never acted +meek like that before.”</p> + +<p>Poppy grinned.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he’s got the colic.”</p> + +<p>“Um.... I wish he’d git the colic, or somethin’ +worse’n the colic, an’ die. Yes, I do. It +would be a big worry lifted off <em>my</em> mind.”</p> + +<p>Poppy got down to business.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever try to sell your parrot?” says he.</p> + +<p>The old man was caught off his guard in the +direct question.</p> + +<p>“Heh?” says he, staring.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> +“One time in the ‘for sale’ column of a newspaper,” +says Poppy, “I saw an advertisement of a +black parrot. Was it your parrot, Cap’n?”</p> + +<p>The old man was still staring.</p> + +<p>“Heh? Was it <em>my</em> par’ot, you say? What’s +that?” The wrinkled face changed quickly. “Of +course it warn’t my par’ot,” came the sharp denial. +“Now git out of here, you kids, while I do up my +housework.”</p> + +<p>He was lying to us. We could see that. And +it was because he feared further unwelcome questions +that he wanted to get rid of us.</p> + +<p>But we didn’t budge.</p> + +<p>“Night before last,” says Poppy, “a man was +seen at your window. My father tried to arrest +the suspicious-acting one and was knocked senseless. +Now we’ve got to capture this prowler in +order to get my father out of jail. Can you tell +us who he is, Cap’n?”</p> + +<p>Here a customer came into the store and drew +its fidgeting owner’s attention. Nor would the +old man let us question him further that morning. +He was too busy to talk to us, he said, whenever +we brought up the subject of the spy. The real +point was that he didn’t want to talk to us. We +realized that.</p> + +<p>What was he covering up? Was it a crime of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> +some kind? Did he know what the black parrot +meant in its “blood” talk? And knowing the +death parrot’s probably wicked secret, did he +know, or suspect, who the spy was?</p> + +<p>In regard to the newspaper advertisement, we +were convinced, as I say, that the secretive one +had openly lied to us. He <em>had</em> advertised his +black parrot for sale, notwithstanding his denial +to us. We had proof against him in the shape of +the clipping, itself. And, further, his actions had +convicted him.</p> + +<p>But it was hard for us to understand <em>why</em> he +had advertised the parrot for sale. It was contrary +to his promise to his dead brother.</p> + +<p>I went with Poppy that morning to visit his +father in the town jail.</p> + +<p>“This is a’ awful poor jail,” says the prisoner, +his face clouded with dissatisfaction in his +cramped quarters. “I never was in a worse one. +No service at all. I didn’t even have a feather +pilly under my haid last night. An’ they’s lumps +like corncobs in the mattress.”</p> + +<p>“Bill burnt up the pillows and the good mattresses,” +says I, “to kill the bedbugs.”</p> + +<p>The old man scratched himself.</p> + +<p>“No runnin’ water, either,” says he. “Poor! +Awful poor!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> +“I’ll get you a drink,” says Poppy quickly.</p> + +<p>“Um.... The toast was burnt this mornin’,” +was the further complaint. “An’ I didn’t have +enough butter on it. The coffee was muddy, too.”</p> + +<p>I had come into the jail with a long face, wanting +the prisoner to see that I was sorry for him. +But now I had to grin. To hear him talk about +the jail’s poor “service,” you could have imagined +that he was the guest of honor in some swell hotel.</p> + +<p>We questioned him about the robber, thereby +getting a fairly good description of the law +breaker. Burning eyes! Just as Red had spoken +of the spy’s peculiar eyes, so also did the old +detective now make similar mention of the safebreaker’s +eyes. So we knew beyond all doubt that +the spy and the robber were indeed one and the +same person.</p> + +<p>We covered the town that morning, searching +for both the escaped black parrot and the robber. +But to no success.</p> + +<p>Poppy paid his father another visit that afternoon.</p> + +<p>“Maybe this’ll help us,” says he, when we were +all together again in the street.</p> + +<p>“A cigar stub!” says Peg, seeing what the +leader had.</p> + +<p>“I got it from Pa,” says Poppy. “It’s the cigar +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> +the robber gave him in the brickyard office. +Here’s the band. Now, let us find out who sells +cigars like this.”</p> + +<p>Well, we went to all the stores in town where +cigars were sold. But the storekeepers all shook +their heads when we showed them our band. +They had no cigars like that in stock, they said.</p> + +<p>“Which proves,” says Poppy, “that the robber +is an out-of-town man, as we suspected.”</p> + +<p>Mother had said that Red couldn’t take his +meals at our house. But nevertheless I took him +home with me that night to supper, along with +Poppy.</p> + +<p>There was a lot of talk at the table bearing on +the safe robbery. Bill hadn’t captured the robber, +Dad said. In this piece of news I winked at my +chums.</p> + +<p>“Has Bill got any clews?” says I.</p> + +<p>“He has a good description of the man,” says +Dad. “So it hadn’t ought to be much of a trick +for the law to catch him.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to Bill,” says +I, “that the robber is probably disguised.”</p> + +<p>Dad stopped eating and looked at me sharply.</p> + +<p>“Disguised?” says he. “What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Bill may have passed the man a dozen times +to-day without recognizing him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +“By George!” says Dad, excited. “I’ll tell +him about that.”</p> + +<p>I grinned.</p> + +<p>“You can’t beat a Juvenile Jupiter Detective,” +says I, bragging on myself.</p> + +<p>“You admit it, hey?”</p> + +<p>I put out my chest.</p> + +<p>“I can’t deny the truth,” says I, still grinning.</p> + +<p>“No? Well, Mr. Juvenile Jupiter Todd, +what’ll you and your gang of sleuths take to capture +this robber for me?”</p> + +<p>“What’ll you give?” says I.</p> + +<p>“Um.... Will a hundred dollars be too +much?”</p> + +<p>“A hundred dollars apiece?”</p> + +<p>“Say, why don’t you stick a gun under my nose +and hold me up right!”</p> + +<p>“Make it a hundred dollars apiece,” says I, +“and we’ll do the job for you.”</p> + +<p>He laughed. He thought I was talking through +my hat.</p> + +<p>“All right,” says he, feeling safe in the generous +promise. “If you boys capture the robber +I’ll pay each of you a hundred dollars.”</p> + +<p>Here Mother came into the conversation.</p> + +<p>“Did I tell you, Donald,” says she to Red, who +was doing a sword-swallowing act with his fork +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> +and a hunk of cake, “that I had a short letter +from your mother to-day?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she wanted you to get after me,” +says the freckled one, between bites, “and make +me wash up and put on clean clothes.”</p> + +<p>Mother laughed.</p> + +<p>“She did say something like that. But I took +it as a joke. What interested me in the letter +was her account of a dream that your aunt had.”</p> + +<p>Red grunted.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Pansy is always having ‘dreams,’” says +he. “Whenever she misses anything in her room +at our house she ‘dreams’ that I took it and I get +licked. Huh! Can I have another piece of cake, +Mrs. Todd?”</p> + +<p>“The dream was about the escaped parrot,” +says Mother, passing the cake plate.</p> + +<p>Red’s jaw dropped.</p> + +<p>“Which parrot?” says he like a dumb-bell before +I could kick him under the table.</p> + +<p>“Why, your aunt’s parrot, of course. The one +you captured yesterday.”</p> + +<p>Red started breathing again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” says he.</p> + +<p>“Your aunt will be glad, I know, to learn that +her parrot is safe in its cage. For in her dream +she saw it in a black cistern.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> +Red quit eating. He had lost his appetite.</p> + +<p>“What’d I tell you?” says he, when we followed +him into the yard.</p> + +<p>I grinned.</p> + +<p>“Aunty spank, hey, when she finds out that her +’ittle nephew put nasty soot on Polly’s tail!”</p> + +<p>“Aunty will pulverize me,” says he, shivering. +“Gosh! I knew I’d get into trouble in letting you +fellows black up her parrot. I was a dumb-bell +to consent to it.”</p> + +<p>“Shucks!” says I. “Your aunt’s parrot will +be safe in its cage by the time she gets home. So +why worry? You aren’t in any danger.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know my Aunt Pansy! After +dreaming that her parrot was in danger she’ll ask +me a million questions about it. And if she finds +the least trace of soot.... <em>Good</em> night!”</p> + +<p>Again we put in the evening at the Indian’s +medicine show, after which, in a plan to lay for +the spy, we headed for the Cap’n’s alley.</p> + +<p>An automobile stopped near us under a street +light.</p> + +<p>“Maybe you’d like to take a little ride this evening,” +says Mr. Meyers to Red.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going?” says the latter.</p> + +<p>“Over to Ashton and back.”</p> + +<p>“What for?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> +“To get your mother and your Aunt Pansy.”</p> + +<p>Red stared.</p> + +<p>“I thought Ma and Aunt Pansy were in +Chicago?” says he.</p> + +<p>“They stopped in Ashton on their way home +this afternoon. I just got a telephone call from +them asking me to drive over and get them.”</p> + +<p>Red looked sick.</p> + +<p>“You told me they weren’t coming home till +Friday,” says he.</p> + +<p>Mr. Meyers laughed. He likes to joke.</p> + +<p>“Your Aunt Pansy got homesick for her parrot, +I guess. She had a bad dream about it, you know. +I told her over the telephone that you had caught +the parrot for her. She says she’s going to give +you a big kiss.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Good</em> night!” says Red, looking around for +a nice comfortable place to faint. “I’ll get something, +all right, but it won’t be a kiss.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing.”</p> + +<p>Red’s sister hasn’t any patience with small boys.</p> + +<p>“Well,” says she, from the back seat of the +car, “are you going with us, Mr. Importance, or +aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>Red sent them off without him. Then he +turned to us.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> +“You fellows got me into this,” says he, “and +now you’ve got to get me out of it.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry,” says Poppy. “We can get your +parrot easy enough. We’ll do that first.”</p> + +<p>The bird store was in darkness. So we knew its +owner was in bed. Sometimes he goes to sleep +with his windows open. But we weren’t lucky to-night +in finding an open window.</p> + +<p>However, we knew a secret way into the house. +So up the fire escape we went to the roof, the five +of us, and down through the scuttle into the attic.</p> + +<p>Poppy had a flashlight. He was the first one to +drop into the sitting room through the raised +trapdoor. I followed. Then Scoop and Red +came down beside me. Peg stayed in the attic +to help us up.</p> + +<p>The black parrot was sound asleep in its cage. +It didn’t see us at all.</p> + +<p>“Grab it!” says I to Red, anxious to get away.</p> + +<p>Poppy laughed.</p> + +<p>“Be careful, though,” says he, “that it doesn’t +‘voodoo’ you.”</p> + +<p>Red was afraid that when he touched the parrot +it would wake up and nab him. So to save his +hands he snatched a tidy from a chair and threw +the cloth over the sleeping bird. The wrapped-up +parrot was then handed to Peg, after which the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> +big one gave us his hands and drew us into the +attic. Closing the trapdoor, we got on the roof +and soon landed safely in the alley.</p> + +<p>The clock in the tower on College Hill donged +eleven times. The spy was likely to be along any +minute now. And in planning the prowler’s capture +Poppy said that he and the other two would +do the trip-up stuff with the ropes while Red and +I cleaned the parrot.</p> + +<p>Nobody was at home at the Meyers’ house. +So that was the best place to wash the parrot, Red +said. A few minutes later he and I turned in at +the darkened house. The front-door key was in +the mail box. Entering the house, we ran up the +stairs to the bathroom.</p> + +<p>In the lead with the parrot, my companion +switched on the bathroom lights and gave the tidy +a shake. Out came the black parrot. But instead +of using its wings in its release from the tidy it +dropped to the floor with a dull hollow sound.</p> + +<p>“What the dickens?...” says Red, staring. +Then he stooped quickly. “Jerry! <em>Look!</em>”</p> + +<p>“The stuffed parrot!” says I.</p> + +<p>I guess you can imagine how bewildered we +were in learning that the bird that we had lugged +home wasn’t the sooted parrot at all but old Caleb +Obed’s stuffed mino bird.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h3> +</div> + +<h4>THE BURGLAR</h4> + + +<p>Like the ship captain who staggered down the +stairs, Red yipped that he was lost. He’d catch +it now, he said, tearing his hair. Nothing could +save him.</p> + +<p>“My aunt’s got an awful temper,” says he. +“She’s a regular old rip-snorter when she gets +going. And she’ll get Ma on her side and between +them they’ll salivate me.”</p> + +<p>I was doing some fast thinking.</p> + +<p>“You’ve still got a chance,” says I.</p> + +<p>“The parrot’s lost,” says he, grabbing a fresh +handful of hair, “and I’m lost.”</p> + +<p>“The thing for us to do,” says I, “is to stretch +our legs in the direction of old Caleb’s house. +For that’s where the sooted parrot is, I bet.”</p> + +<p>But all he could do was to yip in despair.</p> + +<p>“I’m a goner, Jerry,” says he, getting ready to +sink.</p> + +<p>I felt like giving him a swift kick.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> +“You won’t be a goner,” says I sharply, “if +you’ll listen to me and do as I say.”</p> + +<p>“But what can I do?” says he, with a helpless +look.</p> + +<p>I told him my thoughts. The switching of the +stuffed bird for the sooted bird was undoubtedly +a trick of old Caleb’s, I said. Consequently the +old bachelor would know where the sooted parrot +was. So the thing for us to do was to run to his +house as fast as we could.</p> + +<p>“Having spoiled his trick on the Cap’n,” says +I, “he may be sore at us at first. But he’ll give +up the sooted parrot to us when he learns the +predicament you’re in.”</p> + +<p>Switching off the lights and locking the front +door, we hurried into the street. Coming to the +shabby house that we had visited the preceding +evening, we failed, as before, to get a response to +our raps.</p> + +<p>Old Caleb had been known to drink moonshine. +Some men make fools of themselves that way. +And thinking that possibly he was drunk, we +struck a match and went inside the house, the door +of which still stood wide open. There was a hand +lamp on the sitting-room table. Lighting the +lamp with our match, we went into the bedroom +where the owner slept. But he wasn’t there.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> +Then we searched the house for the sooted +parrot. Failing to find it, or any trace of it, we +were forced to accept the conclusion that the old +man was away somewhere with the bird. That +in itself was something of a mystery, considering +the late hour.</p> + +<p>More bewildered than ever, we went in search +of our chums to tell them our queer story. But +they weren’t in the bird-store alley. Not knowing +where to look for them, the only thing left for us +to do was to go home.</p> + +<p>Coming to the Meyers’ house, we saw a moving +flashlight upstairs, which, in itself, told us that +the family had returned in the time that he had +been away.</p> + +<p>Red sort of collapsed at the foot of the gallows.</p> + +<p>“Oh!... I don’t want to go in, Jerry. I’ll +get an awful licking. Can’t you think of some +scheme to save me?”</p> + +<p>“My thinker has a flat tire,” says I.