MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS
Fudge and Perry gazed spellbound.
There was no chance of mistake, even at that distance. Before them,
smiling, unconcerned, sat Mr. Myron Addicks, one hand resting
negligently on his hip, the other on the keyboard of the piano. No
one would ever have suspected him of being a fugitive from justice!
Presently, quite as though he had nothing to fear nor an enemy in the
world, he turned and looked calmly over the audience. Fudge’s gasp was
painful in its intensity, and Mrs. Hull’s thoughts sped to peppermint
tea. Then the lights went down, the orchestra broke into tuneful melody
and the entertainment began.
But all through the performance the two boys shivered whenever a
footstep came creaking along the aisle or there was a sudden stir
behind them. They had visions of the entire Clearfield Police Force,
led by the stout and intrepid Chief, filing down the passage-way and
clapping the hand of the Law on the shoulder of the cowboy-pianist.
That the performance came finally to an end without anything of the
sort happening was almost unbelievable. The boys accompanied the
Doctor and Mrs. Hull home, talking in excited whispers all the way but
reaching no satisfactory conclusions regarding Mr. Addicks’ strange
actions. The Doctor, who had been innocently surprised and delighted
with his first experience of moving pictures, frequently interrupted
their conversation with questions and reminiscences and they reached
the gate before they realized it. Perry’s request to be allowed to walk
half-way home with Fudge was firmly denied and the latter took his
departure with a last whispered: “I’ll be around at seven, Perry. Be
ready!”
What was to happen at seven in the morning, what he was to be ready
for, Perry didn’t know, but the mysterious command added further
interest to an already absorbing state of affairs and Perry presently
went to bed to participate in the wildest and weirdest adventures that
ever befell a sleeping youth!
He was up at a little after six, dressed by half-past and waiting on
the front porch in a patch of sunlight. Fudge, in spite of his good
intentions, was late and it was almost a quarter past seven when he
appeared hurrying down the street. Perry joined him on the sidewalk and
Fudge, linking arms, conducted him around the corner.
“We’re going to see him,” he said determinedly. “If he hasn’t gone
already maybe he can get away before they look for him.”
He hadn’t gone. Fudge’s peremptory knock was followed by the sudden
opening of the door and the vision of a surprised and pajama-clad Mr.
Addicks confronting them. Fudge allowed no time for questions. He
pushed past the puzzled train-robber, followed by Perry, and motioned
the door shut. There was no evidence of hurried flight in view. The
room looked quite as usual. The screen had been removed, revealing a
tumbled cot-bed evidently very recently occupied, and on a one-burner
stove, connected with the gas bracket by a tube, stood a sauce-pan of
water which was already bubbling about the edges. Other indications of
breakfast were there; two eggs and a tiny coffee canister and a half
loaf of bread adorning a corner of the table. Fudge’s voice was almost
stern as he confronted Mr. Addicks.
“Why didn’t you beat it?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Do you
_want_ to get pinched?”
Mr. Addicks politely controlled a yawn and viewed Fudge with
puzzlement. Then he scratched his head, picked up a tattered
dressing-gown and slipped into it and, seating himself on the bed,
thrust his hands into the pockets of the robe and spoke.
“Look here, boys, what is this?” he asked plaintively. “I’m an awful
poor performer before breakfast.”
“But――but you said you were going last night!” said Fudge accusingly.
“And we saw you playing the piano at the theater! Why, they might have
nabbed you any minute!”
Mr. Addicks shook his head. “I was disguised,” he replied.
“That’s no disguise,” said Fudge contemptuously. “You’re taking awful
chances, sir. Couldn’t you get away now before they start to look for
you?”
“Before I’ve had my breakfast?” demanded the man weakly.
“Well, wouldn’t you rather go without breakfast than have it in jail?”
inquired Fudge impatiently. “If you start right now you might get the
seven-forty train. I don’t believe they’d be watching the station so
early, sir!”
Mr. Addicks’ expression became gravely curious. “Now, look here,
hombres,” he said, “this is just play, isn’t it?”
“Play!” gasped Fudge. “What do you mean, play?”
“Why, this police business, of course. I mean, you don’t really believe
that I’m that train-robber hero of yours, do you?”
Fudge’s jaw dropped and he stared blankly. Finally: “Do you m-m-mean
that――that you aren’t?” he asked in a small voice.
Mr. Addicks shrugged. “Naturally I mean that, Shaw. I thought yesterday
that you fellows were playing a game and I entered into it for the fun
of it. But when you burst in at half-past seven in the morning and want
me to leave town without any breakfast――well, I quit. You’ll have to
find someone else for the part, old chap!”
“And you’re not the train-robber?” gasped Fudge.
“My dear fellow, I never robbed a train in my life. Sorry to disappoint
you, but――well, there it is!”
“Then――then w-w-what have you done?” Fudge demanded.
