HE DOES A GOOD TURN AND MAKES A DISCOVERY
"What became of the Schmitts?" Tom asked.
"It's aisy ter see ye've ben away from here," said Pete.
"I've only been back five days," Tom explained.
"Wal, if ye'd been here two weeks ago, ye'd know more'n ye know now
about it. Ye're a jack ashore, that's what ye are. Ye've got ter be
spruced up on the news. Did ye know the school house burned down?"
"Yes, I knew that."
"Wal--about this Schmitt, here; thar wuz two detectives come out from
Noo Yorrk--from the Fideral phad'ye call it. They wuz making inquiries
about Schmitt. Fer th' wan thing he wuz an aly-_an_, 'n' they hed some
raysons to think he wuz mixed up in plots. They wuz mighty close-mouthed
about it, so I heerd, 'n' they asked more'n they told. Nivir within half
a mile uv Schmitt did they go, but by gorry, he gits wind uv it 'n'
th' nixt mornin' not so much as a sign uv him wuz thar left.
"Cleared out, loike that," said Pete, clapping his hands and spreading
his arms by way of illustrating how Adolf Schmitt had vanished in air.
"Thar wuz th' grocery full uv stuff and all, 'n' the furnitoor upstairs,
but Adolf 'n' the old wooman 'n' th' kids 'n' sich duds ez they cud cram
inter their bags wuz gone--bury drawers lift wide open, ez if they'd
went in a ghreat hurry."
Tom had listened in great surprise. "What--do--you--know--about--that?"
he gasped when Pete at last paused.
"It's iviry blessed worrd that I know. I'm thinkin' he wint ter Germany,
mebbe."
"How could he get there?" Tom asked.
"Wouldn't thim Dutch skippers in Noo Yorrk Harrbor help him out?" Pete
shouted. "Gerrmany, Holland--'tis all th' same. Thar's ways uv gittin'
thar, you kin thrust the Germans. They're comin' and goin' back all the
toime."
"What do you suppose they suspected him of?" Tom asked, his astonishment
still possessing him.
"Nivir a worrd wud they say, but ye kin bet yer Uncle Sammy's not spyin'
around afther people fer nuthin'. They searched the store aftherworrds,
but nary a thing cud they find."
So that was the explanation of the now vacant store which had been so
much a part of the life of Tom Slade and his poor, shiftless family.
That was the end, so far as Bridgeboro was concerned, of the jovial,
good-hearted grocer, and Fritzie and little Emmy and "Mooder" in her
stiff, spotless white apron. It seemed almost unbelievable.
"A Hun is a Hun," said Pete, "'n' that's all thar is to't."
"What did they do with all the stuff?" Tom asked.
Pete shrugged his shoulders. "Mister Temple, he owns th' buildin' an' he
hed it cleared out, 'n' now he leaves them Red Cross ladies use it fer
ter make bandages 'n' phwat all, 'n' collect money fer their campaign.
He's a ghrand man, Mister Temple. Would ye gimme a lift wid this here
table, now, while ye're here, Tommy?"
As they carried the table across the sidewalk, a group of ladies came
down the block and whom should Tom see among them but Mrs. Temple and
her daughter Mary. As he looked at Mary (whom he used to tease and call
"stuck up") he realized that he was not the only person in Bridgeboro
who had been growing up, for she was quite a young lady, and very
pretty besides.
"Why, Thomas, how _do_ you do!" said Mrs. Temple. "I heard you were
back----"
"And you never came to see us," interrupted Mary.
"I only got back Tuesday," said Tom, a little flustered.
He told them briefly of his trip and when the little chat was over Pete
Connigan had disappeared.
"I wonder if you wouldn't be willing to move one or two things for us?"
Mrs. Temple asked. "Have you time? I meant to ask the truckman, but----"
"He may be too old to be a scout any more, but he's not too old to do a
good turn," teased Mary.
They entered the store where the marks of the departed store fixtures
were visible along the walls and Schmitt's old counter stood against one
side. Piles of Red Cross literature now lay upon it. Upon a rough
makeshift table were boxes full of yarn (destined to keep many a long
needle busy) and the place was full of the signs of its temporary
occupancy.
"If I hadn't joined the Red Cross already, I'd join now," said Tom,
apologetically, displaying his button. "A girl in our office got me to
join."
"Wasn't she mean," said Mary. "I'm going to make you work anyhow, just
out of spite."
Other women now arrived, armed with no end of what Tom called "first aid
stuff," and with bundles of long knitting needles, silent weapons for
the great drive.
Tom was glad enough to retreat before this advancing host and carry
several large boxes into the cellar. Then he hauled the old grocery
counter around so that the women working at it could be seen from the
street. The table, too, he pulled this way and that, to suit the
changing fancy of the ladies in authority.