</p> + +<p>Here the telephone bell rang in the lower hall. +But no one came downstairs to answer the call. +That was queer, I thought.</p> + +<p>Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling went the bell.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the thought came to me that the man +in the house wasn’t Mr. Meyers at all. It was the +burglar! You can imagine how excited I was. I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> +told Red my suspicions. And together we ran +to the barn where the automobile was kept. But +the car wasn’t there. So we knew now that the +house was being burglarized.</p> + +<p>More excited than ever we ran back to the front +porch, noticing for the first time that the front +door was wide open. Upstairs the light had +moved into another room. Sharpening our ears, +we could detect the sound of disturbed dresser +drawers. Plainly every light thing of value in +the house was going into the burglar’s bag.</p> + +<p>Hidden in the shrubbery near the front door +steps, my fingers suddenly closed over a wire that +Mrs. Meyers had put up for a porch vine to perform +on. At the touch of the heavy wire I +thought of our alley ropes and a plan popped into +my head. I told Red. Then between us we got +the wire down and stretched it from post to post +in front of the open door, after which we galloped +around the house to the back porch.</p> + +<p>It was our scheme to make the burglar think +that we were about to enter the kitchen. Then +when he ran out of the house through the front +door our wire would trip him up and send him +sprawling on his snout. Red had a croquet mallet +and I had a paving brick. Between us we figured +that we could put the law breaker to sleep in a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> +jiffy, even if he didn’t nicely crack his neck in his +tumble down the steps.</p> + +<p>Stomping on the back porch, and rattling the +doorknob, we then clattered in high hopes around +the house to our wire trap. And sure enough we +could hear the alarmed burglar sliding for first +base down the stairs. A form darted into sight +through the open door. It was a man.</p> + +<p>Gee-miny crickets! You should have heard the +yelp that came out of the burglar when he struck +our stretched wire. He had stuffed several of +Mrs. Meyers’ pillowcases full of loot and now +the contents of the pillowcases flew in all directions. +The air was full of flying arms and legs +and silver spoons.</p> + +<p>Running forward to land on the sprawled law +breaker with my five-pound paving brick, I was +suddenly struck in the face by something from +one of the pillowcases. I began to spit feathers—nasty +tasting feathers. Phew! All I could think +of at first was a feather duster dipped in filth. +Then, realizing that I had headed into something +a lot more lively and dangerous than a feather +duster, I dropped the paving brick with a wild +yelp and clutched my hooked nose.</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” says the feathery mess that had +fastened itself to my nose. “Polly wants breakfast.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h3> +</div> + +<h4>POOR POLLY!</h4> + + +<p>Red bragged afterwards that he whacked the +burglar six times with his croquet mallet before +the housebreaker got up and scooted into the +night. But I can hardly swallow that heroic story. +For I know Red! That same week his mother +discovered a crack in her fancy lawn urn. And +if the rattle-headed one hit anything at all I bet +a cookie it was the urn.</p> + +<p>However, the man wouldn’t have gotten away +from <em>me</em>, let me tell you, if it hadn’t been for that +blamed parrot. Yes, sir, if Solomon Grundy, Jr., +hadn’t handicapped me by attaching himself to the +roof of my nose, I would have landed neatly on +the escaping one’s cranium with my paving brick. +One swing of my trusty right arm and Mr. Burglar +would have been a dish rag.</p> + +<p>But the point is that the law breaker <em>did</em> get +away from us. That was a big disappointment. +Yet, with the sooted parrot miraculously delivered +into our hands in the eleventh hour, so to speak, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> +we couldn’t kick on the way Fate was managing +things for us. There was mystery in the burglar’s +possession of the sooted parrot, but we didn’t let +that confuse us—not then! We had other things +to think about.</p> + +<p>The burglar’s loot was scattered all over the +lawn. In the mess of stuff we picked up an Ingersoll +watch and Mrs. Meyers’ silver-backed dresser +set and the solid silver shaving mug that Red got +as a premium for selling twenty colored pictures +of “Washington Crossing the Delaware” and +probably forty or fifty pieces of table silver, such +as spoons, knives and forks.</p> + +<p>Dumping the recovered loot into the hall, we +scooted up the stairs to the bathroom. Turning +on the water in the tub, some hot and some cold, +we made a deep oozy suds and got busy on the +bird, finding to our great satisfaction that the soot +came off easily.</p> + +<p>“Breakfast,” says the blinking, bedraggled +parrot, eyeing us reproachful-like. “Polly wants +breakfast.”</p> + +<p>I grinned at Red.</p> + +<p><a id="bawth"></a>“It isn’t every parrot,” says I, sloshing around +in the suds, “that has two servants to give it a +bawth.”</p> + +<p>He laughed at that.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> +“It’s a good thing,” says he, “that the parrot +can’t tell on us. Or I’d catch it from my aunt—bu-lieve +me!”</p> + +<p>“Here,” says I, shoving a towel at him, “take +this and finish the job.”</p> + +<p>In the drying process the parrot suddenly stiffened +out like a poker.</p> + +<p>“Holy cow!” says Red, his eyes swelling in +horror. “It’s dead!”</p> + +<p>I told him that the parrot probably had swallowed +too much water. And knowing the trick of +reviving a drowning man by pumping his arms +up and down, I got busy and pumped the parrot’s +wings. But to no good results. Nor did the +feathered hunk stir when I gave it a whiff of Mrs. +Meyers’ smelling salts.</p> + +<p>Red was tearing his hair again.</p> + +<p>“It’s dead, I tell you,” says he, suffering at the +top of his voice. “Oh, oh, oh! Now I’m in for +it worse than ever.”</p> + +<p>Here an automobile cantered down the street +and stopped in front of the house. I thought sure +it was Red’s people. And of no desire to be +caught in the house with the guilty one and his +dead parrot I beat it for the stairs.</p> + +<p>In the excitement my chum had forgotten about +his earlier intention of staying all night with me. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> +But he remembered it now. And grabbing the +parrot, eager to delay his punishment, he made +quick work of following me down the stairs to +the lawn, where we saw the car that we had +thought was his father’s turning into a private +drive on the opposite side of the street.</p> + +<p>On the hall table in my home I found a note +from Mother explaining that Mr. Meyers, stalled +in his auto halfway between Ashton and Tutter, +had telephoned to Dad to come and pick him +up.</p> + +<p>“If you get home before we do,” the note concluded, +“please don’t forget to lock the doors +when you go to bed. For we don’t want to have +another robbery in the family.”</p> + +<p>Wanting to do the handsome thing by my company, +I set out a bedtime lunch of two bananas +apiece and some cookies and half a lemon pie, +after which we headed for our roost. As I was +undressing I suddenly noticed that my invited bedfellow +was acting queer. His mind seemed to be +somewhere else. I thought, of course, that he was +worrying about the dead parrot. But it wasn’t +the parrot that he was thinking about, he said, it +was his pajamas—he had forgotten to bring them +along. I told him that he could use a pair of my +pajamas. But, no, he held off, he had to have his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> +own night clothes. So home he went to get them.</p> + +<p>He was gone about five minutes. I was sitting +on the edge of the bed when he came upstairs. +Not for one instant had he fooled me. It wasn’t +the need of pajamas that had taken him back +home—I realized that. He had a hidden reason.</p> + +<p>While I was debating in my mind whether I +should ignore him or pump him, a car drove into +the yard. A few moments later footsteps sounded +on the front porch and my parents came into the +house.</p> + +<p>I heard Dad lock the door. Then the telephone +bell rang.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” says Mother, in answer to a question +that had been put to her over the wire. There +was a moment’s silence. “Why, how dreadful!” +came the cry. “Yes, indeed—we’ll come over +right away.” Dad was called. “It’s Mrs. +Meyers,” says Mother in continued excitement. +“Their house has been robbed. Even the parrot’s +gone. And she says the filthy thief had the nerve +to take a bath in her clean tub—there’s a ring +on the tub, she says, that looks just like soot.”</p> + +<p>At first surprised and puzzled that Red’s folks +should completely overlook the stuff in the front +hall, I suddenly tumbled to the truth of the +matter. To escape a licking in the parrot’s unfortunate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> +death my tricky chum had hidden the +burglar’s loot. That is what had taken him home. +No wonder his folks thought they had been +robbed!</p> + +<p>“It’s queer,” says I, in a scheme to pry the +tricky one out of his hole, “that your folks overlooked +the stuff in the front hall. For we left +everything in a pile.”</p> + +<p>He didn’t say anything.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to tell Dad,” says I, starting to pile +out of bed.</p> + +<p>He stopped me.</p> + +<p>“Don’t do that, Jerry. Please. You’ll get me +in an awful fix if you do.”</p> + +<p>“You’re already in a fix,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Not like you think.”</p> + +<p>Here was my chance.</p> + +<p>“Red Meyers,” says I, giving him a scowl, +“what have you been up to?”</p> + +<p>“I—I didn’t want to get licked, Jerry. So I +made a bundle of the stuff that we picked up on the +lawn and dumped it into your ma’s cistern.”</p> + +<p>I gave a squeak.</p> + +<p>“For the love of mud!” says I weakly.</p> + +<p>Here Mother came to the foot of the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Are you awake, Jerry?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing,” says I.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> +“I thought I heard voices up there. Did you +hear me tell your father about the robbery?”</p> + +<p>Red gripped my hand.</p> + +<p>“Don’t squeal on me, Jerry,” says he, begging.</p> + +<p>I didn’t. For when a fellow is your chum, +even if he does something sneaking, you’ve got to +stand by him to sort of help him square himself.</p> + +<p>But I read the tricky one a sharp lecture, let me +tell you, when we had the house to ourselves, +Mother having hurried to the scene of the “robbery” +to comfort the weeping parrot owner, and +Dad to help his excited neighbor go over the +yard for clews.</p> + +<p>Instead of having benefited himself, I lectured +the culprit, he had gotten himself, and all the rest +of us, into a deeper hole than ever.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h3> +</div> + +<h4>THE VANISHED TOWNSMAN</h4> + + +<p>At the breakfast table the following morning +Dad joked me, in his usual jolly way, about my +skinned nose, inquiring, chummy-like, if I had been +in a scrap with the Stricker gang, to which I +replied truthfully that I hadn’t.</p> + +<p>Red was fidgety in the conversation. He was +scared that the older one would pin me down and +thus learn the truth about my nose scratches. So +it was a relief to both of us when my talkative +parent was called to the telephone.</p> + +<p>“Who was it?” says Mother, when Dad came +back to the table with a big grin on his face.</p> + +<p>“Bill Hadley. He wants me to bring a few of +our new talking-machine records down to the jail.”</p> + +<p>“Talking-machine records?” says Mother, puzzled +at the marshal’s sudden interest in music. +“Why is he calling on <em>you</em> for records?”</p> + +<p>“Because his prisoner is partly my responsibility, +I guess.”</p> + +<p>“You mean Mr. Ott?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> +“Sure thing. Bill says the old gent did a lot +of kicking yesterday on the service he was getting. +So our accommodating marshal has been stepping +around since to redeem himself. He even has a +Victrola in the cell now.”</p> + +<p>Mother isn’t crazy over Bill, though she’s +awfully chummy with his wife, an old school +teacher of mine.</p> + +<p>“What nonsense!” says she.</p> + +<p>“I forgot to ask him,” says Dad, in continued +laughter, “whether he wanted Caruso records or +jazz.”</p> + +<p>“Bill might better forget about his sense of +humor and do his work,” says Mother stiffly, +thinking of the burglar.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” says Dad, who is never too busy or too +worried to enjoy a good joke, “there’s time for +a little fun on every job.”</p> + +<p>Red and I had heard enough to want to get +down town in a hurry. So as soon as breakfast +was over we grabbed our caps and scooted into +the street.</p> + +<p>Bill Hadley scowled at us when we tumbled into +the town hall where he has his office. That’s his +way with kids. He does it to make us realize the +importance of his position, I guess.</p> + +<p>“What’s the idea of all the racket?” says he +sharply.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> +“We came down to see the fun,” says I, grinning.</p> + +<p>“What fun?”</p> + +<p>“You know—what you told Dad over the telephone.”</p> + +<p>That brought out a grin.</p> + +<p>“Um.... Mr. Ott is busy with his mornin’ +newspapers jest now. But I guess you kids kin +take a peek at him if you’ll promise to be quiet an’ +not disturb him.”</p> + +<p>Tiptoeing into the back room where the steel +jail cages were, I thought I’d die when I saw the +way the prisoner’s cell had been dolled up. On +one steel wall was a long pansy picture—“A Yard +of Pansies” is the right name for it, I guess—and +on the opposite wall was a “God Bless Our +Happy Home” sampler. A fancy curtain hung +over the steel door. The floor was covered with +a swell red rug—as I remember, it was a rug with +a picture of a pony in the center—and the cell +was further brightened up with a reading lamp, +a potted fern, a magazine table, a smoking stand, +a talking-machine and an easy chair. Cooled by +the breeze from an electric fan, the contented +prisoner was now stretched at ease in the soft +chair, his lap full of newspapers.</p> + +<p>“Um....” says he, looking up and getting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> +Bill’s eye. “I furgot to tell you, Mr. Hadley, +that I don’t like tea of any kind. So don’t ever +bring me none. Coffee is what I like, with a lot +of rich cream in it—an’ not condensed cream, +nuther.”</p> + +<p>Bill gravely got out a memorandum book and +pretended to write in it.</p> + +<p>“Coffee,” says he slowly, “with a lot of cream +in it—real cream from contented cows. An’ how +much sugar, Mr. Ott?”</p> + +<p>“Um.... Two spoonfuls, if you please.”</p> + +<p>“Anything else?”</p> + +<p>The old man pondered.</p> + +<p>“I kain’t jest recollect anything special right +now. But when Poppy comes around, you’re to +send him right in. Fur I want to see him.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Mr. Ott,” says Bill, acting as +though he was taking orders from a king.</p> + +<p>Well, Red and I pretty nearly busted ourselves +laughing when we were outside. Bill was funny, +we said. But when Poppy came down the street +with Scoop and Peg, and learned about the decorated +cell, he was mad as hops.</p> + +<p>“They’re making a monkey of Pa,” says he, +his eyes flashing. “I wish I was big enough to +lick the guy who started it.”</p> + +<p>He hurried into the jail then. And I guess he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> +told Bill Hadley a thing or two. For, bu-lieve +me, that kid knew how to use his tongue. I’ll tell +the world! And he wasn’t afraid of anybody, +either.