THE GIRL IN THE BLUE TAM
The next morning when we were eating breakfast, after an uneventful
night, Dad came whistling to the brickyard dock to learn how we were
getting along.
This was a good time, I thought, to sort of feel him out on our
proposed Ashton trip.
“We’ll soon be going camping,” I told him, getting at my subject in a
roundabout way.
“I wish I could go with you,” he grinned, helping himself to one of our
doughnuts.
“We’ll let you,” Scoop put in quickly.
“No chance,” Dad sighed. “I’ve got to keep my nose to the grindstone.”
“We won’t have to bother you this year,” I went on, “to haul our truck
up the canal in the car. For we’re going to use our boat.”
“This boat?”
“Sure thing. We probably can earn some money, too.”
“Taking passengers?”
“If we camp on Oak Island,” I said, “we can stop at Ashton on the way
to the wide waters and give our show. And once we get to the island, it
isn’t so very far to Steam Corners.”
“You better hire a mule,” Dad laughed.
“What for?”
“This engine of yours will never carry you that far.”
“Hey!” yipped Red, grinning. “Don’t you run down our swell engine.”
“It’s an old engine and liable to go blooey at any minute. I wouldn’t
trust it two miles, myself.”
“If it breaks down,” boasted Red, “I can fix it.”
In our further talk, Dad made it plain to us that he wasn’t keen about
letting us start out in the scow. He couldn’t bring himself to believe,
he said, serious, that we would be able to go very many miles without a
serious breakdown.
But he had promised to let me go camping when the other fellows went.
And, as they had gained their parents’ consent to the trip, he couldn’t
very well say “no” to me without backing down on his word.
So I finally got his reluctant consent.
That day we put a bigger advertisement in the Daily Globe, for the
coming show was to be our last one in Tutter until we had returned from
our out-of-town trip. When the advertising bill had been paid, I sort
of balanced my accounts, if that is the way to express it. Here is the
way my figures looked on paper:
Scoop $7.00 Engine $3.00
Red 10.00 Organ 2.00
Peg 3.00 Shaft .50
Jerry 10.00 Tickets 1.00
------ Advertising 2.00
Working capital $30.00 Ice Cream .50
Ticket sales 7.00 Advertising 3.00
------ ------
Total $37.00 Total expenses $12.00
(Sub.) Expenses 12.00
------
Cash on hand $25.00
That afternoon we started the engine and turned on the organ to let the
townsfolk know that we were still on the job. Red told us that the
engine was burning a lot of gasoline. We didn’t let that worry us, for
Scoop was getting the gasoline for nothing at his father’s store. In
preparing for our trip, the leader filled three five-gallon cans. There
was another fifteen gallons in the engine tank, so we figured that we
wouldn’t have to spend any of our working capital for gasoline for
several days. By that time we probably would be rolling in money.
There wasn’t such a big crowd at our show that night. The older people,
for the most part, didn’t seem to be greatly interested in our
performance. But we took in four dollars, the most of it in ten-cent
admissions. Mother and Dad were there. I talked with them just before
the show started.
“Have a good time,” Mother told me, referring to our camping trip, “but
be careful and don’t run any foolish risks.”
I promised.
“I hope you haven’t any guns on board.”
“None that I know of.”
“I’m afraid of guns.” She slipped something into my hand. “It’s a
ten-dollar bill, Jerry. Keep it for an emergency.”
“There aren’t going to be any emergencies,” I boasted.
“I hope not. But it has been my experience that not infrequently the
unexpected happens. Drop me a card when you get to Ashton. And be sure
and brush your teeth and don’t go dirty.”
It was our intention to start on our trip as soon as the show was over.
So our folks, having been advised of our plan, were there to say
good-by to us. There was a lot of waving back and forth as the Sally
Ann got under way. Then we passed under the bridge and the others were
lost to our sight.
“Well,” said Scoop, dropping into a seat on a box, “we’re off.”
“The only thing I regret,” grunted Peg, “is that we didn’t even scores
with the Strickers before leaving town. For we owe them something for
that rope trick.”
“Let’s send the ‘friendly ghost’ back to clean up on ’em,” grinned
Scoop.
“We’re fast leaving the ghost behind us,” I laughed.
“I hope so,” Red spoke up quickly, squinting uneasily down the canal.
Grinning, Scoop got to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth.
“Hey, mister friendly ghost,” he called, “give Bid Stricker a black eye
for me.” He sat down, still grinning. “It’s all right now,” he waggled.
“We’re revenged.”
In a short time we had left Tutter behind us. The moon was shining,
making it easy for us to keep the Sally Ann in the middle of the canal.
