FUDGE REVOLTS
The boys crept quietly down the stairs and out into the street. It was
not until they had turned the corner that Fudge broke the silence.
“What do you know about that?” he murmured awedly.
“Looks as though you were right,” returned Perry admiringly. “He was
disguised, all right.”
“I――I’ve got to think this over,” said Fudge. He was plainly
bewildered. They paused at Perry’s gate and he declined an invitation
to enter, with a shake of his head. “I guess,” he muttered, “there’s
more in this than I thought. You saw him take it off, didn’t you?”
“Of course!”
Fudge sighed relievedly. Perhaps he had doubted the evidences of his
senses. “Well, I’ll think it over, and to-morrow――――”
“What?” asked Perry interestedly.
“We’ll see,” was Fudge’s cryptic and unsatisfactory reply. “So long.
And not a word of this to a living soul, Perry!”
“All right. But, say, Fudge”――Perry dropped his voice――“do you really
think he’s a――a criminal?”
“What else can he be? Folks don’t wear false mustaches for nothing, do
they?”
“N-no, but he might be doing it for――for a sort of joke,” returned the
other lamely.
Fudge sniffed. “Joke! I’ll bet the joke will be on him before
I’m――before we’re done with him! You leave it to me. Night!”
Fudge strode off in the twilight. There was something very stealthy
and even somber in his departure. Perry, watching a bit admiringly,
saw the careful manner in which the amateur detective discounted
surprise by keeping close to the fence and peering cautiously at each
tree as he approached it. At last Fudge melted mysteriously into the
distant shadows down the street, and Perry, somewhat thrilled with the
afternoon’s adventure, hurried upstairs and glanced toward the window
in the brick building. There was a light behind the lowered shade, but,
although he kept watch for nearly a half-hour, nothing came into view.
He wondered what was going on behind that window, and imagined all
sorts of deliciously exciting things. Perhaps the mysterious cowboy
pianist was studying a plan of Cosgrove’s jewelry store, or perhaps
he was bending over a fascinating assortment of jimmies and files
and――yes, there’d be an acetylene torch for burning a hole in the steel
safe, and there’d be dynamite or nitro-glycerine or something equally
useful to a safe-breaker! If only he might somehow get a momentary peek
into that room over there! He was so full of his interesting neighbor
that he ate almost no supper and incurred the anxious displeasure of
his mother.
“Aren’t you feeling well, Perry?” she asked.
“No’m――I mean, yes’m!”
“I think, Father, you’d better have a look at him after supper. His
face looks feverish to me.”
“I’m all right, honest, Ma! I――I just ain’t hungry.”
“Don’t say ‘ain’t,’ Perry. Have you been eating this afternoon?”
“No’m.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him,” said the Doctor. “These first spring days
are likely to interfere with one’s appetite. Have you started that
sprinting yet? Been doing too much running to-day?”
“No, sir, we don’t start until to-morrow. Dad, did you ever see a
burglar?”
“I suppose so. I don’t recollect. Have you seen one around?”
Perry almost changed color. “No, sir――that is――I just wondered whether
they wore false mustaches.”
“Now, Perry Hull, what sort of nonsense have you been reading?”
inquired his mother. “Some of the books you get out of the library
aren’t fit for any boy; all about fighting and Indians and――and now
it’s burglars, I dare say! I don’t see when you have time for reading,
anyway, with all those lessons to study. Your report card last month
wasn’t anything to boast of, either.”
“It was all right except math.,” defended Perry. “Gee, if you think my
card was punk, you ought to see some of them!”
“I didn’t say anything about ‘punk,’” retorted Mrs. Hull with dignity.
“And I’d like to know where you get all the horrid words you use
lately. I dare say it’s that Shaw boy. He looks rather common, I think.”
“There, there, Mother, don’t scold him any more,” said the Doctor
soothingly. “Slang’s harmless enough. Have a slice of lamb, son?”
