HIS JOB
Even if they had been capable of speaking afterward, Devlin gave them
little time. He came in, hurried upstairs and came down again in a few
minutes, carrying a suitcase and wearing his usual dark clothes. He
ordered Frost to stay close to the house until he returned. And without
seeming to see the silent, staring boys he nodded at Timmy with some
show of impatience.
"Time's short--come on!"
Skippy could still feel the strong, firm clasp of Timmy's handshake
long after the ancient car clattered out of the back yard. He felt
restless, and Nickie, that heroic defier of man-made petty laws, seemed
stunned and fearful.
Shorty and Biff, a little too blunt to be long affected by anything,
were comfortably seated again at the table arguing in their native
tongue over a game of cards. Frost was seated opposite them, absorbed
in a New York newspaper.
"All along I been sorta thinkin' we might be layin' it on kinda thick,"
Nickie whispered at Skippy's side. "Know what I mean? Aw, I thought
mebbe we'd got thinkin' the worsta Devlin counta that funeral pan he's
got an' the house an' all--see? People get jumpy just talkin' bout
ghosts, don't they? Well, that's what I mean--I thought we got thinkin'
he's a killer like Timmy done an' we couldn't thinka him as nothin'
else. Up till just before they beat it I tells myself mebbe it's just
his old racket, the swindlin' game that he's workin' in a new way with
us kids as fall guys--see? But when I sees his face an' his eyes all
funny an' starin' when he tells Timmy to c'mon, I get feelin' bad
inside."
"Me too," Skippy agreed, after he had made certain that Frost was not
watching them.
"Say, kid," Nickie said, between half-closed lips, "I ain't feelin'
we're thinkin' the worsta him now. I'm feelin' that mebbe he's worse'n'
what we think, he is--see!"
They sauntered toward the table at that juncture for Frost was looking
up from his paper. His shrewd, colorless eyes observed them and his
thin mouth was wrinkled mirthfully.
"Something in this here paper might give you kids a laff," he chuckled.
"Here, sit down and read it--I gotta go up to my room and do a few
things."
He was still chuckling when he left the kitchen but none of the boys
paid him any attention then. They were too interested in the page which
Nickie spread out and on which they read the headlines:
HOLD UP POLICE,
HELP BOYS FLEE
REFORMATORY TERM
Gangsters Wrest Four From Injured
Guards After Delafield Bound
Auto Is Ditched.
JOHN DOE IS RESCUED
He And Three Others Escape With
Armed Aid--Comb Country
For Fugitives.
There were two columns of the story. It had been discovered that the
car had been tampered with and the driver told of being drawn into
conversation while he was waiting at the courthouse by a "queer-looking
man, dressed like a mechanic." Also, he described how the boys had been
taken from him at the point of a gun and how Dippy Donovan had refused
to escape. It was hinted at the reformatory that the boy, because of
his behavior, stood a chance of having more than half his sentence
remitted.
"They'd do that for us too, eh?" Shorty remarked regretfully. "The time
eet go quick then an' when we got out we go 'ome, eh? Now we don't go
'ome teel we do stretch. Now we go west where Devlin send us. Always we
are seeck for 'ome but we can't go."
"Yeah," said Nickie wistfully, "that's the trouble. It's justa bad
break. I never give it a tumble before bout home, sweet home. All I
thought was what a joke on them dicks when we pull a fast one. I never
think how it ain't such a joke goin' west where we can't go home unless
we take a rap. An' it'll be harder doin' the stretch afterward than
now--why didn' I thinka that, hah?"
"I coulda told you if I hadn't been out," Skippy said thoughtfully.
"Yeah, sure thing, kid. You got brains. Me, I think I'm smart--see! I
don't think how I'm gonna get homesick out west an' wanta see my aunt
an' New York too. Holy Smoke, I don't wanna be dodgin' dicks forever!"
he added, bitterly.
Bragging, laughing boy-heroes the day before, they were all bitter and
resentful now. Their grand dream of escape, their defiance of the law,
had brought them nothing but disappointment, and instead of knowing
that each day brought them nearer to freedom, they were to be forever
pursued by the spectral arm of the law. It threatened them with a
double punishment should they come back voluntarily, yet it stood
between them and their homes if they evaded it.
Skippy was absorbed in these thoughts just as if he had been one of
them. He no longer felt that he was playing a part or acting as the
spring of the trap into which Mr. Conne hoped Devlin would fall; he
felt that the whole thing had become too realistic and that the spring
of the trap was threatening to snap upon himself instead of Devlin.
Nickie broke into his musing. "Aw, we ain't gettin' nowheres by sittin'
here mopin' about it, hah? C'mon, kid, let's play rummy."
Skippy had been turning the pages of the paper, giving them a cursory
glance. As he turned to the ninth page he saw a column marked PERSONAL
and directly under it he saw his name. His heart pounded furiously.
"Yeah, later," he said, trying to make his voice sound calm. "I gotta
read the baseball news."
Nickie nodded absently for he was already absorbed in a good hand of
cards which Biff had just dealt him. Skippy made certain that they were
all equally absorbed; also, he made certain that Frost was still quiet
upstairs. Then he proceeded to read.
SKIP: UNDERSTAND UNEXPECTED MOVE--SHOULD HAVE PREPARED FOR THAT
... YOU MUST SEND WORD SOMEHOW--IT'S YOUR JOB!... SIGNED "BOSS."
He must send word--_somehow_! _It was his job!_ No one but Carlton
Conne could have said it just like that--no one but Carlton Conne could
have written it! And Skippy thrilled at the thought, thrilled each time
he read the vivid message. He _would_ get word to him somehow,
particularly since he had seen in print that it was his job to do
nothing else but! There was no doubt about it now.
Carlton Conne had signed himself as _Boss_!