</p> + +<p>Checked up by our new chum, I was ashamed of +myself now to think that I had laughed on Bill’s +side. As Poppy had said, the officer was making a +monkey of the old prisoner, and that wasn’t the +right thing to do. Still, I considered, as long as +the old man had to be locked up in jail it was just +as well that he had everything cozy and comfortable. +That was a lot better for him than being +discontented.</p> + +<p>“Pa is nobody’s fool,” says Poppy, when he +came back to us. “<em>He</em> thinks the joke is on the +marshal. And I’m not so sure that it isn’t.”</p> + +<p>“I thought maybe he had something more to +tell you about the safe robber,” says I.</p> + +<p>“No. He just wanted to show me how his cell +was fixed up. <em>I</em> was mad about it. But he told +me to keep my mouth shut. He knew what he +was doing, he said.”</p> + +<p>We started down the street then.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you wonder where I was last night,” +says Poppy, linking arms with me.</p> + +<p>“Did you stay with Scoop?”</p> + +<p>“I had to, when I lost track of you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> +“Red stayed at my house,” says I.</p> + +<p>He grinned.</p> + +<p>“If I had been there we could have had some +fun, hey?—three in a bed.”</p> + +<p>“Not <em>last</em> night,” says I, serious.</p> + +<p>“No?”</p> + +<p>“Too many queer things happened last night +for fun,” says I.</p> + +<p>That turned his thoughts back.</p> + +<p>“Did you know, Jerry, that we saw the spy last +night? Sure thing. He came into the alley, but +not far enough for us to trip him up.”</p> + +<p>“We would have gotten him, though,” put in +Scoop, “if Peg hadn’t coughed on a bug. He +beat it then.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you follow him?” says I.</p> + +<p>“We tried to,” says Poppy, “but he was too +slick for us.”</p> + +<p>Here I told the others the truth about the +Meyers robbery. Amazed at first at our surprising +adventure, they almost threw a fit when they +learned what a clever little “fixer” Red was.</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh!” says Scoop, rocking his head in his +hands. “Nobody at home! Kid, if ever there +was a poor fish that flopped out of the frying pan +into the fire it’s you.”</p> + +<p>But this kind of talk didn’t upset Red. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> +stepped around as unconcerned as you please. +Having escaped a licking in his trickery, everything +was lovely with him now.</p> + +<p>“Tra-la-la,” says he, showing off. “Listen to +the praise I’m getting.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the craziest scheme I ever heard tell of,” +says Peg. “The idea of dumping all that stuff +into a <em>cistern</em>! Ye bums and buttered biscuits! +And the less credit to you, Red Meyers, it’s an out +and out lie. Yes, it is. Letting your folks believe +that they have been robbed is just the same as telling +them a lie.”</p> + +<p>“Tattletale!” says Red.</p> + +<p>Peg colored up.</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t tattle on you,” says he steadily. +“But I can tell you this much, kid: If you don’t +square yourself with your folks at the first opportunity +you’re out of my gang for life. Get +me? I may not be perfect, but I’m no sneak. +And, further, you’ve got to buy your aunt a new +parrot. I’ll help on that, for in coaxing you into +the parrot fight I’m as guilty in the parrot’s death +as you are.”</p> + +<p>Poppy didn’t jump on Red like the others. +That wasn’t his style. Anyway, he hadn’t known +us for so very long and therefore was kind of +careful in his talk to us.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> +“What became of the dead parrot, Jerry?” +says he, getting my eye.</p> + +<p>I shrugged.</p> + +<p>“Ask Red,” says I. “He had it last.”</p> + +<p>“Like fun I did,” says freckle-face, stiffening. +“<em>You</em> had it last. Don’t you remember?—I +handed it to you when I locked the front door.”</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> locked the front door,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you did—<em>not</em>.”</p> + +<p>“I did, too.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t.”</p> + +<p>That’s Red for you. He’ll argue when he +knows he’s wrong. Bullhead stuff, I call it. Of +course, <em>I</em> was right.</p> + +<p>Poppy then questioned us about the burglar, +wanting to know if we had gotten a look at the +man’s face, or had heard his voice. And after +considerable talk back and forth we came to the +general conclusion that the man Red and I had +seen and the man who had robbed the brickyard +safe was unquestionably one and the same person. +For the description of one fitted the other.</p> + +<p>But it puzzled us to understand why the criminal +was hanging around town. He had Dad’s +three thousand dollars. Why then didn’t he play +safe and beat it?</p> + +<p>Was he waiting for a chance to steal the black +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +parrot? Was there some secret reason—some +very important reason—why he had to have the +unusual parrot? And was it his scheme to get +possession of the parrot, through hook or crook, +and then make a break for safety?</p> + +<p>In planning things our decision was that it +would pay us to keep on guarding the alley. We +would go there every night, we said. And sooner +or later we would succeed in the criminal’s capture.</p> + +<p>In the course of our conversation I mentioned +old Caleb Obed.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose,” says I, “that the spy and +old Caleb are in cahoots?”</p> + +<p>Poppy got my eye.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that?” says he quickly.</p> + +<p>“Sometime last evening,” says I, “old Caleb +switched birds on the Cap’n. In running off with +the sooted parrot he thought, of course, that he +had the real Solomon Grundy. Later on, as we +know, the parrot turned up in the robber’s hands. +So Caleb either gave it away or had it stolen +from him.”</p> + +<p>“That reminds me,” says Scoop, “that I tried +to find old Caleb yesterday afternoon and couldn’t. +Nobody around here seems to know where he is. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> +So you may be wrong, Jerry, in thinking that he +was in the Cap’n’s store last night.”</p> + +<p>“But who else could have switched the birds?”</p> + +<p>“Search me.”</p> + +<p>“I bet it was old Caleb,” says Peg. “For he’s +a deep one, let me tell you. I’ve had a hunch all +along that he knows things that he doesn’t want +us to know. And instead of giving all of our +attention to the spy, it would be my suggestion +that we keep an eye on the old man, too.”</p> + +<p>Here a boy friend of ours came down the street +on the run with a note for me.</p> + +<p>“It’s from Cap’n Tinkertop,” says the kid, +panting. “He says it’s important.”</p> + +<p>I opened the note, wondering what had happened +in the bird store to thus cause our old friend +to write to me.</p> + +<p><em>Thirteen!</em></p> + +<p>This single word, written over the Cap’n’s +sprawled signature, was the only message that the +crumpled note contained. But I understood the +message. And showing the others the note, which +I knew was no trick of the Strickers’, I led my +chums an excited and breathless race down the +street to the bird store.</p> + +<p>“Thirteen,” I might explain, is our danger +signal. Known only to ourselves and to a few +of our trusted friends, of whom the Cap’n was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> +one, it was supposed to be used only in moments +of great peril.</p> + +<p>We found the bird-store proprietor quavering +behind closed doors and drawn window shades.</p> + +<p>“B’ys,” says he, in a husky voice, “I’m in a’ +awful fix. I’m perty near crazy, I be. Jest look +at me sweat! I’m wringin’ wet,” and he swabbed +his drenched face with a soggy handkerchief.</p> + +<p>There was an open traveling bag on a chair. +And we saw that its owner had been packing it.</p> + +<p>“I’m gittin’ ready to flee,” says he. “It’s that +or go to jail. An’ I hain’t a-goin’ to let the law git +its hands on me to hang me if I kin help it.”</p> + +<p>“What have you done,” says Poppy, troubled, +“that the law should be after you?”</p> + +<p>The old man panted.</p> + +<p>“It’s that blamed par’ot, b’ys.”</p> + +<p>“Your black parrot?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It’s bin stole. Some one took it on me +last night. But that hain’t the cause of my +trouble. The thing that’s worryin’ me is what +the par’ot did before it was stole.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“It’s gone an’ voodooed a man. Yes, it hais,” +the voice stiffened, as one of us laughed, “an’ +you needn’t act smart ’bout it, nuther. It hain’t +no laughin’ matter, let me tell you. Jumpin’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> +Jupiter—<em>no</em>! Fur if the man is daid, as I suspect, +the only thing fur me to do to save my neck from +the gallus is to git out of the country. Otherwise +the law’ll take me in hand an’ hold me responsible, +it bein’ my par’ot.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Cap’n!” says Poppy. “Don’t be a goose. +There’s no truth in that crazy voodoo story. It +<em>can’t</em> be true.”</p> + +<p>The packer went on with his work.</p> + +<p>“Aw!... Come out of it, Cap’n. You don’t +have to skin out of town. Of course not. You’ve +just had a bad dream.”</p> + +<p>The gingerbread eyes sought ours.</p> + +<p>“B’ys, be you a-goin’ to stand by me?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” says Poppy quickly. “But——”</p> + +<p>“They hain’t no ‘but.’ I know what I’m talkin’ +’bout. Somewhar at this very minute ol’ Caleb +Obed is layin’ daid—struck down an’ killed by that +thar devilish voodoo par’ot.”</p> + +<p>“Caleb Obed!” came the cry from our new +leader, looking at us.</p> + +<p>“You b’ys don’t know it, but ol’ Caleb called to +see me the afternoon I was down the river. Jest +heow long he was in the store I kain’t say. No +one to my knowledge saw him go in. But Matsy +Bacon saw him come out. He was runnin’, +Matsy saiz, an’ screechin’ to beat the cars. They +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> +was blood on his face. ‘The par’ot!’ he screeched. +‘The black par’ot!’ Wal, Matsy <em>he</em> figured it out +as heow the screecher was on another toot. +‘What’s the matter, Caleb?’ saiz he. ‘Be you +seein’ black par’ots this time ’stead of green an’ +yaller rattlesnakes?’ An’ then, so Matsy saiz, +Caleb he screeched, ‘It flew at me an’ tried to kill +me.’ After which, so Matsy saiz, the screecher +went down the street on the trot, sort of limpin’ +an’ staggerin’.</p> + +<p>“Matsy told me the hul story this mornin’ when +he was in the store. ‘Did you know,’ saiz he, +thinkin’ as heow it was a good joke, ‘that one +of your par’ots slivered a hunk of skin out of ol’ +Caleb Obed the other afternoon?’ Figurin’ that +Matsy was up to some kind of nonsense, I saiz, +in fun, ‘So one of my par’ots bit a hunk out of +ol’ Caleb, hey? Fine! Now I won’t have to buy +the par’ot no fresh meat.’ Wal, we talked some +more, me an’ Matsy. He told me ’bout seein’ +Caleb come out of my alley door. I in turn told +him how a certain par’ot of mine had bin took +from my store last night between nine o’clock an’ +midnight, only, of course, I didn’t tell him it was +a real black par’ot, fur he never dreamed fur one +minute that I had sech a thing in the store. +‘Mebbe,’ saiz Matsy, in further fun, ‘it was ol’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> +Caleb who hooked your par’ot on you in revenge; +an’ mebbe he hooked the other par’ot, too.’ +‘What other par’ot?’ saiz I. ‘Last night,’ saiz +Matsy, ‘they was another par’ot stole on Main +Street.’”</p> + +<p>“We know about that,” says Poppy, giving Red +a queer look.</p> + +<p>“Wal, Matsy an’ me we talked some more. +An’ then, b’ys, it come to me all of a sudden +that here was a test case. I warn’t scared at +first like I be now, but I was awfully excited. +An’ I lit out fur ol’ Caleb’s house on the trot, +wantin’ to see fur sure that he was all right an’ +haidn’t been voodooed. The nearer I got to his +place the more fidgety I got. Suppose, I saiz to +myself, that I should find him daid after all. Of +course I wouldn’t, I saiz, tryin’ not to believe the +voodoo story. But jest suppose I <em>should</em>. What +would happen to me then? Wal, I come to +Caleb’s house ... it was wide open ... but +he wasn’t thar! He haidn’t bin thar, Paddy Gorbett +told me, since day before yeste’day at three +o’clock. I saiz, foxy-like, ‘When you seed him +then, Paddy, did he have red paint on his face?’ +‘Was it paint?’ saiz Paddy. ‘I thought it was +blood.’ I held myself steady, not wantin’ to git +him suspicious of me. ‘Did he tell you,’ saiz I, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> +‘how the blood come to be thar?’ ‘No,’ saiz +Paddy, ‘I didn’t talk with him.’</p> + +<p>“An’ that, b’ys, is my story. Mebbe I’m a ol’ +gilly, as you think. Mebbe they hain’t a particle +of truth in the voodoo story. When I told you the +story I didn’t half believe it myself. But now I’m +preparin’ fur the worst. Yes, sir, I’m a-goin’ +to git everything in readiness, without anybody +seein’ me, so that I kin skin out on a moment’s +warnin’. An’ thar is whar you kin help me. With +your young legs you kin git ’round spry an’ cover a +lot of territory. Besides, as I know, you’re perty +smart at pickin’ up clews an’ sech. What I want +you to do fur me is to find ol’ Caleb, or find his +body. An’ if he’s daid, as I think, I want you to +come here an’ tell <em>me</em> first. As you kin see I’m +innocent of any intended wrongdoin’—I’m a +victim of circumstances, as the sayin’ is. An’ as +an ol’ friend of yours who has always stood by you +in thick an’ thin, an’ seein’ as heow you already +know the par’ot’s secret, I feel I’ve got a right, +under the circumstances, to ask this of you. Don’t +repeat a word of what I’ve jest told you. But +start out. An’ whether it’s a livin’ man that you +find, or a chilled corpse, let <em>me</em> know first. Give +me two or three hours start, an’ then you kin go +to the law with your story.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> +We were sorry for the frightened old man. +And we tried to tell him how foolish it was of +him to think for one minute that old Caleb had +actually been “voodooed.” There was another +explanation for the vanished one’s disappearance, +we said. But we couldn’t turn him.</p> + +<p>“B’ys, you mean well enough, but you don’t +know what you’re talkin’ ’bout. No, you don’t. +I didn’t mention this part to you when I told you +the voodoo story, but it’s a fact that Ham <em>he</em> +died sudden, too. An’ thar on the wall by his bed—I +kin see it yet!—was a picture of a par’ot, +drawn with charcoal. A black par’ot! An’ when +they come to close his eyes they jest couldn’t make +’em stay closed at all—every time the eyes was +pressed shet they’d pop right open ag’in, jest like +the daid brain held a <em>secret</em> that the eyes was tryin’ +dumbly to tell about. It’s a part of the voodoo, +b’ys—the starin’, glassy eyes. It was that way +with Bige Morgan, an’ it was the same with Ham. +You’ll see what I mean when you find ol’ Caleb. +And in that p’int, mebbe you better git started in +your search right away. I’ll wait here out of sight +till I git word from you, good or bad, only I +hain’t expectin’ nuthin’ but bad news, I kin tell +you that much.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h3> +</div> + +<h4>A WILD NIGHT</h4> + + +<p>Well, we had something to think about now. +While we didn’t share the Cap’n’s crazy belief +that his old friend had been “voodooed” by the +escaped death parrot, it was a fact that we had no +other explanation to offer of the old townsman’s +sudden disappearance. And it did give us a kind +of queer feeling to know that the old man had +vanished on the heels of the parrot’s attack. His +disappearance seemed to bear out the voodoo +story, all right.</p> + +<p>But, even so, we steadily refused to take any +stock in the crazy voodoo belief. The Cap’n’s +talk about his dead brother’s “glassy eyes” was +all bunk, we said. As for old Caleb, he would +turn up all right. We were sure of that. So +instead of wasting our time searching for him we +would give our immediate attention to capturing +the escaped parrot. That was the most important +job, we concluded.