SWATTING THE SPY—CONTINUED
We didn’t swat him in that chapter because I had to go to supper, but
we’ll surely swat him in this one. Positively guaranteed.
Pee-wee was proud that he made such a hit with the old gentleman and
especially because he got so many books from him. But when he realized
that the paper I found in one of the books had something to do with
spying, it was all Mr. Ellsworth could do to keep him quiet. He told us
all not to say anything, because maybe, the old man might find out that
he was going to be nabbed and go away. I guess Pee-wee felt pretty
important. Anyway I know he was frightened, because all the next morning
he kept asking me if he’d have to go to court and things like that.
“The only court you’ll go to, is the tennis court,” I told him; so we
made up a set with my two sisters, Ruth and Marjorie, and the girls beat
us three games. While we were playing, along came Mr. Ellsworth and
Commissioner Terry with two strange men, and I could see Pee-wee was
very nervous. They sent the girls away and then began to ask Pee-wee
questions. I could see that they thought the discovery we made was
pretty serious.
“Are you the boy that found the paper in the book?” they asked me. Then
they wanted to know what kind of a book it was, and I told them it was a
book about German history and they screwed up their faces and looked
very suspicious.
“You say that the man spoke broken English?” one of them asked Pee-wee.
Pee-wee was kind of nervous, I could see. “It—it—well it wasn’t
exactly broken,” he said.
“Just a little bent,” I said, and oh, you ought to have seen the frown
Mr. Ellsworth gave me.
“It was kind of—just a little——” Pee-wee began.
“We understand,” one of the men said. Then the other one spoke to us. He
said, “Boys, we want you to go over with us and we want this youngster
to identify the man. You needn’t be afraid, Uncle Sam is with you.”
But, cracky, I didn’t like it and I guess Pee-wee didn’t either. I’ve
read stories about boys that had men arrested and all that, and I always
thought I’d like to be one of those regular heroes. But when it came to
really doing it, I knew then that I didn’t like to help arrest anybody,
and I bet most real fellows feel the same way. I felt funny, kind of.
That’s why I have no use for young detectives in stories, because I know
you’ve got to be a grown-up man to feel that way and do things like
that.
They had an automobile right near the tennis courts and we all got in
and Pee-wee and I sat in back with our scoutmaster. Cracky, I was glad
our scoutmaster was along, that’s one sure thing.
Pretty soon we got to Little Valley and Pee-wee pointed out the big
white house with the lawn and the flag flying there. Jiminy, but it
looked good and I wished we were up at Temple Camp, raising our colors
near the boat landing.
While we were going up the gravel path, the old gentleman came out on
his porch and looked at us and I felt kind of ashamed and I could see
Pee-wee did too. But, cracky, I’ve got no use for spies, that’s one sure
thing. Pee-wee and I kind of hung behind and I guess he felt funny, sort
of, when the old gentleman waved his hand to him, as if they were old
friends.
I can’t remember all they said but the two men who I knew were
detectives showed the old gentleman the paper and asked him what it
meant. First he seemed kind of flustered and angry and I know Pee-wee’s
heart was thumping—anyway it would have been thumping, except that it
was up in his throat.
Then the men said that they’d have to search the house to see if there
was a wireless and then the old gentleman got angry; then all of a
sudden he sat down in one of the wicker chairs on the porch and began to
laugh and laugh and laugh. Then he looked at Pee-wee and said,
“I suppose this is the young gentleman who succeeded in trapping me. I
must take off my hat to the Boy Scouts,” and he smiled with an awful
pleasant kind of a smile and held out his hand to Pee-wee.
Well, you should have seen Pee-wee. It was as good as a three-ringed
circus. He stood there as if he was posing for animal crackers. And even
the detectives looked kind of puzzled, but all the while suspicious.
“Are you the spy-catcher?” the old gentleman said to Pee-wee, but
Pee-wee looked all flabbergasted and only shifted from one foot to the
other.
“I hope you don’t mean to kill me with that belt-axe?” the old gentleman
asked. But Pee-wee just couldn’t speak.
