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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 *** |