</p> + +<p>It was our intention to secretly return the recovered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> +parrot to its cage in the wall hole. Later +on, when Red had squared himself with his aunt, +we would tell the parrot’s owner the truth about +his bird’s unknown escape and its later supposed +“theft.”</p> + +<p>We put in a busy forenoon. Covering the +small town, we separately searched the trees and +housetops. But, as before, we met with no +success. Solomon Grundy was nowhere to be +seen.</p> + +<p>Nor did we see anything of Caleb Obed, though +we inquired for him at different homes where he +was known to drop in occasionally. No one with +whom we talked, even his closest friends, could +tell us where he was.</p> + +<p>It was now brought home to us that the townsman’s +disappearance was a more serious matter +than we had imagined. So we gave his case our +main attention. Searching the still open house +for possible clews bearing on his disappearance, +we found a bloody towel in the kitchen. There +were dried blood spots, too, in the kitchen sink. +The sight of blood always gags me. Like castor +oil. So I kept away from the nasty towel. Nor +did I touch the sink where the bleeding man, after +his attack from the parrot, had plainly washed +himself and dressed his head wound.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> +In an old sugar bowl in the cluttered cupboard +we found a handful of silver coins and six dirty +five-dollar bills. This was proof to us that Caleb +hadn’t left town. For certainly, we reasoned, he +wouldn’t have gone away without his money, or +without locking it up.</p> + +<p>But to make sure that the vanished one was +still in town we went to the depot where we inquired +of the ticket agent if the missing townsman +had spent any of his money in the past two +days for a railroad ticket. The agent shook his +head. He hadn’t seen anything of Caleb for a +week, he said.</p> + +<p>The Cap’n was all broken up at our failure to +get track of the vanished one. He was unable +now to cook his own meals or otherwise wait +on himself. So it became our job to take care +of him. When I explained to Mother at the +supper table that my old friend wasn’t feeling +well and needed me at his store that night to wait +on him she readily consented to the plan. And +getting my pajamas I headed for down town.</p> + +<p>Dusk came and I had seen nothing of my four +chums. Still, I knew they would be in the alley +later on. That was their plan. So I had no fear +of the spy.</p> + +<p>The clock struck nine; then nine-thirty. And +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> +having helped the weary old man out of his clothes +and into his nightshirt, I went to bed myself, on +the sitting-room couch, settling in comfort for +the night.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I was awakened by a piercing scream.</p> + +<p>“Jerry! Jerry! Hel-up! Hel-up!”</p> + +<p>It was the Cap’n! And from the terror in his +screaming voice I could imagine that he was being +murdered in his bed.</p> + +<p>To reach his bedroom I had to cross the sitting-room. +There was a puddle of moonlight on the +floor. I waded through it. My eyes picked out +a cane. I got it, wrapping my fist around the +small end. With its heavy gold head the cane +made a swell club.</p> + +<p>But I had no occasion to use it. For there was +no one in the moonlit bedroom except the old +man himself, who was now sitting up in the bed.</p> + +<p>“Jerry! Jerry!” the terrified voice rang +through the house.</p> + +<p>I ran forward.</p> + +<p>“Here I am,” says I.</p> + +<p>I could see a pair of wild eyes in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>“Jerry, I saw it. It was right thar by the foot +of the bed. An’ it—it——”</p> + +<p>Here the voice broke. There was a sudden +dead silence. Gee-miny crickets! Maybe you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> +think I wasn’t scared. I thought sure the old +man was dead. And I was all alone with him!</p> + +<p>“Cap’n!” says I, shaking him. “Cap’n! It’s +me—Jerry. <em>Cap’n!</em>” But he never moved!</p> + +<p>Well, you can see what an awful situation it +was for me. An “it” had scared the old man to +death. And for all I knew to the contrary the +“it,” whatever it was—human or otherwise—might +still be lurking in some dark corner of the +house to get a crack at me.</p> + +<p>I got a light first of all. Then I looked under +the bed and in the clothes closet. Nothing oozed +at me. In the conclusion of my search a groan +came from the bed. I knew then that the old +man was still alive. So I wet a towel and mopped +his face as a quick way of bringing him back, to +his senses.</p> + +<p>And right then I got a shock. I almost stared +my eyes out, I guess. For there on the unconscious +one’s naked breast, visible to me in the “V” of +the unbuttoned nightshirt, was a tattooed black +parrot.</p> + +<p>Well, I stood there staring, as I say, my +thoughts jumping up and down. And then the old +man got his voice again.</p> + +<p>“Jerry! Jerry! Hel-up! Hel-up!”</p> + +<p>“Here I am,” says I, bending over the bed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> +“Jerry! I saw it. Jerry! Hel-up!”</p> + +<p>I got Doc Leland on the telephone then. For +I could see that something was out of kilter in +the frightened one’s head. He kept calling my +name. Yet he didn’t seem to realize that I was +standing beside his bed.</p> + +<p>I had urged Doc to come in a hurry. And +when he got there I explained to him how I happened +to be in the house. The Cap’n hadn’t been +feeling well, I said—his nerves had gone back on +him. So, in friendly service, I had agreed to stay +with him and wait on him.</p> + +<p>The listener was puzzled at my story.</p> + +<p>“Um.... He must ’a’ had a bad dream.”</p> + +<p>I shivered.</p> + +<p>“It was something worse than a dream, Doc.”</p> + +<p>“You think he actually saw somethin’?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell the world! Gosh, Doc, you should +have heard him. I thought at first that he was +being murdered. So I ran into his room. He was +sitting up in bed. His eyes were crazy. ‘Jerry! +Jerry!’ he screeched at me. ‘I saw it!’”</p> + +<p>“It,” repeated Doc, holding me with his puzzled +eyes.</p> + +<p>“He said ‘it.’ But I don’t know what he +meant.”</p> + +<p>“It,” says the other again, working his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> +thoughts. “Um.... Couldn’t ’a’ bin a man, +or else he would ’a’ said ‘him’ instead of ‘it.’”</p> + +<p>In the excitement my mind had been too jumpy +to permit of clear thinking. But somehow I had +held to the belief that the spy was at the bottom +of the Cap’n’s scare. Now I was more at sea +than ever. For, as Doc had said, if the spy had +been in the house, and the Cap’n had seen him, +certainly the old man wouldn’t have said he had +seen “it.”</p> + +<p>I was completely bewildered. What was it that +the frightened one had seen? What was the +nature of the peril that had visited him in the +dead of night? And, further, where had this +“peril” vanished to?</p> + +<p><em>It!</em> Could it be that a ghost had wandered into +the store? I shivered in the thought of it.</p> + +<p>Doc was working on the unconscious man now.</p> + +<p>“Poor piece of tattooin’,” says he, pointing to +the chest design. “Amatoor work. Ol’ Caleb +Obed’s got the same kind of a Tom-fool thing +tattooed on him.”</p> + +<p>Three black parrots! One on the chest of a +dead sailor; another on the chest of a man who +was strangely missing; the third on the chest of +a man who had just had the wits scared out of +him. And on top of all this a real black parrot—a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> +living parrot of weird secrets. No wonder I was +befuddled in the mystery.</p> + +<p>In the next hour the stricken man was removed +from his store to the emergency rooms. He was +a very sick man, Doc said. It would take a week +or two for him to get back on his feet. And in the +meantime he needed complete rest and careful +nursing.</p> + +<p>In all this excitement, to my wonder, I had +heard nothing from my chums in the alley. And +the fear now came to me that something had happened +to them. So I hurried outside to find them. +But they weren’t there! Nor could I find any +trace of their ropes.</p> + +<p>Br-r-r-r! The dark alley gave me the creeps. +And of no desire to stay alone in the store I lit +out for home. If my chums were in trouble they +would have to paddle their own canoe, I told myself. +For the night had already given me more +than my share of adventure.</p> + +<p>It was two o’clock when Dad opened the front +door for me. At sight of me he wanted to know +if I had lost my mind in coming home at that +hour. I told him that the Cap’n had been taken +worse and had been removed to the hospital +rooms. He asked me several sleepy questions. +But I didn’t tell him everything.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h3> +</div> + +<h4>THE EMPTY GRAVE</h4> + + +<p>My chums got me out of bed the following +morning.</p> + +<p>“We can’t find Cap’n Tinkertop,” says Scoop, +excited. “His store’s closed, too.”</p> + +<p>I told the others where the old man was.</p> + +<p>“Why weren’t you on guard in the alley last +night?” says I, feeling a little bit sore toward +them for not being on hand when I needed them.</p> + +<p>Scoop laughed sheepishly.</p> + +<p>“Jerry, I hate to admit it. But in a scrap last +night the Strickers got the best of us.”</p> + +<p>“They locked us in a barn,” says Red, “and +kept us there till midnight.”</p> + +<p>“So that’s where you were when I needed you, +hey?”</p> + +<p>“Did you need us?”</p> + +<p>I told them my story. They were excited, I +want to tell you. Poppy pressed me with eager +questions. Had I heard anybody in the store?—had +I noticed if any doors or windows were open?—had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> +I searched the store after Doc’s arrival?—and +was I <em>sure</em> about the tattooed parrot on the +Cap’n’s chest?</p> + +<p>I couldn’t answer “yes” to the first three questions, +but I could, and did, to the last one. Not +only was the chest design a black parrot, I +declared, but it was a duplicate of the one in the +dead sailor’s picture.</p> + +<p>“And moreover,” says I, “old Caleb’s got the +same thing tattooed on him. For Doc told me +so.”</p> + +<p>Visiting old Caleb’s house that morning, in the +hope of finding the old man there well and +unharmed, we came upon a yardful of excited people. +For some wag had started the story that the +vanished man had committed suicide. And what +led the neighbors to take stock in the story was +the known fact that the old man himself, on Monday +afternoon, had ordered a grave dug in the +Tinkertop lot in the old Scotch cemetery. He had +told the sexton, so it was said, that a body was +being shipped to the lot owner for burial. But to +date no body had been received at the local +express office. And everybody in Caleb’s end of +town was now saying that the vanished man, in +planning his intended suicide, had ordered the +grave dug for himself!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> +We took no stock in this story. Caleb wasn’t +dead, we said. He was hiding. But <em>why</em> he was +hiding, and where, was a complete mystery to us. +Yet we believed that the black parrot was in +some way associated with the old man’s disappearance. +And we further believed that if we +could find him we undoubtedly would get the key +to the mystery that surrounded the strange +parrot.</p> + +<p>Could it be, we then considered, that old Caleb +had something to do with the Cap’n’s scare? Was +he creeping out of his hiding place nights, to some +secret purpose? This was an exciting thought. +And as we were convinced now that the Cap’n’s +store—the death parrot’s home—was the center +of the mystery that involved the unusual black +bird, it became our decision to work in the store +that night instead of in the alley.</p> + +<p>Meeting us at the store at dusk, Poppy fixed +five matches. I drew the long one, which made +me the “Cap’n.”</p> + +<p>“What am I supposed to do?” says I, uneasy +in my prominent part in the night’s coming +adventure.</p> + +<p>“Your job,” says the leader, grinning, “will be +to get into the Cap’n’s bed in a perfectly natural +way and pretend that you’re sound asleep.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> +“And then what?” says I.</p> + +<p>“Something is trying to get the Cap’n. We +know that. It was here last night. And who can +say that it won’t come back again to-night to +finish its job?”</p> + +<p>I shivered.</p> + +<p>“It may grab me,” says I.</p> + +<p>“If it does,” says Peg, laughing, “kiss it and +kill it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to kiss it,” says I, turning up my +nose, “if it’s old Caleb.”</p> + +<p>“I <em>hope</em>,” says Poppy, serious, “that it’s the +spy.”</p> + +<p>Scoop was puzzled.</p> + +<p>“How can it be a man?” says he. “That would +be a ‘him,’ as Jerry says, and not an ‘it.’”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it was a man dressed up like a ghost,” +says Peg.</p> + +<p>“<em>Good</em> night!” says I, motioning for them to +clear the track for me. “I’m going home.”</p> + +<p>But I was joking, of course. I hadn’t the +slightest intention of going home. Even if I was +to have a very risky part in the night’s coming +adventure I was determined to stay and see the +thing through.</p> + +<p>Peg’s last remark had given us something to +think about. A ghost was an “it,” all right. But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> +what could be old Caleb’s object, or the spy’s, in +playing ghost in the Cap’n’s bedroom? And, +further, how had the “ghost” gotten into the +store?</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that the mystery became more +confusing every minute. Instead of solving it step +by step, as we had done in other detecting jobs, +we were walking further and further into the +darkness.</p> + +<p>“Let me get this straight,” says I to Poppy, +when they talked of putting me to bed. “You say +I’m to let you fix me up to look like the Cap’n, to +make the whatever-it-is think that I’m the old +gent himself. Is that correct?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got the right idea.”</p> + +<p>“And then what?”</p> + +<p>“You’re tucked into bed. See? The thing +comes. It’s after the Cap’n. Creeping up to the +bed, it takes a peek at you. It thinks you’re its +victim. And then—”</p> + +<p>“<em>Hey!</em>” says I, cutting him off. “I thought you +said you were going to grab it before it grabbed +me?”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry, Jerry. We won’t let it harm +you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> +“Just the same,” says I, shivering, “I’ve had +jobs I liked better.”</p> + +<p>First they ruffled my hair and powdered it +with flour to make it white. Then they penciled +“wrinkles” into my cheeks with a burnt match. +A wad of chewing gum made a neat wart for the +side of my nose. For chin whiskers I was given +a whisk broom, held in place with a string tied to +my ears. I was even made to get out of my +clothes and dress my bare legs in the absent +householder’s long white nightshirt. A nightcap +was the finishing touch, after which, having put +me to bed with a great deal of joking attention, +the four crooks stepped back to view the results +of their dirty work.</p> + +<p>“Hi, Cap,” says Peg, saluting.</p> + +<p>“If you b’ys don’t quit pesterin’ me,” says I, +mimicking the old man, “I’ll run you out of here +on the end of my peg-laig.”</p> + +<p>Poppy grinned.</p> + +<p>“Jerry,” says he, “you ought to go on the stage. +For you’re a born mimic. Honest. Why, you +sound more like the Cap’n, and look more like +him, than the old man himself.”</p> + +<p>“If I don’t look like a corpse before the night +is over,” says I, “I’ll consider myself lucky.”</p> + +<p>When told to get into a hiding place in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> +room Red parked himself behind the dresser. At +Poppy’s orders Peg and Scoop wedged themselves +into the clothes closet. The fourth one flattened +himself pancake fashion under the bed.