“Not a thing,” laughed Mr. Addicks. “Shaw, you’ll have to reconstruct
your ideas of me. I’m not the man you want at all. I never robbed
a train or cracked a safe or even snatched a purse. I’m just an
unromantic sort of a dub with no criminal record at all.”
“I just knew it,” murmured Perry, relieved.
Mr. Addicks glanced at him and smiled. “Thanks for your good opinion,
Hull,” he said. “Now, fellows, let’s thresh this out. How did you get
it into your head I was the train-robber, Shaw?”
Fudge, still mazed and a bit incoherent, did his best to explain.
He told the story from the start, acknowledging that for a while he
had only half-pretended to believe in the theory of Mr. Addicks’
criminality, but owning that the notice in the express office, coupled
with blue eyes and a scar on the left fore-arm, had ultimately
convinced him. Several times during his recital Mr. Addicks chuckled
amusedly, and when Fudge had reached a somewhat lame finish he pulled
back the sleeves of his dressing-gown and pajama jacket.
“What sort of a scar was it?” he asked gravely.
“It――it was a white scar about two inches long, sir,” stammered Fudge.
Mr. Addicks held out his arm for inspection. “Have a look,” he said.
Perry and Fudge looked. Then Fudge turned the arm over. Then he lifted
surprised eyes to Mr. Addicks. “It m-m-m-must have b-b-been the other
one!” he said.
Mr. Addicks obligingly bared the right arm. Neither one showed any sign
of a scar! Fudge was plainly dazed.
“B-b-but I s-s-s-saw it!” he muttered. Mr. Addicks laughed.
“So did I, and it must have been the day you were here that first time.
I upset the tooth-powder that morning――my toilet accommodations are a
bit sketchy, you see――and got some on my arm. I found it there that
night. I guess that was the scar you saw, my friend.”
Fudge gazed helplessly from Perry to Mr. Addicks and back to Perry. His
expression was too ludicrous for Perry to view with a straight face and
suddenly the latter burst into a laugh. Mr. Addicks joined him. Finally
Fudge followed suit, although a bit sheepishly. And when the merriment
was subsiding he pointed an accusing finger toward the table.
“How about th-th-that?” he demanded.
“That” was a luxuriant brown false mustache lying on the table.
“Eh? Oh, the ‘disguise,’” chuckled Mr. Addicks. “Well, I’ll tell you.
That _did_ look bad, I guess. You see, I was pretty nearly broke when
I struck this place and found that my inheritance was nothing more than
a full-grown, man-size mortgage. So I looked around for something to
do until I could get a start at surveying. I couldn’t find anything
until I happened on an advertisement in the paper for a pianist at the
theater. Well, playing in a theater orchestra didn’t seem to me to be
just what you’d expect a civil engineer to do. I thought that perhaps
if people knew I did that they wouldn’t consider me much good as a
surveyor. So I concluded I’d wear that mustache as a sort of disguise.
I had a lot of trouble with it at first. Got to the stage door one day
without it and had to go back for it. And once it dropped off on the
piano keys, but no one noticed it, fortunately. This leading a double
life is trying, fellows!”
At that moment the sauce-pan on the little stove began to boil over and
Mr. Addicks jumped up and rescued it.
“We’d better be going along, I guess,” said Perry. “You haven’t had
your breakfast, and neither have we.”
“I’d ask you to have some with me, only, as a matter of fact, my larder
is pretty empty this morning. Tell you what, fellows, drop around after
the theater this afternoon and we’ll go on with the trial. Now that
I’ve started, I’d really like to convince you that I’m a respectable
member of society.”
“We believe it already,” replied Perry, with a grin.
“Sure,” agreed Fudge. But his tone held deep disappointment, and Mr.
Addicks, noting it, laughed.
“Shaw, you almost make me wish I really was a train-robber or something
desperate!” he said. “I suppose you’ll never take any more interest in
me after this.”
Fudge smiled, a trifle embarrassed.
“And,” continued Mr. Addicks, “I can’t much blame you. That reward
sounded pretty good, I’ll warrant!”
“R-r-reward!” blurted Fudge. “Gee, you don’t suppose we were looking
for that reward when we came here and warned you s-s-s-so you could get
away!”
“That’s true, Shaw. I beg your pardon. You acted like a good pal there,
and I thank you. You too, Hull. You both of you acted white. By the
way, is everything quite cleared up? Any little things you’d like
explained?”
“N-no, sir, I guess not,” replied Fudge. “Still about that
policeman――――”
“Oh, Lafferty? Well, Lafferty’s rather a friend of mine and sometimes
drops in for a smoke. That’s all.” Mr. Addicks chuckled. “Lafferty
would be interested if he knew! But I shan’t tell him. Will you come
around again and see me later?”
“Yes, sir, thank you,” replied Perry. “And Fudge isn’t _really_ sorry
you’re not the train-robber, Mr. Addicks; are you, Fudge?”