Perry dutifully passed his plate and consumed the lamb, not because he
had any appetite for it but in order to allay his mother’s suspicions
of illness. There were some especially nasty bottles in the Doctor’s
office and Perry had long ago vowed never to be ill again! After supper
he excused himself early and retired to his room to study. Mrs. Hull
smiled commendingly. It was evident to her that her remarks had borne
fruit. But Perry didn’t get very much studying done, because he spent
much of the evening peeking cautiously around the corner of his window
shade. Of course he realized that the safe-breaker would be at the
theater in his assumed rôle of pianist, but it had occurred to Perry
that possibly he had an accomplice. But the opposite window remained
dark all the evening, or at least until after Perry, ready for bed, had
sent a final look across the starlit gloom. What happened subsequently
he didn’t know, but he dreamed the wildest, most extravagant dreams
in which he was at one moment participating in furious deeds of crime
and the next, aligned on the side of Justice, was heroically pursuing
a whole horde of criminals across the roofs of the city. That the
criminals were under the able and even brilliant leadership of Fudge
Shaw did not strike him as the least bit incongruous――until the next
morning!
When he finally tumbled out of bed, after reviewing his dreams, or
as much as he could recall of them, he went first to the window
and looked across the back yard. His heart leaped into his throat
at what he saw. The last window on the third floor of the brick
building was wide-open and there, in plain view of all the world, sat
the safe-breaker! A small table was pulled in front of the casement
and the safe-breaker was seated at it. On the table were a cup and
saucer, some dishes and a newspaper. Perry gazed fascinatedly. The
safe-breaker alternately read the paper and ate his breakfast. Perry
couldn’t be quite certain, but it appeared that the breakfast consisted
of sausage and rolls and coffee. Whatever it was, the man ate with
evident enjoyment, slowly, perusing the morning news between mouthfuls.
There was no mustache to-day. Instead, the safe-breaker’s face was
clean-shaven and undeniably good-looking in a rugged way. He had a
rather large nose and a generous mouth and lean cheeks and a very
determined-looking chin. His hair was brown, with some glints of red
in it where the sunlight touched it. He was attired in quite ordinary
clothes, so far as the observer could see, but wore no coat; perhaps
because the morning was delightfully warm and the sunlight shone in
at his window. Fortunately for Perry, the man never once glanced his
way. If he had he might easily have seen a boy in blue pajamas staring
fascinatedly across at him with very wide, round eyes. In which case
doubtless he would have suspected that he was under surveillance!
Perry was still looking when his mother’s voice summoned him to action.
Regretfully he withdrew his gaze and hurried off to the bathroom. When
he returned the safe-breaker was still there, but he had finished his
breakfast and was smoking a short pipe, still busy with the paper,
and so Perry was obliged to leave him, and when he had finished his
own repast and raced upstairs again the opposite window was empty.
Perry set off to school fairly weighted down with the startling news
he had to tell Fudge Shaw, and hoping beyond everything that he would
be fortunate enough to meet with that youth before the bell rang. He
wasn’t, however, and not until the noon hour did he find a chance to
unburden himself. Then, while he and Fudge, together with some two
hundred other boys――not to mention an even larger number of girls――sat
on the coping around the school grounds and ate their luncheons, he
eagerly, almost breathlessly, recounted the story of what he had seen.
Fudge was plainly impressed, and he asked any number of searching and
seemingly purposeless questions, but in the end he appeared a little
disappointed. “It doesn’t seem,” he said, “that he’d show himself like
that if he’s what we think he is. Unless, of course, he’s doing it for
a bluff; to avert suspicion, you know.”
Perry nodded.
“He doesn’t look much like a criminal,” he said doubtfully. “He’s sort
of nice-looking, Fudge.”
“Lots of the best of ’em are,” was the sententious reply. “Look at――oh,
lots of ’em! Remember the crook in that movie play last month, the
fellow who forged things?”
“Jim the Penman? Yes, but he was only an actor, Fudge.”