</p> + +<p>“Now,” says the leader, turning out his flashlight, +“let’s have silence and lots of it.”</p> + +<p>My heart started to thumping in the sudden +darkness. And detecting a slight noise in the alley +I quickly turned my eyes to the window. Was it +the spy? Or was it a ghost?</p> + +<p>The alley sounds dying away into a deep silence, +I started breathing again.</p> + +<p>“If you fellows keep me here very long,” says I, +shivering, “I’ll be a nervous wreck.”</p> + +<p>“Sh-h-h-h-h!” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t one of you get in bed with me?”</p> + +<p>“You poor fish!”</p> + +<p>“You can pretend that you’re my wife. See? +We’ll hang a sign on the foot of the bed saying +that we’re newly married. So the ghost won’t be +surprised when it sees you here.”</p> + +<p>“Keep still, I tell you.”</p> + +<p>I saw a chance to have some fun. And reaching +for my clothes beside the bed I searched the +pockets for my ventrilo.</p> + +<p>“B-b-blood!” says I, in imitation of the death +parrot. “Gu-gu-give me a bucket of b-b-blood!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> +“You aren’t funny,” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>“I killed H-h-ham!” says I, in further fun. “I +b-b-bit a hunk out of his liver and v-v-voodooed +him.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll come up there,” says Poppy, “and bite a +hunk out of your liver if you don’t dry up.”</p> + +<p>“B-b-blood!” says I. “Gu-gu-give me a bucket +of b-b-blood!”</p> + +<p>“B-b-blood!” came the echo from under the +bed, only Poppy said it so faintly and so muffled-like +that I hardly caught the word.</p> + +<p>“Golly Ned!” says I. “You can do it better +than I can.”</p> + +<p>“Do what?” says he.</p> + +<p>“My, but you’re innocent!”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t do anything. Honest.”</p> + +<p>“Some one said, ‘B-b-blood!’”</p> + +<p>“It was you.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t either. It was <em>you</em>.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” says he, “have it your own way. +I’ll agree to anything you say if you’ll just shut +up.”</p> + +<p>I had been told by the leader that I could +actually go to sleep if I wanted to, instead of pretending. +But you can bet your Sunday shirt that +I had no intention of doing that. Not so you can +notice it!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> +Everything was deadly still now. And in the +continued silence my mind picked up the voodoo +story. In imagination I saw the temple from +which the death parrot had been stolen by the two +sailors. I could see the building’s woven grass +walls and thatched roof. At the altar, where a +fire was sputtering and snapping, was the parrot +in its glittering cage. The smoke from the altar +fire had a stinking smell. It made me think of +Red’s sweaty feet. Half awake and half asleep +I got my chum’s feet mixed up with the parrot. +A pair of feet in a gold cage! What a funny +sight! And where was the parrot? Oh, yes, it +had been stolen. I could see a jungle now ... a +drifting raft ... a coral island ... a dead +man ... glassy, staring eyes....</p> + +<p>Ker-<em>choo-o-o-o</em>!</p> + +<p>Golly Ned! A gunshot directly in my ear +couldn’t have startled me any worse than the +sneeze that came out from under the bed.</p> + +<p>“For the love of mud!” says I. “Why don’t +you kill a guy outright instead of scaring him +half to death?”</p> + +<p>“Keep still,” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>“Yah,” snickered the closet, “if you don’t quit +talking you’ll loosen your chin whiskers.”</p> + +<p>Here the dresser came to life.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> +“Now what?” says Poppy, in disgust.</p> + +<p>“I can’t find my club.”</p> + +<p>“You and your club! We ought to use it on +your head.”</p> + +<p>The dresser pranced around.</p> + +<p>“For the love of Pete!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to find my club.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you knock the house down?”</p> + +<p>“Did I make any noise?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!”</p> + +<p>“I’m awfully cramped in here.”</p> + +<p>“Come and get in bed with me,” says I quickly.</p> + +<p>“Stay where you are,” says Poppy.</p> + +<p>Dong!... dong!... gurgled the sitting-room +clock in eleven mouthfuls.</p> + +<p>“Now, fellows,” says Poppy, earnestly, “let’s +get down to business and quit our nonsense. For +this is a serious matter with me. Don’t forget +that Pa’s in jail, and the only way I can get him +out is by solving this mystery. So let’s be quiet, +as I say.”</p> + +<p>In the silence that followed I heard a young +mosquito clatter up and down the window pane in +search of human blood. Tick! tock! tick! tock! +chattered the lively clock. Tick! tock! tick! tock! +I nodded under the monotonous sound. Tick! +tock! tick! tock! I nodded again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> +Suddenly my dozing mind was jerked awake. +Like a powder flash. Something soft and feathery +had touched my bare feet. Under the covers. +Gee-miny crickets! You can believe it or not, but +I was out of that bed, sheets and all, in one jump.</p> + +<p>“B-b-blood!” came a shrill stuttering voice. +“B-b-blood! Gu-gu-give me a bucket of +b-b-blood.”</p> + +<p>Getting my voice, I yipped at the top of my +lungs.</p> + +<p>“The parrot!” says I. “It’s in the bed!”</p> + +<p>My chums sprang to life. I heard the closet +door fly open; and from the noise in the corner +where the dresser was I could imagine that Red +had turned that piece of furniture upside-down. +Then there was another sound—a crash of broken +glass.</p> + +<p>Having dug me out of the mountain of bedclothes, +my chums told me that the screaming +parrot, in escaping from the room, had gone +through the window pane.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h3> +</div> + +<h4>IN THE OLD MANSE</h4> + + +<p>The black parrot’s crashing escape from the +Cap’n’s bedroom had left us dumb and dizzy. In +planning our night’s work we hadn’t expected any +such developments as this. In fact, we hadn’t +thought of the missing parrot at all. Certainly, it +never had occurred to us that the parrot was in +any way connected with its master’s scare. We +had thought of almost everything else <em>but</em> the +parrot.</p> + +<p>Our first scattered conclusion was that the mysterious +bird was indeed possessed of uncanny +powers and could thereby come and go of its own +free will. But we quickly got away from that +crazy belief. The bird hadn’t gotten into the bed +of its own accord, we sensibly agreed. Some one +had put it there.</p> + +<p>But to what purpose? Yes, <em>why</em> had the parrot +been hidden in the bed? Had the Cap’n been +secretly marked for death, like the old seadog in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> +<cite>Treasure Island</cite>? And granting that either old +Caleb or the unknown spy was back of the evil +scheme, was it the belief of these two men, or one +of them, that the black parrot would fatally voodoo +its master when he got into bed?</p> + +<p>I shivered at the thought of it.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Jerry?” says Peg, watching +me.</p> + +<p>“That was some narrow escape for me,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Fishhooks!” says he, laughing.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” says I, stiffening, “that <em>you</em> would +have let the parrot bite your leg off, hey?”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” says he.</p> + +<p>I didn’t say any more to him then. I wasn’t +going to let him think that I believed the voodoo +story if he didn’t. But just the same I watched +my chance and gave my bare legs a careful once-over. +And I’ll tell you truthfully that it was a +big relief to me to find that the parrot hadn’t +drawn blood on me with its bill. Now I was safe. +Whether the voodoo story was true or not I had +nothing to fear.</p> + +<p>“It,” says Poppy, thinking. “We thought the +Cap’n’s ‘it’ was a ghost. But now we know it +was the black parrot.”</p> + +<p>“We <em>think</em> it was the parrot,” says I.</p> + +<p>“There’s no doubt about it in my mind.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> +“But why didn’t the old man say ‘parrot’ +instead of ‘it’?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t answer that question any more than +I can answer a dozen others concerned in the +mystery.”</p> + +<p>“And don’t forget,” says I, “that he said he +had seen ‘it’ at the foot of the bed—he didn’t say +‘it’ was <em>in</em> the bed.”</p> + +<p>“What puzzles me,” Scoop spoke up, “is who +brought the parrot here. If there’s crooked work +going on, I can’t make myself believe that old +Caleb is at the bottom of it. For we know how +thick he is with the Cap’n. And in close friendship +like that he wouldn’t be likely to scheme +against the other one.”</p> + +<p>Poppy had been listening attentively.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” says he, “a good man is <em>made</em> to +do evil things.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Old Caleb may be a helpless tool of the other +man.”</p> + +<p>“The spy?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing.”</p> + +<p>“Aw!...” says Scoop. “I’d sooner think the +spy was working alone.”</p> + +<p>“It gets my goat,” says Poppy, after a moment, +“that we can’t capture this man. We’ve been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> +close to him—we’ve even seen him in the dark—yet +he always gets away from us. He could belong +in the moon for all we know about him.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t let that worry you,” says Peg. “For +we’re going to get him in the end.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” says Poppy, sort of dogged-like, “we’ve +<em>got</em> to capture him. We’ve got to do that in +order to clear Pa’s name.”</p> + +<p>Scoop had gone to the broken window.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” says he, wanting to do the +square thing by our old friend, “we’ll all chip in +and buy the Cap’n a new window glass. For +we’re sort of responsible for this accident.”</p> + +<p>We took turns standing guard throughout the +balance of the night. But nothing happened. And +at seven o’clock we went home to breakfast.</p> + +<p>While we were replacing the broken glass that +morning the Stricker gang meandered into sight.</p> + +<p>“Window washers,” says Bid, getting a wrong +idea of our work.</p> + +<p>“Flunkies,” says Jimmy Stricker, turning up his +nose at us.</p> + +<p>“Cap’n Tinkertop’s pets,” says another one of +the smart Alecks.</p> + +<p>Bid got real brave and put a foot into the +alley.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> +“Hello, Poppy,” says he. “Did you have a +nice time in the barn the other night?”</p> + +<p>“We picked out a barn for you,” says Jimmy, +“because we thought you were a donkey.”</p> + +<p>“Hee-haw! Hee-haw!” says Bid. Then he +came closer. “Say,” says he, in pretended +earnestness, “do any of you guys with strong +backs and weak minds know where I can borrow +a good wheelbarrow?”</p> + +<p>He thought that was funny!</p> + +<p>“Beat it,” says Poppy, “or I’ll tip this store +building over on top of you and sprain your good +looks.”</p> + +<p>“Go on, you tramp! You couldn’t tip a mosquito +over.”</p> + +<p>“I bet you anything you want to bet,” says I, +sticking up for our new leader, “that he can tip +<em>you</em> over with one hand.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Him?</em> Don’t make me laugh. I might crack +my face.”</p> + +<p>“If you did crack it,” says Scoop, “you wouldn’t +lose anything out of your head except water.”</p> + +<p>“You guys are a bag of wind.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll think we’re a cyclone,” says I, “when +we open up on you some day.”</p> + +<p>“Talk’s cheap.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> +“If you haven’t any other engagements this +afternoon,” says Poppy, “come around and we’ll +measure you up for a grave in our private +cemetery.”</p> + +<p>Bid put out his chest then and raised his arm +muscles.</p> + +<p>“When <em>I</em> came to this town to live,” says he, +strutting, “they had to put an addition on the +hospital.”</p> + +<p>“Yah,” says Scoop, “I saw that room. It’s +padded on the inside and has your name over the +door.”</p> + +<p>“Watch me spit! Every time I do it I crack +the sidewalk.”</p> + +<p>“That’s nothing,” says Peg. “One time I +sneezed and blew the North Pole over.”</p> + +<p>There was more of this crazy bragging talk. +Both sides enjoyed it. But I got mad as hops, let +me tell you, when one of the smart Alecks plastered +me with a mud ball.</p> + +<p>Chasing the kid out of the alley with a club, I +came back to my chums fighting mad.</p> + +<p>“Why do we always let them get the best of +us?” says I, wiping my muddy face. “Why don’t +we clean up on them?”</p> + +<p>Poppy grinned.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> +“Hold your horses, Jerry. Our time’s coming.”</p> + +<p>“Yah, and so is the end of the world—but I +don’t expect to live to see it.”</p> + +<p>“We’re going to fix them to-night. Eh, +Scoop?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell the world we are!” says the old +leader. “Remember what I told you the other +night at the medicine show, Jerry?”</p> + +<p>“About the Indian’s ‘spirit letter’ trick?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing. Well, Poppy and I have it all +framed up to work the letter trick on them +to-night. Spider Phelps is going to help us. We +need a man on our side. And we can trust Spider, +for he’s my cousin.”</p> + +<p>I gave a tickled yip when the complete scheme +was unfolded to me. The fun we were going to +have! Oh, boy! A mud ball, or a dozen mud +balls, wasn’t one, two, three as compared with +what the Strickers were going to get.</p> + +<p>However, I lost some of my enthusiasm that +noon. For I overheard something at the dinner +table that upset me.</p> + +<p>Mother had a lot to say during the meal. She +had been down town that morning, she told Dad, +and had stopped at the emergency rooms to leave +some pansies with a sick neighbor lady who +recently had been repaired in the operating room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> +“And while I was there I looked in on the +Cap’n. Poor old man! He’s still flighty. The +nurse says he has the strange hallucination that +old Caleb Obed has drowned himself in somebody’s +cistern.”</p> + +<p><em>Cistern!</em> At the spoken word I suddenly +pricked up my ears. And my thoughts jumped +to Red.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” says Mother across the table, “is +there any truth in these stories that are going +around about old Caleb ordering a grave dug for +himself and then committing suicide in some out-of-the-way +place?”</p> + +<p>Dad shrugged.</p> + +<p>“That’s a queer thing,” says he slowly. “Caleb +ordered the grave dug, all right. I figure he’s +cuckoo.”</p> + +<p>“Has he actually disappeared?”</p> + +<p>“As completely as if he had walked off the +earth. I was talking with the marshal about the +case, and Bill tells me that he has ransacked the +town for the old coot without being able to find +hide or hair of him.”</p> + +<p>Mother sighed.</p> + +<p>“I hope the suicide story is untrue. For old +Caleb was the best cistern cleaner we ever had.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with Negro Mose?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +“Oh, I can’t exactly complain of his work. But +I like old Caleb the best of the two. However, +if the latter isn’t available right now you had +better hire Mose. For I think our cistern ought +to be cleaned before a heavy rain comes.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see Mose on my way through town,” says +Dad.</p> + +<p>Well, as you can imagine, I did some quick +work getting over to Red’s house.</p> + +<p>“Your goose is cooked,” says I.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” says he.