“He must be a telephone girl—he doesn’t answer,” I blurted out, and
even the detectives had to laugh.
“Gentlemen, if you will step inside, I’ll make full confession and then
give myself up,” the old man said; “for I see there is no use in trying
to escape the Boy Scouts. It was I who wrote that treasonable memorandum
and I may as well tell you that I have a wireless. I will give you my
whole history. I see that my young friend here is a most capable secret
service agent.”
“We’re only small boys—we belong to the infantry,” I said, for I just
couldn’t help blurting it out.
Well, we all went inside and I could see that the Commissioner and the
detectives kept very near the old gentleman as if they didn’t have much
use for his laughing and his pleasant talk. I guess maybe they were used
to that kind of thing, and he couldn’t fool them.
When we got into his library I saw books all around on the shelves,
hundreds of them I guess, and the desk was covered with papers and there
was a picture of Mark Twain with “Best regards to Mr. Donnelle,” written
on it. Gee whittaker, I thought when I looked around; maybe Mr. Donnelle
is a deep-dyed spy all right, but he’s sure a high-brow.
“You’d have to take an elevator to get up to him,” I whispered to
Pee-wee.
“Shhh,” Pee-wee said, “maybe he isn’t dyed so very deep—there’s
different shades of dyes.”
“Maybe he’s only dyed a light gray or a pale blue,” I said.
Then Mr. Donnelle got out a big fat red book that said on it “Who’s Who
in America” and, jiminy, I’m glad I never had to study it, because it
had about a million pages. I hate biography anyway—biography and
arithmetic. Then he turned to a certain page.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “if you will just read this I will then
consent to go with you,” and he smiled all over his face.
The four men leaned over and began reading, but Pee-wee and I didn’t
because they didn’t ask us and Boy Scouts don’t butt in.
“I bet it tells all about German spies and everything, and now he’s
going to make a full confession,” Pee-wee said; “maybe our names will be
in the New York papers, hey?”
“They’ll be more likely to be in the fly-paper,” I said; “there’s
something funny about this.”
“I bet he was going to blow up some ships,” Pee-wee said.
“I bet he’ll blow _us_ up in a minute,” I told him; because I could see
that he was saying something to the men while they all looked at the
book, and that the whole four of them were laughing—especially Mr.
Ellsworth.
“It was the elder boy who discovered it,” I heard him say, smiling all
the while.
“_Good night!_” I said to Pee-wee, “I thought we had a German in
custody, but instead of that, we’re in Dutch!”
“Will they send us to jail?” he whispered.
“I think we’ll get about ten merit badges for this—not,” I said; “he’s
no spy.”
Well, the men didn’t pay much attention to us, only strolled over to one
side of the room and began chatting together, and Mr. Donnelle got a box
of cigars and they each took one.
“I wouldn’t smoke one of those cigars,” Pee-wee said, “they might be
bombs. The Germans are pretty tricky—safety first.”
Then Mr. Ellsworth came over to us, smiling all over his face. “Well,
boys,” he said, “I’m glad to say that our spy quest has gone up in
smoke. Mr. Donnelle is one of the best known authors of America. He is
writing a story of the war and our _dark_ memorandum is just a little
literary note of his about a spy among the American forces. I think we
shall find it a most interesting story when it is finished. It is full
of German intrigue and you will be glad to know that the imaginary spy
is caught and court-martialled. You have done a fine thing by your
discovery, for Mr. Donnelle has become greatly interested in the Scouts,
and especially in our young scout author.” Then he gave me a funny look.
“So you see our _dark_ memorandum was not so dark after all.”
“G-o-o-d night!” I said; “it was a kind of a pale white.”
“And I dare say,” Mr. Ellsworth said, all the while slapping me on the
shoulder, “that our deep-dyed villain is going to prove a very good
friend.”
“Even if you’re deep-dyed,” said Pee-wee, “sometimes the colors will run
and you won’t be so deep-dyed after all. My sister had a skirt and she
dyed it a deep——”
Honest, that kid is a scream.