“Makes no difference. Those plays are true to life, Perry. That’s
why they got that good-looking chap to act that part, don’t you see?
That’s one of the most suspicious things about this fellow. He’s too
good-looking, too innocent, don’t you see? He’s probably an awfully
clever cracksman, Perry.”
“Maybe,” replied the other hopefully. “What do you suppose he was so
interested in the paper for?”
Fudge frowned thoughtfully as he conveyed the last morsel of a generous
sandwich to his mouth. “You can’t tell. Maybe he was looking to see if
the police were on his track. Or maybe――――”
But the bell cut short further speculation and, agreeing to meet after
school, they went back to the drudgery of learning. Perry had not had
time to ask Fudge what plan of procedure the latter had decided on, a
fact which interfered sadly with his work during the final session.
As it developed later, however, Fudge had not decided on the best
manner in which to continue the relentless pursuit of the criminal. As
they made their way to the athletic field Fudge talked a great deal
on the subject but, to Perry’s disappointment, didn’t seem to arrive
anywhere. It would be necessary, thought Fudge, to do a good deal of
watching before they could obtain enough evidence in the case. What
they ought to do, he declared, was to shadow the safe-breaker and never
let him out of their sight. But this, as Perry pointed out, was rather
impractical, considering that they had to spend most of the day in
school. Whereupon Fudge reminded him that Saturday was coming.
“We’ll have the whole day then. The only thing I’m afraid of is that he
will pull it off before that and make his getaway. And, of course, if
we want to get the reward we’ve got to collar him before that.”
“Reward?” echoed Perry. “What reward?”
“Why, the reward for his apprehension.”
“How do you know there’s any reward?”
“I don’t _know_ it, but it stands to reason, doesn’t it, that there is
one? If that fellow’s wanted somewhere there’s sure to be a reward out
for him, and a description and all. I wish I knew how much it is!”
“How much do you suppose?” asked Perry.
“Oh, maybe five hundred dollars, maybe a thousand. It depends, you see,
on how much swag he got away with on his last job. Maybe he killed
someone. You can’t tell. Burglars are desperate folks when they’re
interrupted.”
“I don’t think he’d kill anyone,” said Perry. “He doesn’t look that
sort.”
Fudge, though, shook his head unconvincedly. “You can’t tell,” he said.
“Anyway, if he has, the reward’s bound to be bigger. You keep your eyes
peeled, Perry, and watch that window closely. I wouldn’t be surprised
if you discovered something mighty important in the next day or two. He
must be getting pretty nearly ready to do something.”
“You don’t think, then, he has an accomplice?” asked Perry.
“No, I don’t. He sort of looks like a man who’d work on his own hook.
It’s lots safer, you see, and he has a pretty wise face.”
There, for the time being, the subject had to be abandoned, for they
had reached the field and confidential conversation was no longer
possible.
Not only the baseball candidates were out to-day but some forty-odd
aspirants for positions on the Track Team. These were clustered at the
further side of the inclosure where the coach and trainer, “Skeet”
Presser, were, rather dubiously it seemed, looking them over. Guy
Felker, eighteen years of age and a senior, was captain this year,
and Arthur Beaton was manager. Beaton was checking off the candidates
from a list he held and Captain Felker was inquiring of no one in
particular “where the rest of them were.” Sixty-four names had gone
down on the notice-board in the school corridor and only forty-four had
shown up. “Skeet” explained the absence of a number of the delinquents
by reminding Guy that fellows couldn’t practice baseball and report
for track work both. Guy consented to become slightly mollified, and,
Manager Beaton having completed his checking, the coach and trainer
took charge.
“Skeet” was a slight, wiry man of some thirty years, with a homely,
good-natured countenance and a pair of very sharp and shrewd black
eyes. He had been in his time a professional one- and two-miler of
prominence, but of late years had made a business of training. He
was regularly employed by the Clearfield Young Men’s Christian
Association, but his duties there did not occupy all his time and for
three seasons he had coached and trained the High School athletes, and
with a fair measure of success, since during his régime Clearfield
had once won overwhelmingly from her rival, Springdale, had once been
beaten decisively and had once lost the meeting by a bare three points.