</p> + +<p>“Old Mose is coming to our house this afternoon +to clean our cistern.”</p> + +<p>That put a sick look on the other’s freckled +face. And while we were talking over the +unhappy situation, wondering if there was anything +that we could do to save ourselves, a fat +woman bustled into sight with an armful of rugs.</p> + +<p>“Sh-h-h-h!” says I. “Here’s your Aunt Pansy, +now.”</p> + +<p>“Don-ald,” says the fat one, in a voice that +was all honey and cream, “if you’ll come here, +like a dear little man, and shake these bedroom +rugs for Aunty I’ll make you a nice custard +pudding for supper.”</p> + +<p>I beat it then. For it made me nervous to be +around Red’s aunt. And about two-thirty Poppy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> +and the others came to my house in a delivery +wagon that they had borrowed from Scoop’s +store. Getting their signal, I ran into the street.</p> + +<p>“Jump in, Jerry. Where’s Red?”</p> + +<p>I told them of the freckled one’s predicament.</p> + +<p>“He’s a goner,” says I. “For old Mose is +bound to find his truck in the cistern.”</p> + +<p>“He sure was a dumb-bell,” says Scoop, “to +pull that burglar trick.”</p> + +<p>“And as long as he was doing it,” says Peg, +“why didn’t he use his own cistern?”</p> + +<p>“Search me,” says I, shrugging. “But he’d be +a lucky kid this minute if he had.”</p> + +<p>Here Scoop got his eyes on something down +the street.</p> + +<p>“It’s going to rain, fellows,” says he, laughing. +“Look at the dark cloud coming.”</p> + +<p>The “dark cloud” was old Mose, a ladder +draped on one shoulder and a coil of rope hung +on the other. Each big hand gripped a pail +handle.</p> + +<p>I figured that it would be safer for me to be +away from home when the silverware was brought +up. So I quickly scrambled into the wagon, driving +with the others to Peg’s house where we got +the “treasure chest,” a sort of home-made trunk +that his mother had dumped into the alley during +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> +the spring housecleaning work. Made of heavy +wood, with a thick hinged cover, iron handles and +iron corner pieces, it was just the thing that we +needed for our “buried treasure” trick. Scoop’s +father sells all kinds of cheap novelties in his +store, and going there, our chum got four tiny +red wheelbarrows.</p> + +<p>Our truck gathered up, we then headed out of +town on the Treebury pike. In Happy Hollow a +familiar freckled face came into sight over the +weeds beside the road.</p> + +<p>“Hi,” says Red Meyers, waving to us.</p> + +<p>Poppy pulled on the lines.</p> + +<p>“I thought you were home reënforcing the seat +of your pants,” says he.</p> + +<p>“Where you headed for?”</p> + +<p>“The old Scotch cemetery.”</p> + +<p>“Hot dog! You can give me a lift.” Here the +speaker bent over and tugged at something in the +weeds. “Gosh, but this truck is heavy.”</p> + +<p>Say, you should have seen the bundle of stuff +that he had! Kettles and pans and a baseball +bat and a catching glove and bread and canned +beans and I don’t know what all.</p> + +<p>“Are your folks moving?” says the leader.</p> + +<p>“No, I’m running away.”</p> + +<p>“<em>What?</em>”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> +“I’m headed for Montana.”</p> + +<p>“Haw! haw! haw!” says Peg, in his rough way. +“Why didn’t you bring along the kitchen stove +and the player piano?”</p> + +<p>I couldn’t believe at first that Red was in +earnest about running away from home. Still, +I reflected, it was just like him to start out this +way with a wagon load of silly truck. He sure +is rattleheaded.</p> + +<p>There was a fearful clatter as the runaway +pitched his frying pan and kettles into the wagon.</p> + +<p>“Lookit!” says I, hooking a book. “‘Tricked +at the Altar,’” I read.</p> + +<p>“It belongs to Sis,” says the sweating worker, +shooing the flies off his hunk of boiled ham.</p> + +<p>“Since when,” says the grinning leader, as the +runaway wedged himself into the seat with us, +“did you get this grand and glorious idea of +populating Montana?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it just came to me when I was flipping +Aunt Pansy’s rugs. So I grabbed my stuff and +beat it.”</p> + +<p>“But what’s the <em>idea</em>?”</p> + +<p>“You ought to know.”</p> + +<p>“The silverware in the cistern?”</p> + +<p>“That and the dead parrot.”</p> + +<p>“Aw!...” says Peg, serious. “You aren’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> +really going to run away from home to escape a +licking, are you?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing else but.”</p> + +<p>“Red, you’re crazy. Why, kid, you won’t get +two miles from here before your folks catch you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a scheme.”</p> + +<p>“Yah?”</p> + +<p>“You know the old manse in the Scotch +cemetery?”</p> + +<p>“Where the sexton keeps the coffin cases?”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing.”</p> + +<p>Peg glanced back at the “treasure chest” and +quartet of toy wheelbarrows.</p> + +<p>“We ought to know the place,” says he, laughing, +“for we’re headed for there this very +minute.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to hide there,” says the runaway. +“For two or three weeks. Everybody will think +I’m in Chicago or somewhere. See? They +won’t think of looking for me so close to home. +Then, when the coast is clear, I’ll make my getaway +into the West.” He unfolded his arms in a +sweeping gesture. “Oh, you Montana!” says he. +“The wild and woolly life for me. Injuns. Mountain +lions. Gila monsters. Rattlesnakes.”</p> + +<p>Well, the rest of us fairly busted ourselves +laughing at this silly talk. For it’s a fact that Red +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> +Meyers has about as little grit as any kid in +Tutter. On a camping trip one time he found a +spider in his pancake and was gaggy for a week. +I had a picture of him living a “wild and woolly” +life in Montana. Oh, yes! He didn’t know a +Gila monster from a camel’s egg. As for chumming +with rattlesnakes, if he thought there was +one in the same county with him he’d shiver his +back teeth loose.</p> + +<p>But we let on to him that we swallowed his +crazy talk. It was fun for us.</p> + +<p>Coming to the cemetery in which Caleb Obed +had so strangely ordered a grave dug, our eyes +curiously sought the pile of fresh dirt. The grave, +we noticed, was covered with a canvas to keep it +dry in case of a sudden shower. Through the big +pine trees in the background we could see the +dilapidated old manse, the place that the four of +us were heading for with our “treasure chest,” +and also the place where the runaway was intending +to lay low until the way was clear for him to +skin out for Montana.</p> + +<p>A more direct course for us to have taken +would have been through the big cemetery gate, +but it was our scheme not to attract attention, so, +passing the cemetery, we turned into a wood-lot +road to the left. Winding here and there in this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +unfrequented road, dodging low-hanging limbs, +we presently drew up at the back door of the +manse. Tying the horse to a fence, we first helped +Red unload his truck, then, leaving the runaway +to manage his own affairs, the four of us headed +for the manse cellar with the chest and the four +toy wheelbarrows.</p> + +<p>In this windowless and doorless old building, +a storage house for wooden coffin cases, the sexton +kept his grave-digging tools. And helping ourselves +to a pick and three shovels we quickly +descended a flight of rotten wooden stairs into +as damp and spooky a cellar as ever I had been +in. Thinking of the near-by graves, I got a sudden +case of cold shivers. But I quickly got over +that feeling. For whatever idea I had of dead +people coming back to earth it wasn’t to be believed +that a ghost or spook would be likely to +meander into the manse cellar at this time of day. +The time for ghosts to do their stuff was in the +dark. I knew that.</p> + +<p>Well, getting quickly to work, we marked off a +spot three feet from one wall and six feet from +another, sort of in a corner, and there we dug a +hole in the dirt floor about four feet deep. The +hole completed, we put the toy wheelbarrows into +the chest, locked the cover with a rusted padlock, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> +and then dropped the box into the hole, covering +it with dirt, flush with the floor.</p> + +<p>Peg wiped his sweaty face.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad that job’s done,” says he. “Wow! +I’m wringing wet.” He looked around at the +shadowy corners. “Say, this is a spooky hole! +A dozen black cats could hide down here and we’d +never know it.”</p> + +<p>“Come on,” says I, starting for the stairs. +“Let’s get out of here. I don’t like the smell. It +comes from the dead people on the other side of +the wall.”</p> + +<p>Scoop sniffed.</p> + +<p>“Um...” says he. “It smells like a dead +rat to me.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h3> +</div> + +<h4>THE HAUNTED CISTERN</h4> + + +<p>Coming out of the cellar, we found everything +in the runaway’s quarters in apple-pie order. To +one side was a sort of provision shelf made of two +long coffin cases piled one on top of the other. On +another similar shelf the frying pan and kettles +were neatly arranged. In the middle of the room +was a sort of library table, built up of small +coffin cases. Here we found the runaway hard +at work copying a farewell letter to his folks +from the book, “Tricked at the Altar.”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be right,” says he, “for me to skip +out to Montana without telling Ma something +about my plans. For she might worry.”</p> + +<p>Peg, the big monkey, lugged in an iron cemetery +settee. It brightened up the room, he said, and +made it more homelike. Then he brought in a +withered “Gates Ajar” flower piece that had been +thrown away. There was nothing like having +things cheerful, he said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> +But the pencil pusher was too deep in his letter writing +job to give any attention to the nonsense +that was going on around him. I looked in the +book to see what he was copying. Here it is:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Father</span>:</p> + +<p>Unable to longer endure my unmerited +shame, I am going to the river. It is my last +earthly wish that my innocent child shall be +brought up never to know the cruel trick that +was played on its unfortunate mother at the +altar. Good-by, forever. May I know a happier +fate in the next world.</p> + +<p class="center"> +Your erring daughter,<br> +</p> +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Tessie</span>.<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>I let out a yip.</p> + +<p>“For the love of Pete!” says I. “I hope <em>that</em> +isn’t the letter you’re writing to your mother.”</p> + +<p>He glanced up.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m changing it,” says he. “How’s this?”</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mother</span>:</p> + +<p>Unable to longer endure my shame in having +killed Aunt Pansy’s parrot, I am going to Montana +to be a cowboy and scalp Indians and Gila +monsters. It is my last earthly wish that you +give Jerry Todd the custard pudding that Aunt +Pansy promised to make for me for supper. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> +will see that I get it and not eat it himself. +Good-by, forever.</p> + +<p class="right"> +Your erring son,<br> +<span class="smcap">Donald</span>.<br> +</p> + +<p>P.S. Please give Jerry a spoon with the custard +as I forgot to bring one along.</p> + +<p>P.S. If you haven’t got your spoons out of +the cistern yet you needn’t bother about sending +me one. I can eat the custard without a spoon. +But be sure and sugar it.</p> +</div> + +<p>“Some kid, Red is,” says Peg, when we were +on our way home in the delivery wagon.</p> + +<p>“Some bluffer, you mean,” says Scoop, with a +grunt.</p> + +<p>I thought of the note that I was carrying to the +runaway’s mother.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he means business,” says I, thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“<em>Him</em> run away?” says Peg, hooting at the +idea. “Tell me next that the moon is made of +green cheese and see if I believe <em>that</em>.”</p> + +<p>Poppy laughed at his thoughts.</p> + +<p>“After a night or two in the old manse he’ll +be glad enough to go home to Aunt Pansy and +take his medicine.”</p> + +<p>“And what Aunt Pansy will do to him,” says +Peg, whistling. “Spat-spat-spat on his china +end.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> +I squirmed at the turn of the conversation.</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” says I gloomily, “he isn’t the only +kid in Tutter who’ll get a spat-spat-spat on his +china end.”</p> + +<p>Coming into town, the others let me out of +the wagon close to my home.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you coming, too?” says I to Poppy.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I guess I better go down to the jail and see +Pa. For he gets lonesome for me.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll meet you after supper at the medicine +show,” says Scoop. “The invisible-ink letter is +all written, telling about the wonderful buried +treasure in the old manse cellar, and I’ve fixed it +with Spider Phelps to hook one of the Indian’s +sheets to-night when they’re passed out and switch +it for mine. See? Then Spider’s going to offer +my sheet to Bid, who, of course, will jump at the +chance of getting a ‘spirit letter.’” There was a +contented laugh. “And this is <em>some</em> letter, eh, +Poppy?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell the world!” says the leader.</p> + +<p>“I can imagine Bid’s excitement when he reads +it,” says Scoop. “He’ll show it to his gang, of +course, for he won’t have the nerve to go into the +cemetery all alone. We’ll have an eye on them. +And when they start for the cemetery to dig up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> +the treasure we’ll take a short-cut and get there +ahead of them, hiding to see the fun. Red will +be on the lookout for us. I told him not to show +a light. And we’re to give a ‘mewing cat’ signal, +so he’ll know for sure that it’s us, and not the +enemy.”</p> + +<p>I more than half suspected that Mother or Dad +would be waiting for me at the front door with +a paddle. So I didn’t put on any speed in approaching +the house. To the contrary I sort of +piecemealed along.</p> + +<p>But, to my surprise, the house was closed.</p> + +<p>“Looking for your folks, Jerry?” says Mr. +Dodson, who lives next door to us.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” says I.</p> + +<p>“The marshal was here this afternoon to see +your pa about something. Then Mr. and Mrs. +Meyers came over and they all drove away in the +direction of Ashton.”</p> + +<p>Well, this was cheerful news!</p> + +<p>Two hours passed and still my folks hadn’t +come home. But this didn’t surprise me. The +county courthouse is in Ashton. That is where +the Tutter people go to get marriage licenses and +dog tags. And now I had the feeling that my +parents were at the courthouse trying hard to get +a pardon for me. They undoubtedly believed me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> +to be as guilty as Red. But even so they wouldn’t +want to see me go to jail. For I was just a boy. +More than that I was <em>their</em> boy. And they loved +me.</p> + +<p>When dusk came I went down town. And who +should I bump into, in turning a corner, but Bill +Hadley himself. At sight of the marshal’s big +star I pretty nearly panaked.</p> + +<p>“Kid,” says the officer, putting a heavy hand on +me, “I’ve bin lookin’ fur you.”</p> + +<p>I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.</p> + +<p>“Lulu kept supper waitin’ on you fur mor’n +an hour,” says Bill, naming his wife, an old school +teacher of mine, as I say, and a chum of Mother’s. +“What’s the idea of disappointin’ us? Don’t you +like our grub? Or didn’t you git your ma’s +note?”</p> + +<p>“Note?” says I, dizzy.