Westy said, “Sh-h, do you hear anything inside?”
We both stood there listening, but there wasn’t a sound.
I said, “If it’s a bandit what will we do?”
“Shall I open the door?” he whispered.
He opened the door ever so little and we peeked in.
“Nothing there,” I said.
“Sh-h, yes, there is,” Westy whispered. “Look.”
Over in the corner was something that looked like a bag, and as I looked
at it I saw it was a person. It was a kid, about ten years old I guess.
He had a gray suit on. He was sound asleep.
“Some bandit,” Westy said. “Who is it, do you know?”
[Illustration: WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?]
I said, “Search me. That’s a funny looking outfit he’s got on. Shall we
wake him up?”
Westy said, “Sure.”
So we began shaking him and pretty soon he opened his eyes and began
gaping and staring. I guess the kid must have thought he was dreaming
because he curled up again. Then when I spoke he gave another yawn and
sat up and began rubbing his eyes and staring at us. His hair was all
mussed up and he reached for his hat, kind of half awake. Then I saw
that his hat and his suit were both made out of the same kind of stuff,
muslin sort of. I saw his shoes were awful thick, too. His suit was all
wrinkled and it didn’t fit him very well and he looked awful funny.
He was good and scared when he found he was really awake and that there
was somebody there. All of a sudden he stood up and he looked as if he
was going to make a break for the door. Then I saw that his trousers
came almost down to his ankles.
I said, “You needn’t be scared; we’re not going to hurt you.”
He said, “I wouldn’ leave yer take me back.”
I said, “Take you back where?”
We saw he was trying to edge around to the door, so Westy stood there so
he couldn’t get out. It was awful dark and damp in there. There were
spider-webs all around inside, and you could smell the earth. I lifted
up the board he had been lying on and there were all worms under it and
slugs that went scooting around.
I said, “What are you doing here? Where did you come from, anyway?”
He said, “If you don’t tell them, if you don’t take me back I’ll—I’ll
give you—as much as a thousand dollars.”
I said, “Thanks. You haven’t got it with you, have you?”
“I’m—I’m going to get it,” he said. “If you tell—if you take me
back—you’ll only get three hundred dollars.”
I said, “Three hundred dollars is nothing. I wouldn’t take you back for
less than five thousand including the war tax. We accept your
proposition. Now tell us where you came from. You don’t belong in
Bridgeboro?”
Poor little kid, he was so scared he was trembling all over. “If I tell
you, you’ll take me back,” he said. He looked at me as if he thought I
was crazy. Gee whiz, I guess he was right.
Westy said, “You came from some home or other?”
“Are you going to tell?” the kid asked us, good and scared.
“What home?” Westy asked him. “The Boys’ Home up in Willisville?”
“I wouldn’t go back there,” the kid said. “I’ll give you as much as a
thousand dollars——”
Gee whiz, he was a generous kid. I said, “Give us a cigarette, will
you?”
Good night, he pulled about three packages out of his pocket. He was a
walking cigar store. Some of the cigarettes were loose and all crunched
up. I took one of them and stuck it in my mouth.
Westy said, kind of surprised, “What are you doing?”
I said, “We should worry. We’re criminals, aren’t we? We’re up for arson
and we’re out on patrol or parole or whatever you call it. We’re going
from bad to worse. Got a match, kid?”
Oh, boy! He dug his hand into his pocket and fished out about a hundred.
They fell all over the floor.
I said, “You’ve got matches enough here to set the river on fire.”
Pretty soon out came a big pasteboard box like matches come in. It was
half full, and matches went falling out of it, all over the ground.
I said, “The next time you empty your pockets, kid, you’d better stand
in a bath tub. You don’t carry a fire extinguisher with you, do you?
What are you digging for now? The thousand dollars?”
“I got a cigar,” the kid said; “but it’s busted.”
I said, “You don’t happen to have a couple of corn-cob pipes, do you? Do
you give out certificates with tobacco? Look at this, Westy,” I said.
“Here’s about a thousand dollars’ worth of matches right here. This kid
is a whole sulphur mine. Where are you going to get the thousand
dollars, kid?” I asked him.
“I’m—I’m going to invent a submarine,” he said.
“Good night!” I said, going through his pockets for more matches.
“That’s a good idea. Under the water is about the safest place for you.
I hope you carry fire insurance. You started a peach of a fire last
night, didn’t you?”
“I can start a bigger one than that,” he said.
Just then I hauled out from one of his pockets a book. The cover was all
broken off it and it was all loose and torn. The title-page said SKYHIGH
SAM AND HIS SUBMARINE.
“Who’s this fellow?” I said.
“That’s a funny name for a kid that goes down in a submarine—Skyhigh.”
“He used to have a balloon,” the poor kid said.
I said, “Well, anyway, you’ve got him beat on matches. You started a
bigger fire than _he_ ever did, that’s one thing. What’s your name?”
“Sam,” he said.
“Cigarette Sam and his Famous Fire,” I said. “You’ve got Skyhigh beaten
twenty ways. You’re a _real_ hero. Come on, let’s go get something to
eat. Do you know how to eat? Never mind the matches. We’ll send a couple
of men down here with a wagon to get them.”
“Do I have to go back?” the poor little kid wanted to know.
“You stick to us,” I said. “We’ve got a wild, savage railroad car that
has never been tamed. You were in it last night. Did I guess right? That
railroad car has had more adventures than all Skyhigh’s submarines and
airships put together. That car can’t be kept in a domestic state. It
can’t even be kept in the state of New Jersey. If you want real
adventures come with us. Only I tell you beforehand it’s a wild life.
Now what do you say?”
Gee whiz, the poor kid looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. Maybe
I am, but what’s the difference? You can have a lot of fun when you’re
crazy.