"There, I guess that's about right," said Mrs. Temple, eying it
critically; "now, there's just one thing more--if you've time. There's a
thing down in the cellar with little compartments, sort of----"
"I know," said Tom; "the old spice cabinet."
"I wonder if we could bring it up together," said Mrs. Temple.
"I'll get it," Tom said.
"You couldn't do it alone," said Mary. "I'll help."
"I can do it better without anybody getting in the way," said Tom with
characteristic bluntness, and Mary and her mother were completely
squelched.
"Gracious, now he has grown," said Mrs. Temple, as Tom disappeared
downstairs.
"His eyes used to be gray; they've changed," said Mary.
As if that had anything to do with moving tables and spice cabinets!
The spice cabinet stood against the brick chimney and was covered with
thick dust. Behind it was a disused stove-pipe hole stuffed with rags,
which Tom pulled out to brush the dust off the cabinet before lifting
it.
He had pushed it hardly two feet in the direction of the stairs when his
coat caught on a nail and he struck a match to see if it had torn. The
damage was slight, and, with his customary attention to details, he saw
that the nail was one of several which had fastened a narrow strip of
molding around the cabinet. About two feet of this molding had been torn
away, leaving the nails protruding from the cabinet and Tom noticed not
only that the unvarnished strip which the molding had covered was clean
and white, but that the exposed parts of the nails were still shiny.
"Huh," he thought, "whoever pulled that off must have been in a great
hurry not to hammer the nails in or even pull them out."
As he twisted the nails out, one by one, it occurred to him to wonder
why the heavy, clinging coat of damp dust which covered the rest of the
cabinet was absent from this white unsoiled strip and shiny nails. The
cabinet, he thought, must have been in the cellar for some time, whereas
the molding must have been wrenched from it very recently, for it does
not take long for a nail to become rusty in a damp cellar.
He struck another match and looked about near the chimney, intending, if
the strip of molding were there, to take it upstairs and nail it on
where it belonged, for one of the good things which the scout life had
taught Tom was that broken furniture and crooked nails sticking out
spell carelessness and slovenliness.
But the strip was not to be found. A less observant boy would not have
given two thoughts to the matter, but in his hasty thinking Tom reached
this conclusion, that some one had very lately pulled this strip of
molding off of the cabinet and had used it for a purpose, since it was
nowhere to be seen.
With Pete's tale fresh in his mind, he struck match after match and
peered about the cellar. Against the opposite wall he noticed a stick
with curved tongs on one end of it, manipulated by a thin metal bar
running to the other end. It was one of those handy implements used to
lift cans down from high shelves. It stood among other articles, a rake,
an old broom, but the deft little mechanical hand on the end of it was
bright and shiny, so this, too, had not been long in the damp cellar.
For a moment Tom paused and thought. It never occurred to him that
momentous consequences might hang upon his thinking. He was simply
curious and rather puzzled.
He picked up the can lifter and stood looking at it. Then with a sudden
thought he went back to the chimney, struck a match and, thrusting his
head into the sooty hole, looked up. Four or five feet above, well out
of arm's reach, something thin ran across from one side to the other of
the spacious chimney. The can lifter was too long to be gotten wholly
into the chimney, but Tom poked the end of it through the hole and
upward until its angle brought it against the chimney wall.
It was right there that the crosspiece was wedged. In other words, it
had been pushed as high, a little on this side, a little on that, as
this handy implement would reach, and perhaps kept from falling in the
process by the gripping tongs.
Not another inch could Tom reach with this stick. By hammering upward
against the end of it, however, he was able to jam it up a trifle,
thanks to its capacity for bending. Thus he dislodged the crosspiece and
as it tumbled down he saw that it was the strip of molding from the
cabinet.
But along with it there fell something else which interested him far
more. This was a packet which had evidently been held against the side
of the chimney by the stick. There were six bulging envelopes held
together by a rubber band. The dampness of the chimney had not affected
the live rubber and it still bore its powdery white freshness.
"I wonder if they looked there," Tom thought. "Maybe they just reached
around--kind of. I should think they'd have noticed those shiny nails,
though."
He put the packet safely in his pocket and, hauling the cabinet up on
his back staggered up the stairs with it.
"What in the world took you so long?" said Mary Temple. "Oh, look at
your face!"
"I can't look at it," said matter-of-fact Tom.
"It's too funny! You've got soot all over it. Come over here and I'll
wash it off."
It was a curious thing about Tom Slade and a matter of much amusement to
his friends, that however brave or noble or heroic his acts might be, he
was pretty sure to get his necktie halfway around his neck and a dirty
face into the bargain.