</p> + +<p>“I was up to your house this afternoon talkin’ +with your pa about goin’ fishin’. Then Mr. and +Mrs. Meyers come over and started coaxin’ your +folks to go with them to some kind of a party in +Ashton. Your ma said she didn’t like to go away +and leave you to git your own supper. ‘Shucks,’ +says I, ‘me an’ Lulu we bin wantin’ Jerry to come +over to our house to supper fur a coon’s age. +You jest trot along,’ says I, ‘an’ we’ll take care +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> +of Jerry an’ see that he gits plenty to eat.’ Your +ma left a note fur you on the hall table. Didn’t +you find it?”</p> + +<p>“No,” says I, and I sort of felt myself over to +make sure that I wasn’t dreaming. I had expected +him to drag me off to jail. And here he was talking +to me like a chum!</p> + +<p>Well, he took me into a restaurant and ordered +some fried potatoes and beefsteak for me, with a +lot of stuff on the side like apple pie with ice +cream on it and two kinds of bread and dill +pickles and fried cakes and jello and pears. There +was pudding, too, and strawberry shortcake and +some kind of a salad with chopped-up red peppers +in it. Still dazed, I ate everything they set out. +They brought me a second portion of meat and +potatoes and I ate that. There was a big bowl +of soup crackers near my plate and I ate that. I +didn’t leave a single cracker. As I look back the +wonder to me is that I didn’t eat the toothpicks +or gnaw a hunk out of the wooden counter. With +the law standing behind me, urging me on, eating +seemed to be a sort of duty. So everything went +down.</p> + +<p>Bill was called away before I had the counter +cleaned off. I was glad of that. He had talked +to me like a friend, but I couldn’t quite get away +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> +from the worried feeling that I’d wake up and +find myself in handcuffs. Besides I was having +hard work now to get the food down. I didn’t +seem to have any room for it.</p> + +<p>Staggering out of the restaurant, I bumped into +Tommy Hegan, a neighbor kid.</p> + +<p>“Golly Ned!” says he, laughing. “You sure +did scare the wits out of old Mose this afternoon. +He thinks your cistern is haunted. How did you +work it, Jerry?”</p> + +<p>I loosened my belt and drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>“Work it?” says I. “Work what?”</p> + +<p>“The voice.”</p> + +<p>“What voice?”</p> + +<p>“The voice in the cistern that said, ‘Polly wants +breakfast.’ I laughed when Mose told me about +it. He says he wouldn’t go near your cistern +again, to finish the job of cleaning it, for a hundred +dollars. It was a pretty slick trick, all right. +Tell me how you worked it, Jerry.”</p> + +<p><em>Red’s parrot!</em> I saw the whole thing in a +flash. He had dumped the parrot into the cistern +along with the other stuff. And instead of being +dead, as we had supposed, the bird had been in +a faint. And now it was recovered! And the +law as yet hadn’t found out about the silverware!</p> + +<p>Boy, was I ever glad! Hoop-a-la! I kicked up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> +my heels, only I couldn’t kick very high because +my tight stomach was sort of in the way of my +knees. Then down the street I went, lickety-cut, +and into our back yard. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/i_200.jpg" + alt="Polly wants breakfast"> + <p class="caption">“POLLY WANTS BREAKFAST!” CAME IN A WILTED HOLLOW +VOICE FROM THE CISTERN.</p> + <p class="center"><i>Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot.</i>   <a href="#breakfast"><i>Page 198</i></a></p> +</div><!--end figcenter--> + + +<p>“Polly!” says I, putting my head into the black +cistern. “Polly!”</p> + +<p><a id="breakfast"></a>“Breakfast,” came a wilted hollow voice from +the in-flow tile. “Polly wants breakfast.”</p> + +<p>The thing to do, I figured out quickly, was to +tell Red that his parrot was alive and then help +him get it out of the cistern. It would help our +case if we could get the bird back into its cage +before our folks returned from Ashton. And if +we could succeed in bailing up the silverware so +much the better.</p> + +<p>I started for the cemetery on the run, telling +myself that things were looking a lot brighter for +us. And now comes the part of my story that +always gives Mother the shivers.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h3> +</div> + +<h4>VOODOOED</h4> + + +<p>Coming to the dark cemetery, I paused to get +my wind, my eyes anxiously seeking the path that +I had to take among the tombstones in order to +reach my chum. How weird the white shafts +looked in the filtered light! They seemed to be +crouching, listening. I shivered, dreading at the +moment to enter the spooky place.</p> + +<p>Then I got a grip on myself. It was only a +person’s fear of dark cemeteries, I told myself, +that made such places dangerous. It wasn’t the +scheme of the dead to harm the living.</p> + +<p>So, entering the cemetery in bolstered courage, +I hurried along the gravel road, trying not to let +myself believe that something was following me. +But I kept looking back as a sort of precaution. I +couldn’t help it. Try going through a cemetery +some dark night and see how <em>you</em> feel. Once a +branch twisted under my foot and slapped me on +the leg. Boy, did I ever jump!</p> + +<p>The pines that I passed under were a hundred + +years old. And there were tombstones in the +cemetery fully as old as the trees. Once upon +a time a Scottish church, called a kirk, had stood +on this hill. A fire had wiped out the church. +But the manse and the churchyard remained.</p> + +<p>I had to pass close to the empty grave. And at +sight of it queer thoughts crept into my mind. +Had Caleb actually ordered it for his own use in +strange foreboding of his early death? Had he +been voodooed? Was he dead, as the Cap’n +suspected?</p> + +<p>“Dea-a-ad!” mournfully whispered the pines, +picking up the thread of my thoughts. “Dea-a-ad! +Dea-a-ad!”</p> + +<p>Coming to the old manse, a black pile in the +crowding darkness, I put my head in at the door.</p> + +<p>“Red,” says I, breathing my chum’s name.</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Remembering about the +cat signal, I gave a loud, “Meow!” Still no +response from within.</p> + +<p>“Red,” says I, louder. “It’s me—Jerry. I’ve +got some good news for you.”</p> + +<p>Lighting a match, I stepped, trembling, into the +building, my eyes seeking a safe path. The frying +pan and ham, I noticed, were on their respective +coffin-case shelves. But of the runaway himself +there was no sign.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> +“Red,” says I again, raising my voice. “<em>Red.</em>”</p> + +<p>What I didn’t know was that the “runaway” +had gone home, like the big baby that he was at +heart. His “Montana” talk was all a bluff. In +sending the note home he had figured that his +mother would make me tell her where her “erring +son” was. Then, of course, mamma and Aunt +Pansy, all flustered, would hurry around to the +front door of the manse with the family sedan, +begging Sonny, on bended knees, to please come +home again and give up his intended scheme of +scalping Indians and Gila monsters. In getting +him back into the family circle their joy, of +course, would be so great that they would forget +all about wanting to punish him.</p> + +<p>Oh, Red’s tricky, all right! But what had sort +of upset things for him was the unexpected +absence of his folks. His mother being away, I +had been unable to deliver his note, and consequently +no one had come for him, as he had +expected they would, with the willing promise +that all would be forgiven. He had held out +until sundown, and then, shaking, had lit out for +home. Late that night his folks found him sound +asleep on their back porch, the empty custard +dish in his lap.</p> + +<p>But, of course, I didn’t know about the runaway’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> +deceitful scheme until later on. And searching +for him unsuccessfully in the old manse, I +became terrified at the thought that something +had happened to him.</p> + +<p>“Red,” says I in a trembling voice. And going +to the doorway into the cellar I peered down the +stairs. “<em>Red.</em>”</p> + +<p>The rotten stairs suddenly collapsing under my +weight, I was pitched, screaming, into the dark, +foul-smelling hole. Plaster and rubbish showered +around me. Feeling about to get my bearings, +my left hand suddenly touched something yielding. +Like an inflated football. I froze in sudden +horror. For I knew that the thing I had touched +in the dark was no football, but <em>a dead man’s +face</em>.</p> + +<p>I fumbled in my pocket for a match. Getting +one, I struck it. The small blaze gave me a +glimpse of a stretched-out form that had been +hidden from our sight that afternoon by the +stairs. As I had suspected, it was old Caleb +Obed!</p> + +<p>I hadn’t believed the voodoo story in first hearing +it—it was a crazy tale, I had said. But after +the mysterious appearance of the black parrot in +my bed I had been doing some thinking. And +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> +now I knew the truth of the matter. There was +no longer room for doubt. The parrot’s story +was only too true.</p> + +<p>How I got out of that stairless hole I don’t +know. But I did get out, somehow. And, screaming, +I ran out of the cemetery and down the road +into town, where, completely forgetting about my +promise to the Cap’n, I sounded the alarm of the +tragedy in the street. When the story got to Bill +Hadley’s ears he loaded his flivver full of excited +men and drove up the Happy Hollow road on +the tear.</p> + +<p>Realizing that Dad ought to know the truth +about my part in the death parrot’s escape, I ran +home, still trembling, determined to tell my parents +the whole story from beginning to end. For +I realized that immediate steps should be taken +to kill the weird parrot. Otherwise it might +voodoo some one else. Every minute that it was +permitted to live human lives were in danger.</p> + +<p>Finding the house still in darkness, I switched +on the lights. As I did so the clock struck ten. +How queerly I felt! I suddenly noticed it. I +worked my dizzy head on its rubbery support. +Then I noticed a peculiar pain in my left foot.</p> + +<p>Taking off my shoe and stocking, I found a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> +swollen ankle. The foot had been bleeding, too. +There were matted drops on my big toe.</p> + +<p>Puzzled at first to account for the injury, I +suddenly remembered that <em>this</em> was the foot that +had touched the voodoo parrot in the bed.</p> + +<p>Say, if ever there was a scared kid in the whole +history of the world it was <em>me</em>. The terrible +thought jumped into my head that I had been +voodooed. The parrot had nipped me in the bed +without the slight injury showing at the time.</p> + +<p>I tried hard to fight down my fears. I didn’t +want to believe that I had been voodooed. For, +if I had, I would die. There were no “if’s” and +“and’s” about that. The result of the voodoo +was <em>death</em>. The Cap’n had said so, and Caleb +Obed’s death had proved it. The bare thought +of it drove me out of my senses.</p> + +<p>“Dad!” says I, running madly through the +empty house. “Dad! Mother! Dad!”</p> + +<p>But there was no one there to help me.</p> + +<p>Then to my great joy the front door bell rang. +In the hall my hand touched something cold ... the +marble-topped table. <em>Marble!</em> I shrank back +in horror. For marble was what tombstones +were made of.</p> + +<p>“Good evening,” bowed the man at the door, +and I saw in added horror that he carried a bouquet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> +of calla lilies. “I am a stranger in town. +Can you direct me to the home of Mr. W. W. +Graves?”</p> + +<p><em>Graves! Calla lilies!</em> I slammed the door +shut in the stranger’s face, for I could think of +him only as an omen of death itself. Suddenly +weak in the knees, I dropped, panting, into a seat +in the hall. <em>Marble! Graves! Calla lilies!</em> The +sweat ran down my cheeks.</p> + +<p>The dizzy feeling was now in my crammed +stomach. Everything that I had eaten for supper +was going around and around. First the strawberry +shortcake chased the dill pickles, then the +jello played horse with the pepper salad. To +vary the lively program, the pears and everything +else lined up in a game of leapfrog.</p> + +<p>I had turned on the parlor lights, wanting to +drive away every particle of darkness. And there +on the parlor wall within range of my eyes, +nodding at me in the bright light, was my dead +Grandfather Todd’s picture. The eyes held a +new expression. They seemed to be <em>beckoning</em> +to me.</p> + +<p>Was I crazy?</p> + +<p>I ran out of the house. The shortcake now +had a strangle hold on the jello’s windpipe. The +latter’s death struggles grew fainter and fainter. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> +Then the beefsteak, galloping to the jello’s rescue, +kicked the shortcake in the seat of the pants and +the fight started all over again.</p> + +<p>I bumped into a man in the street.</p> + +<p>“Howdy, Jerry,” says Mr. Ump. My eyes +bulged at sight of the long package under the sexton’s +arm. All I could think of was a new shovel.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, having tripped on the sidewalk +in front of Mr. Kaar’s undertaking parlor, +I tumbled into Doc Leland’s office, where I faced +six or seven surprised men, among them Bill +Hadley and Scoop’s father. A meeting of some +kind was in progress. But the meeting broke up +in a hurry, let me tell you, when I galloped into +the room, capless, wearing only one shoe and +stocking, yelling to Doc to get busy and save my +life.</p> + +<p>Springing up, Bill took my arms and drew my +face close to his.</p> + +<p>“Why, Jerry!” says he, searching my eyes. +“What’s the matter?” Then he laughed. “Have +you found another ‘dead man’?”</p> + +<p>The whole story came out then—how we had +let the death parrot escape and how it had voodooed +Caleb Obed, killing him, and how I had +been voodooed in the Cap’n’s bed, and, in consequence, +had been seeing graves with marble tops +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> +and sextons carrying long-handled strawberry +shortcakes trimmed with calla lilies.</p> + +<p>“Um ...” grunted Doc, getting the hang of +my wild story. “H’ist up that foot that’s bin +voodooed an’ let me take a peek at it.”</p> + +<p>The men were laughing now. And I wondered +at it.</p> + +<p>“Um ...” says Doc, examining the inflamed +ankle. “Bin swimmin’ in the creek, hain’t you?”</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“P’ison ivy,” says he, with a grunt. Thumping +me in the stomach, he inquired what I had had +for supper.</p> + +<p>“Beefsteak and fried potatoes,” says I, “and +strawberry shortcake and pepper salad and dill +pickles and jello and apple pie with ice cream on +it and pears and——”</p> + +<p>“That’ll do,” says Doc, and he acted as though +he was sort of disgusted with me. I guess he had +the idea that I had been eating too much. I was +beginning to think so myself.</p> + +<p>Bill was laughing his head off now.</p> + +<p>“Why, kid,” says he, patting me on the back +to brace me up, “you hain’t bin voodooed. That +fall of your’n into the cemetery cellar upset your +nerves. You’ve bin lettin’ yourself imagine +things.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> +Mr. Ellery winked at Doc.</p> + +<p>“I think,” says he, laughing, “that the boy’s +stomach has been upset worse than his nerves.”</p> + +<p>“Old Caleb hain’t dead, Jerry,” Bill went on. +“You thought he was. But he hain’t. We +brought him home a few minutes ago. He’s +drunk, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>I was still dizzy.</p> + +<p>“And he wasn’t voodooed?” says I.</p> + +<p>Bill laughed and gave me another friendly pat +on the back.</p> + +<p>“Kid,” says he, “you’re funny.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> +<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h3> +</div> + +<h4>WHAT WE CAPTURED</h4> + + +<p>Doc Leland had me lay down on a couch in +his office while he doped my ankle with medicine.