Peg was handling the tiller. Red had the engine in charge. Scoop and I
had nothing to do except to enjoy the ride and thrill in the thought of
the probable adventures that lay ahead of us.
“Let’s have some refreshments,” Peg sang out.
Feeling around under the deck, where our provisions were stored, Scoop
brought out a loaf of bread and the boiled ham that his father had
generously donated. He made two sandwiches apiece.
Coming to the small wide waters, halfway between Tutter and Ashton, we
anchored the scow close to the right-hand wooded shore, putting out the
required lights. Then we turned in.
Just before I dozed off I heard a fish flop close to the boat. It must
have been a big carp. Then a screech owl settled on a limb directly
over the boat and told us, in mournful, plaintive hoots, what it
thought of us. There were thousands of fireflies in the air. The night
was wonderfully still. I filled my lungs with the cool air. Wouldn’t it
be fine, I thought, if I could always live like this, and never again
had to sleep in a bed in a stuffy bedroom?
Peg was the first one up the following morning. We heard him give a
yell, which was followed by a loud splash.
“Come on in, you sleepy-eyed bums,” he shrieked, splashing around in
the water.
“Next!” I shouted, skinning out of my underwear. Losing my balance, I
bumped against Red. We both went rolling.
“Let’s get Scoop,” he whispered. So, in this scheme, we kept rolling
until we bumped against the leader. Jumping up, we threw a blanket over
the tricked one’s head. While he was fighting the blanket, to free
himself, we ran and jumped into the canal, giving him the horselaugh.
“I’ll get even with you fellows to-morrow morning,” he told us from the
deck.
“Jump in,” we cried. “If you don’t, we’ll come there and throw you in.”
“I’m after the red-headed engineer,” the leader cried, and leaping, he
struck the water a few feet from where the chased one was frantically
scrambling up the bank. Red managed to get out of the canal before his
pursuer could touch him, and racing along the tow path he made a flying
dive. Scoop was close behind him. Pretty soon the two of them came to
the surface, sputtering and splashing.
“Here he is, fellows,” Scoop panted, hanging to the prisoner by the
hair. “I’ve captured the engineer.”
“Make him dress and cook breakfast,” laughed Peg.
It was a dandy warm summer’s morning. We had slept later than we had
intended. But we figured that there was still plenty of time for us to
get to Ashton before noon.
“We probably won’t be able to get an ad in to-night’s paper,” said
Scoop. “But we can have some handbills printed, telling about the show.
Three-four hundred won’t cost much. We can distribute them this
afternoon, a light job. For Ashton’s a small town.”
Breakfast over, Scoop and I and Peg gave the dishes a hurried bath in
the canal while Red greased the engine, getting it ready for the day’s
pull.
But when we came to crank the engine it wouldn’t respond. Ready to give
up, after twenty minutes of steady winding, we finally got a faint
explosion, then another and another. Once in motion the motor quickly
gained speed. But, oh, boy, how it smoked!
Just before we came within sight of Ashton, two men appeared in the tow
path, at a lonely spot in the canal, signaling to us to stop and put
them on the opposite shore.
Red promptly stopped the propeller. As soon as the scow brushed the
bank the men jumped aboard. The leader was white-haired, a man of
probably sixty years of age, with a thin hard face and peculiar beady
black eyes. As I looked at him I was instinctively turned against him.
He was the direct opposite to the kind of a man that I liked. His face
held hidden stories; even his guarded movements suggested hidden
unworthy things.
The most noticeable thing about the other man, outside of his thin
tallness and his preacher-like coat, which came to his knees, was his
nose. It was a big nose. And what tended to make it seem still bigger
was a wart on the end of it. I had to smile as I looked at him. He made
me think of pictures I had seen of the schoolmaster in the Sleepy
Hollow story.
“Well, well,” he said, stepping around sort of jaunty-like and taking
in everything with a lit-up face. “What have we here? A stage! Upon my
word, a genuine stage. And seats! Ah-ha! I have, I believe, penetrated
the secret. I am aboard a theatrical craft. A theatrical craft, I
should add, in charge of four young showmen. A juvenile venture into
the realms of the dramatic art. How interesting. How very, very
interesting. In this familiar atmosphere of the—aw—spoken play, I am
stirred to memories of past golden days.” He got on the stage and sort
of posed like an actor. I guess he would have given us an exhibition of
his acting if his blazing-eyed companion hadn’t turned on him in a
sudden fury.
“You fool!” the beady-eyed one cried. And at the cutting words, which
were a sort of indirect command, the actor stopped stone-like, a look
of fear rushing into his face.
They were a peculiar pair. And when they left the boat I followed them
with curious eyes. There was a small dock here, to which two green
rowboats were tied. Back from the canal was a big house, built after
the plan of an old-time log cabin, with a wide summer porch in front
and big fireplace chimneys.