This year, if Guy Felker could have his way, the purple of Clearfield
was to wave in gorgeous triumph over the blue of Springdale.
The trouble was, however, that after the last defeat by her rival
Clearfield High School had rather lost enthusiasm for track and field
sports. The pendulum swung far over toward baseball, and this spring
it had been more than usually difficult to persuade fellows to come
out for the Track Team. Felker had posted notice after notice calling
for volunteers before his insistence had stirred up any response. Of
course there was a nucleus in the hold-overs from last season, but they
were not many and new material was badly needed if the Purple was to
make a real showing against the Blue. Within the last week the list on
the notice-board had grown encouragingly in length, though, and with
a half-hundred candidates to choose from it would seem that coach and
captain should have been encouraged. Unfortunately, though, a good
half of the aspirants were youngsters whose chances of making good were
decidedly slim, and “Skeet” and Guy Felker both realized that if, after
the final weeding out, they had twenty-five fellows to build the team
with they might consider themselves extremely fortunate.
At least half of the candidates who reported this afternoon were in
street togs. Those who were not were taken by Guy for a slow run out
into the country and the others were dismissed with instructions to
report to-morrow dressed for work. Of the former were Fudge and Perry,
and it was their fortune to amble over the better part of two miles
at the tail-end of a strung-out procession of runners. Perry was in
the rear because Fudge was. Fudge was there because running was not
a strong point with him. If it hadn’t been for the occasional rests
allowed by the captain, Fudge would have dropped out, discouraged and
winded, long before they got back to the field. As it was, however,
he managed to remain within sight of the leaders. Once when, having
trotted up a hill, he subsided on a convenient ledge to regain his
breath, he voiced a protest.
“Gee,” panted Fudge, “I don’t see any good in running all over the
landscape like this when you’re going to be a shot-putter! If I’d
known they were going to spring this on me I wouldn’t have signed for
the team!”
“I guess maybe it’s good for you,” replied Perry, “whether you’re going
to throw weights or run or jump. Hadn’t we better start along again?
The others are nearly a quarter of a mile away now.”
Fudge lifted a dejected head and viewed the situation. His face
brightened. “They’re going around the hill, Perry,” he said. “That’s
all right. We’ll just trot down this side and pick ’em up again at the
road.”
Perry wanted to demur at that, but Fudge’s discomfort was so real that
he had to sympathize, and so they cut off to the right and reached the
bottom of the hill shortly after the first runners had passed. There
were many knowing grins as the two boys trotted out from the fringe of
trees.
“Did you lose your way?” asked one chap solicitously.
“No, I lost my breath,” replied Fudge. “Had to stop and look for it.”
“‘And for numerous other reasons,’” remarked a voice behind him.
Fudge glanced back with a scowl, but every face in sight was guileless
and innocent.
Later, when they were making their way home from the field, Fudge
pulled his feet after him wearily and groaned every few yards.
“I’ll be as stiff as a crutch to-morrow,” he sighed pessimistically.
“F-f-for two cents I’d tell Guy to find someone else to put his old
shot for him. I d-d-didn’t agree to be a b-b-b-blooming slave!”
Still, he managed to drag himself around to Perry’s after supper and
until it was time for the theater to open they watched the window
across the yard. But they saw nothing, not even a light. Fudge feared
that their quarry had flown and accused Perry of scaring him away. “He
probably saw you watching him and has skipped out. Bet we’ll never see
him again!”
“But I’m quite sure he didn’t see me,” expostulated the other. “He
didn’t look up once.”
“That’s what you think. He must have seen you. Well, there goes five
hundred dollars!”
“You don’t even know there was any reward for him, so what’s the good
of grouching about it?”
But Fudge refused to cheer up and presently took his departure
gloomily. It is very easy to be a pessimist when one is weary, and
Fudge was very weary indeed!