</p> + +<p>“Um ...” says he, in the course of his work. +“How does that feel?”</p> + +<p>“It stings,” says I, fidgeting.</p> + +<p>“Of course it does. But that hain’t a-goin’ to +kill you.”</p> + +<p>I was told then that I would be all right again +in a few days, but I wasn’t to do any more swimming +in the creek. For the sluggish stream was +full of poison, Doc said.</p> + +<p>The meeting was going on in the room. And +from the earnest conversation of the business men +I gathered that they were up in arms over old +Caleb’s spree. It was a disgrace to the community, +Mr. Ellery declared.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a boy growing up,” says he, meaning +Scoop, “and if I am to expect him to properly +respect his country’s laws, and abide by them, I’ve +got to do my part, as a parent and citizen, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> +you fathers have got to do the same, to see that +the laws are obeyed. In short, gentlemen, we’ve +got to set our growing boys a good example in +law enforcement and cease this milk-and-water +attitude of ours toward a vicious traffic that we +know exists in our midst. That is why I suggested +this informal meeting.”</p> + +<p>“I have said right along,” says Mr. Fisher of +the Chamber of Commerce, nodding in approval +of Mr. Ellery’s speech, “that we could stop the +moonshine traffic if we got together.”</p> + +<p>Bill’s face reddened.</p> + +<p>“Is that an insinuation, Fisher, that I hain’t +bin doin’ my duty?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” says Mr. Ellery quickly. “We +didn’t get together to-night to criticize anybody +but ourselves. The point is, as I see it, that we, +as a community, have been entirely too lackadaisical +in our support of our officer.”</p> + +<p>“Until lately,” says Bill, “we hain’t had an +awful sight of ‘moon’ in town. As fur old Caleb’s +case, I’ve got a’ idear who sold him the stuff. +But if we were to raid the guy I doubt if we’d +git any evidence. Fur them fellers is reg’lar +snakes in coverin’ up their tracks.”</p> + +<p>“Who is this bootlegger?” says Mr. Fisher.</p> + +<p>Bill gave a name that surprised and excited me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> +“Why! ...” says I, drawing the attention of +the men to my couch. “Maybe this bootlegger +is the burglar.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s dead silence.</p> + +<p>“By gum,” says Bill, giving me a warm look, +“I never thought of <em>that</em>.”</p> + +<p>Doc’s office adjoins the emergency rooms. And +at this point the public health nurse tapped on the +connecting door and entered.</p> + +<p>“I thought you might want to know,” says she +to Doc, “that Cap’n Tinkertop has partially +regained his senses. He tells a queer story about +a ghost—as I understand it, the ghost of a dead +sailor brother. It might quiet him if you were to +talk with him.”</p> + +<p>“Um ...” says Doc. “So he’s got somethin’ +to tell us about a ghost, has he? That must ’a’ bin +the ‘it’ that he seen night before last.”</p> + +<p>Here the Cap’n himself pottered into the room, +having gotten out of bed of his own accord.</p> + +<p>“Caleb,” says he huskily, searching the room +with restless troubled eyes. “Caleb. Hais any +of you gentlemen seed anything of ol’ Caleb +Obed? I’ve bin lookin’ fur him. But I kain’t +find him.”</p> + +<p>Doc got the trembling patient safely into a +chair.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> +“Saturday,” says the old man, mumbling to +himself. “Ham said—I was to give him—the +money—on Saturday night. Ham said——”</p> + +<p>“He’s talking about his brother,” says I to +Doc.</p> + +<p>“But his brother’s dead.”</p> + +<p>The old man’s ears caught this.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” says he, nodding slowly, “my brother’s +daid. Ham, I mean. But he come back. He +allus said he would, an’ he did.” Again the +troubled eyes searched the room, as though the +muddled brain was seeking a way out of its confusion. +“Don’t you un’erstand? It was his <em>ghost</em> +that I seed—his <em>spirit</em>. I woke up sudden. An’ +thar he was at the foot of the bed. An’ he said—he +said—I was to give him back—his money. He +said—I haid lost his par’ot—I haidn’t kep’ my +part of the ’greement—an’ I was to give him back +his money—on Saturday night.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Ellery had been listening attentively.</p> + +<p>“What money is he talking about, Jerry?”</p> + +<p>I explained about the insurance money.</p> + +<p>The merchant gave a dry laugh.</p> + +<p>“I never was quite foolish enough to believe +in ghosts,” says he, “and particularly am I unwilling +to take stock in a ghost that tries to collect its +own insurance money.” He paused in deep +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> +thought. “I wonder,” he went on, “if we aren’t +in touch with some kind of a scheme to defraud +the insurance company that carried the two-thousand-dollar +policy. To that point, this man +Ham may not be dead at all. He may have faked +a death, scheming to recover the insurance money +in trickery from his not overly bright brother.”</p> + +<p>Bill was grim now.</p> + +<p>“I’m beginnin’ to think,” says he, waggling, +“that they is some close connection between this +bootlegger an’ the Cap’n’s ghost. Fur, as Jerry +says, the robberies followed this feller’s appearance +in town, so why not this other trick, too? +Anyway, this bein’ Saturday night, we’ll jest do a +little investigatin’ in that quarter.” Pausing, he +looked at me and laughed in his rough way. +“How would you like to git in the Cap’n’s bed +ag’in, Jerry?”</p> + +<p>“Nothin’ doin’,” says I, shivering.</p> + +<p>“No? Well, calc’late we’ll have to use Fisher +then. Fur he’s jest about the Cap’n’s size. Come +on, men.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going, too,” says I, jumping up.</p> + +<p>I looked for my chums in the street, but to my +disappointment they were nowhere in sight. +Presently we turned the corner into School Street. +In the Cap’n’s store Mr. Fisher got into the old +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> +man’s bed, as I had done the preceding night, +while the other men distributed themselves +throughout the store in good hiding places. I +was in the bedroom closet with Bill. And, boy, +maybe you think I wasn’t excited!</p> + +<p>There was a long wait. At least it seemed +like an age to me. I heard the sitting-room clock +strike eleven; then eleven-thirty.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a hand pressed mine in the dark.</p> + +<p>“There!” says Bill, breathing the word in my +ear.</p> + +<p>I had heard the sound, too—some one, or +<em>something</em>, was on the roof. Yet I had to stretch +my ears to detect the light, muffled footsteps. We +heard the scuttle open. There were parrot-like +footfalls in the attic. Then the trapdoor in the +sitting-room ceiling was drawn up. Following a +short, deep silence, a rope fell with a slight thud +to the floor. To a deep sleeper all of these +sounds would have passed unnoticed.</p> + +<p>We had left a lamp burning low in the room. +And through the crack in the closet door I now +saw the dead sailor’s “ghost” approach the foot +of the bed, white-faced, its eyes staring and glassy, +its breast bared to show the tattooing. At this +point the bed creaked slightly. Afterwards the +men joked Mr. Fisher, accusing him of shivering. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> +And to that point maybe he did shiver. It +wouldn’t have been so very surprising. Even +with my hand in Bill’s I sort of shivered myself.</p> + +<p>“B-b-boaz Tinkertop,” stuttered the ghost, in +a graveyard voice, “you have lost my p-p-parrot. +You have let it fall into e-e-evil hands. So, having +broken your s-s-solemn promise to me, I +d-d-demand my money back. <em>Give me my +m-m-money!</em>”</p> + + +<p>Here Bill threw open the closet door and +flashed his gun.</p> + +<p>“Hands up!” he roared, which was a signal +for the other men to tumble into the room.</p> + +<p>Well, my story really ends with the “ghost’s” +capture. As you probably have guessed, the +“ghost” was the Indian medicine man. But the +captured one was no real Indian—he was a +younger black-sheep brother of the Cap’n’s, a +man long since disowned by his two older law-abiding +brothers. At one time he had been a +character actor in an Indian play, which explains +how the “Indian” idea had become fixed in his +head. Of a naturally tricky mind, traveling +around the country in his later years in Indian +disguise selling fake medicine publicly and moonshine +secretly was stuff to his liking.</p> + +<p>Angered in getting no lawful share of his oldest +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> +brother’s life insurance money, he had thought +up the scheme of stealing the death parrot from +its new owner and playing “ghost,” knowing how +very superstitious the Cap’n was. It was to find +out where the black parrot was hidden in the +store that he had spied through the alley windows. +Fortunate for his evil purpose he had seen us +take the strange parrot out of its wall hole, as I +have written down. That was on Monday night—his +first night in town. On Tuesday night he +had robbed the brickyard safe. Having found +in old Caleb a steady customer for his moonshine, +he had gone to the old bachelor’s home late +Wednesday night, hoping to sell still more liquor. +In the open house he had seen the stuffed black +parrot, and, stealing it in a queer turn of humor, +had directly afterwards switched it for the sooted +parrot. In stealing the live parrot that night he +had thought, of course, that he was getting possession +of Solomon Grundy. Later that same +night he had robbed the Meyers’ home. And +how the sooted parrot got away from him there +you already know.</p> + +<p>To-day as a result of his evil life he is in jail. +The money that he stole from the brickyard safe +was recovered, and out of the three thousand dollars +we got five hundred dollars. Dad groaned +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> +in paying us this big amount of money. But he +had promised us one hundred dollars apiece if +we captured the burglar, so he had to keep his +word.</p> + +<p>Poppy rented a home on Elm Street with his +share of the money and stocked the house with +stuff to eat. He bought some second-hand furniture, +too. However, he didn’t have to buy very +much furniture, for our folks gave him a lot of +stuff. Mr. Ott, of course, was freed, but I really +think he was sorry to leave his comfortable cell. +Strange to say a warm friendship had sprung up +between the old man and Bill. And to-day these +two men get together and talk “detective” stuff +by the hour. Poppy says, though, that his father, +now a regular employee of Dad’s, has given up +all hope of ever being a successful sleuth.</p> + +<p>A rough man, Ham Tinkertop had taught his +weird parrot its “blood” talk. And it was the +sailor, tattooed himself, who had tattooed his +two brothers and old Caleb. There was no mystery +in the tattooing on the Cap’n’s and old +Caleb’s breasts, nor was there any mystery in the +dead sailor’s odd picture. As for the new grave, +it was generally concluded that old Caleb had +been drinking when he had ordered the grave dug. +I am glad to write down in conclusion that we got +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> +the old man to sign a temperance pledge. And he +has kept his word, too. To-day he hates the filthy +stuff. I wish all men hated it. For, as Dad says, +moonshine is poison. And the thing for a fellow +to do, if he has any pride in himself, is to leave +it alone. Bu-lieve me, I’m never going to act +smart when <em>I</em> grow up and drink any of the rotten +stuff.</p> + +<p>If Mrs. Strange ever got track of her stolen +mino bird I never heard about it. It wasn’t her +dead bird that old Caleb had. I sometimes think +it was a lucky thing for me that her bird was +stolen. For it was through the bird’s theft that +Poppy came to our town to live. I sure do like +that kid. I never expect to have a pal that I like +any better. And he feels the same way toward +me. It’s bully to have a pal like that. So, as I +say, I can’t feel sorry that the Cedarburg +woman’s bird was stolen. What was her loss +was my gain.</p> + +<p>Able again to take care of his bird business, the +Cap’n confessed to us one morning that in his +fear of the death parrot he had secretly advertised +the bird for sale. He knew he was doing +wrong. His conscience had hurt him, he said. +And this probably explains why he had been so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> +terror stricken when the dead man’s accusing +“ghost” came.</p> + +<p>That same week we captured Solomon Grundy +in Bid Stricker’s hen house. Bid himself had +earlier caught the bird, and, in an intended trick +on the parrot dealer (he had found out somehow +that the Cap’n had lost a black parrot), had put +the bird in the old man’s bed, not knowing that the +storekeeper had been taken to the emergency +rooms. The enemy chief kept out of our sight +while we were in his yard. He has given us a +wide berth ever since his recent “adventure” in +digging up a certain “buried treasure” consisting +of four five-cent toy wheelbarrows!</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, in conclusion I must tell you about +poor Red. I slipped into his yard the Monday +after Bart Tinkertop’s arrest, and there sat funny face +on the back porch steps polishing silverware +to beat the cars. He had a cushion under him. +His aunt was on the porch feeding crackers to her +half-starved parrot. And when I meandered +around the corner of the house she looked at me +as though I was some miserable thing that the +cat had dragged in. So I promptly meandered +back home again.</p> + +<p>I don’t like that woman!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> +And that is all for this time. In another book, +POPPY OTT’S SEVEN-LEAGUE STILTS, I +will tell you how my new chum and I went into +business and made considerable money. Boy, did +we ever have fun! A smart rich kid who thought +he was better than us tried to kick our business in +the seat of the pants. But, bu-lieve me, <em>he</em> got a +kick in the seat of the pants before we got through +with him. The things Poppy did, with my help, +make a mighty interesting story, I think. There +is a strange old man in this new book. Br-r-r-r! +Through him we became entangled in a most +amazing and most bewildering mystery. Talk +about a shivery adventure! If <em>you</em> don’t shiver +when you read this new book, the title of which +I have given above, I’ll miss my guess.</p> + + +<p class="p2 center">THE END</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4> +<p>Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent +hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged. Jargon, dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings +were left unchanged.</p> + +<p>Obvious printing errors, such as +missing or reversed order letters and punctuation, +were corrected. Eight misspelled words were corrected.</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75550 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75550-h/images/cover.jpg b/75550-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..152918a --- /dev/null +++ b/75550-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75550-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/75550-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..22ce8ed --- /dev/null +++ b/75550-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/75550-h/images/i_008.jpg b/75550-h/images/i_008.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..827bc59 --- /dev/null +++ b/75550-h/images/i_008.jpg diff --git a/75550-h/images/i_032.jpg b/75550-h/images/i_032.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4127c90 --- /dev/null +++ b/75550-h/images/i_032.jpg diff --git a/75550-h/images/i_200.jpg b/75550-h/images/i_200.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c36392f --- /dev/null +++ b/75550-h/images/i_200.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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