“Huh!” grunted Scoop, as the two queer men disappeared up the path that
led to the house. “They might at least have thanked us.”
Red was excited.
“Did you notice what the gabby one had in his coat pockets?”
“What?”
“Tools. Screw drivers and wrenches. I noticed that the pockets bulged.
And when the man came near me I took a good squint.... What do you
bet,” freckles made the guess, “that he isn’t a safe breaker?”
“The one with the beady eyes,” Peg spoke up, “looked to me like the
type of fellow who would knife his best friend in the back for a bottle
of horse-raddish.”
“He’s got the other one scared of him,” I put in.
Scoop was studying the lonely surroundings.
“Do you suppose,” he inquired of us, in a sort of reflective way, “that
the log house is a counterfeiters’ den? That would explain the tools in
the man’s pockets. And this is the kind of a secluded place that
counterfeiters would like.”
“Lookit!” I pointed. “Here comes a girl around the corner of the house.
She’s heading this way. Let’s pump her.”
Scoop saw a chance to have some fun.
“We’ll let Red talk to her. For he’s the best lady-killer in the gang.”
His engine having stopped for some reason or other, the engineer had
gone to work on it.
“What’s that?” he inquired, lifting a greasy face.
“Wipe off your chin and pull down your vest,” grinned Scoop. “For we’re
going to have company.”
Red let out his neck at the approaching girl.
“Aw!... You think you’re smart,” he scowled.
The girl came to the dock and regarded us with amused eyes. She wasn’t
quite as old as we were, probably not more than twelve. She wore a blue
tam, which, as you may know, is a sort of cloth hat with a tassel on
top. Her dress was blue, too, the color of her eyes.
In his interest in the engine, Red had forgotten all about the
approaching girl.
“Blame it!” he cried, straightening and giving the balky engine a kick.
“I can’t get it started, fellows.” When he saw who was watching him
from the dock, only a few feet away, his face got two shades redder
than his hair.
“Maybe you’re giving it too much gas,” the girl spoke up. “We have an
engine like that in my grandfather’s automobile; and we’re always
having trouble with it. Let me show you what to do.”
She jumped aboard and joined the worker. This tickled Scoop. And he got
behind the flushed engineer, nudging the latter in the ribs.
“Huh!” Red grunted, scowling at the newcomer. “What do you know about
machinery?”
The girl looked at him and laughed.
“What will you give me,” she asked, “if I start your engine for you?”
“Huh!” Red grunted again, giving her a sort of contemptuous up-and-down
look. This thing of a small girl telling him how to run his own engine
was more than he could stand.
The newcomer turned to Scoop.
“Is ‘Huh!’ the only English word he knows?” she smiled.
“At mealtime,” the leader laughed, “he can say ‘pie’ and ‘cake.’ And he
can say ‘Pretty Polly’ when he wants a cracker.”
“Shut up!” scowled Red.
Here the girl forgot about the engine in a sudden interest in our show
stuff.
“You have a regular theater, haven’t you? What kind of a show is it?”
“Magic.”
“Who is the magician?”
“Me. This fellow,” the boaster further informed, pulling me forward,
“is the ‘Living Head.’ Ham-and-gravy over there,” he added, pointing to
Peg, “is my chief stage assistant. Little fuss-budget here sells
tickets and takes in the mon.”
“I’ll ‘fuss-budget’ you with a monkey wrench,” screamed Red, “if you
don’t dry up.”
The girl pretended fright.
“Does he eat people alive?” she inquired of Scoop.
“Not as a general rule,” the leader returned seriously. “As a matter of
fact, after you once get acquainted with him, if you can stand his
freckles and red hair, he’s a pretty likeable sort of a kid.... Do you
live here?”
The girl nodded, with a quick glance toward the house.
“It is my grandfather’s home,” she informed.
“Does your father live here, too?”
“No. My parents are both dead.”
“Maybe,” said Scoop, “it was your white-haired grandfather that we just
helped across the canal.”
“It couldn’t have been him. For he has been working in his flower
garden all morning. I just left him there.”
“We put two men across the canal,” Scoop informed, “and they went into
your house.”
The girl looked at him, puzzled.
“Two men?” she repeated.
“Yes,” Red spoke up, giving the girl a spiteful look, “and they were a
couple of bums.”
The granddaughter’s eyes flashed angrily.
“My grandfather doesn’t associate with bums.”
Red gave a tantalizing laugh, glad of the chance to anger the other.
“You look like a bum yourself,” the girl cried, in a burst of passion.
“And so do you and you and you,” she jabbed with her finger. “I hope
you never get your old engine started. There!” and stomping her foot
she turned and ran up the path to the house.