“Of course not!” Fudge grinned. “Anyway, it was a lot of fun while it
lasted!”
“That’s all right, then,” said their host heartily. “Glad you don’t
hold it against me. I know that a civil engineer isn’t as interesting
as a desperado, fellows, but you drop in now and then and maybe we
can scare up some excitement, eh? And if you ever want a nice job of
surveying done, why, you let me know, and it won’t cost you a cent.”
“S-s-surveying!” exclaimed Fudge. “We forgot to t-t-t-tell him!”
“That’s so,” Perry agreed.
“It’s Mr. B-B-Brent, sir. You’re to g-g-go and see him this forenoon
and maybe he will have some w-w-w-work for you.”
“You really mean it?” asked Mr. Addicks. “Jonathan Brent, over at the
mills? What makes you think so?”
Whereupon Fudge, Perry assisting, explained, and when he had finished
Mr. Addicks insisted on shaking hands with them both very hard, so hard
that their fingers ached for minutes afterwards.
“You chaps are a couple of bricks!” he told them delightedly. “I don’t
see why you took the trouble for me, but I’m certainly obliged. I hope
Mr. Brent will come across with the job. Even if he shouldn’t, I thank
you just the same. What sort of a man is he, by the way?”
“He’s a small man,” replied Fudge uncertainly. “Sort of wrinkled. Looks
right through you and out behind. Kind of scares you at first, I guess.
He’s got a lot of money and made it all himself. Gives a heap of it
away, though, they say. I guess,” he summed up shrewdly, “that if you
don’t let him scare you, you’ll get on all right.”
“I’ll try not to,” answered Mr. Addicks gravely. Perry smiled. The
civil engineer didn’t exactly look as if he would be easily frightened!
And then Fudge recalled Lanny’s message about the design for the
pennant.
“Dick said they couldn’t pay very much for it,” he explained
apologetically, “but maybe a couple of dollars――――”
“A couple of fiddlesticks! It won’t cost them a cent. I’ll be glad to
do it. We’ll talk it over this afternoon and I’ll make a sketch and
you can show it to your friend. I’m only sorry I’m not doing it for you
chaps.”
“Well, you will be, in a way,” replied Fudge very gravely. “You see,
that pennant’s to go to the fellow making the most points in the
Springdale meet, and it’s as good as mine right now!”
Two days later there was a new pianist at the moving picture theater,
for Mr. Addicks was busy with level and pole on a piece of work that
would occupy him at least a fortnight. And while there had been no
promise of further employment, the surveyor was pretty certain that Mr.
Brent meant to keep him at work for some time to come. In any case, he
had made his start, and the false mustache reposed nowadays on the wall
of his room surrounded by the penciled features of a villainous-looking
individual whom he called “Edward Hurley, the Noted Train-Robber.” A
card appeared in the _Reporter_ announcing that Myron Addicks, Civil
Engineer, was at the service of the public, and a neat black-and-gold
sign was hung outside the entrance to the building. Later still Mr.
Addicks rented the adjoining room and used it for an office and
workshop. Gradually it assumed a most business-like appearance. A long
table held fascinating drawing instruments and squares and protractors
and strange black rubber triangles and curves and rolls of tracing
cloth and printing-frames, to say nothing of paints and inks simply
begging investigation! To Fudge that room was a never-failing source
of delight, and, since he and Perry soon became fast friends with
Mr. Addicks, he had frequent opportunities to test its pleasures. By
summer both he and Perry had dedicated themselves to the profession of
civil engineering and were doing remarkable things with compasses and
ruling-pens and little black rubber squares. It was, I think, shortly
after the close of school that Fudge commenced his ambitious task of
mapping the City of Clearfield! But I am far ahead of my story.
The design for the Track Trophy was made, submitted and enthusiastically
approved. The pennant itself was completed a week later and was placed
on exhibition in a window of Cosgrove’s jewelry store. A placard neatly
printed by Mr. Addicks reposed beside it and explained that it was to be
awarded as a prize to that member of the Clearfield High School Track
Team winning the greatest number of points at the annual meet with
Springdale High School. It was really a very handsome trophy and Louise
Brent and her aids had done themselves proud. The pennant was twenty-four
inches in length and fourteen inches in height, of heavy purple silk. A
wreath of green laurel leaves enclosed the letters “C. H. S.” in white.
Purple satin ribbons held the pennant to a gilt staff, and altogether it
formed a prize well worth striving for. And so most of the Track Team
members thought.
Besides inciting the members of the team themselves to greater
endeavors, the trophy aroused a new interest in and enthusiasm for
track and field athletics throughout the school. Fellows who had
never for an instant contemplated going out for the team were heard
regretting the fact that they had allowed others to dissuade them and
promising that next year they’d show something!
Meanwhile May hurried along with sunny skies――and some cloudy ones for
variety――and the baseball players began to meet opponents worthy of
their skill and the Track Team, imbued with a new enthusiasm, worked
their hardest.