THE STORM
Rain lashed against the shutters and poured down the side of the house
in torrents. Loose shingles slammed and clattered with every twist of
the wind and the trees bowing down before its fury moaned piteously,
their branches squeaking and crackling like ancient spectral voices in
the night.
A zig-zag streak of lightning flashed upon the dirty wall and the clap
of thunder that followed seemed to sweep away all rational thought. To
Skippy, the world had suddenly gone mad and he did not wonder at it
since Devlin, asleep no doubt, had locked within his black heart
secrets which challenged even the warring elements.
Carlton Conne had said of Devlin that he was criminal, but not
dangerously so. Perhaps that had been true once, but not now. Devlin
had contributed something more than just law evasion to the sordid
atmosphere of the house. Human laws defied had given the place its
dark, furtive character for one sensed it in every nook and corner that
made up the tottering structure.
The storm screamed on and through the tiny, hot room a cooling breeze
now found its way. Skippy shifted around to the foot of the bed and let
the welcome air blow over him. He wished he might call out and hear a
cheery answer from Big Joe Tully as in the old river days. Nickie was
still undisturbed by the shrieking night and Timmy, though restless and
tossing about, was asleep.
Skippy thought of the two Greeks, Shorty and Biff, apparently oblivious
of the meaning of it all. Their bland, oily faces reflected pretty
accurately the stupid squint which they had on their petty thieving
practices; it was the only thing they knew, the only means of living
which they could understand. Skippy wondered how they would feel about
the dark and seemingly sinister "job" which Devlin or Frost would
demand that they carry out as the price for their sympathetic
"protection."
Not for a moment was Skippy deceived as to who was the brains of the
Devlin-Frost combination. Frost was a chuckling, subservient thief, but
it was in the depths of Dean Devlin's dubious soul that the plans were
carefully laid.
He was making mental note of all these things in anticipation of the
day when he should see Carlton Conne and give his report. It made not a
bit of difference that this day now seemed remote--it had to come
sometime! He would spend all his waking hours preparing for it despite
the bars and locked doors that mocked him.
He would escape somehow--some day!
The sound of scurrying rats overhead gave him a brilliant idea. The
attic! Was that barred also? He determined to find out somehow, now
that Frost had so generously secured for them the run of the house.
Well, he would run, certainly, just as soon as the opportunity
presented itself.
As he meditated he heard Timmy throw himself from the cot and shriek.
Skippy was on his feet and helping him up in a second.
"Dreaming--huh, Timmy?"
Timmy was trembling violently. "It was like as if it was true," he said
in a choking voice. "I'm dreamin' it's a night like this an' I'm out
with Devlin in a funny-lookin' old car."
"Aw, it's this storm what made you dream," Nickie interposed, aroused
by the commotion and sitting up rubbing his eyes.
Timmy's protest was almost a sob. "I'm tellin' you it was real-like!
We're ridin' along in the dark an' it's lightnin' an' I'm gettin' wet
an' I shiver. All of a sudden it don't look like Devlin sittin' beside
me no more--it's like a ghost without no body--just big, starin' eyes
like Devlin's--then I'm wise he's a killer--see? But he's gonna kill
_me_!" Timmy crawled up on his cot and sat down, still trembling.
"Somehow I don't remember what happened after that till I feel like I'm
runnin' an' that Devlin's chasin' me. Then when I feel like I'm half
dead I look up an' see it's this house. Up in the attic I see you an'
Nickie at the little window. I'm hurt an' tell how Devlin tries to kill
me. All of a sudden long arms come reachin' out from behind a big tree
out in front. All I see is Devlin's starin' eyes an' I'm sorta chokin'
to death when I wake up on the floor."
"Holy Smoke!" Nickie exclaimed. "What a guy! Can't you pick out nothin'
better to dream about?"
Skippy sat down beside Timmy and patted him sympathetically. Suddenly
the door opened and they saw Devlin's tall form outlined there.
"What's going on here?" he asked impatiently.
"Timmy," Skippy ventured; "he's hadda bad dream an' it threw him outa
bed!"
"Hmph!" the man boomed in his funereal voice. "Dreams don't come true!
Get back to bed and to sleep, you kids!" He shut the door and they
heard his bare feet patter across the hall.
Nickie sneered contemptuously at the door. "It'd be too bad for you,
Devlin, if that dream did come true!"
"But it won't," Skippy said soothingly. "My aunt always says dreams are
always opposite."
Timmy had got hold of himself somewhat, and valiantly tried to forget
his dream. "Yep," he agreed, "I guess that's right. Mebbe it was the
heat an' my stomach. I never could eat right fore goin' to bed without
dreamin' terrible things. But I never dreamed nothin' bad's that,
that's all." He laughed nervously. "Aw, I'll forget it!"
Skippy wondered if he really would. Somehow he had the feeling that he
wouldn't forget it--not ever!