SUSPENSE
No, it wasn’t, he had looked in the wrong place. He was so excited . . .
There it was still, a wee little red speck.
Hurry! Like lightning he groped his way to the gate lever, felt for the
place where the cord binding ended, and fixed his teeth there. His scout
knife had been arrested along with poor, faithful Liz, but he had his
teeth. And he knew how to use them—oh, trust him for that.
In a few seconds he had loosened a strand and chewed it in half. He
stood on tiptoe and pulled the end up, thus unwinding the cord
mechanically and saving a few precious seconds. It came away and hung
like a spiral spring. He pulled it through one hand straightening it to
its full length.
Then he groped for the old magazine, here, there . . . Where in
all . . . It was lying just before . . . Oh, where in . . .
He had it. Like lightning he poured kerosene on it from the old can,
then tied an end of cord around it. The old periodical was dry enough
for ready ignition, surely; its yellowed pages were fairly brittle.
All right. He hurried to the window. Now he could hear a far-distant
rattling—never mind. Where was the red spot? Gone! No—there it was,
hardly more than a spark . . . In ten more seconds . . . Suppose the
cord wasn’t long enough . . .
There was no time for any bull’s-eye practice here. In ten seconds,
fifteen at most, the tiny coal . . . No—yes—of course the cord was long
enough! “I’m—I’m—I’m always—lucky,” breathed Pee-wee. “I—I am—” He heard
the whistle of a locomotive now—_in the east_. Pretty far away yet . . .
But _hurry_!
If the stone throwers of Barrel Alley had been there that night they
would have seen something which ought to have raised the blush of shame
upon their dirty faces. They would have seen little Pee-wee Harris of
Terrace Avenue, Bridgeboro (where the rich sissies lived), throw a
magazine. They would have seen its drift and action so nicely calculated
that it alighted plunk upon a little burning ember obscuring it from
view. One shot, that was enough. The little master marksman leaned far
out of the window, dangling his cord, waiting.
Waiting . . .
* * * * *
There was no cover on that old magazine. But on the soaked and faded
page which did duty as a cover was the smiling countenance of Posy
Brazen, the famous movie star. That enchanting visage fell face down and
presently a radiant spot appeared upon her cheek which would have
delighted her. But suddenly it burst into flame and Posy Brazen went up
in a blaze of glory.
Quickly, like a dextrous angler, Pee-wee hauled up the magazine before
the spreading flame had touched the cord. He had ready in the other hand
an iron bar perhaps a yard in length which had leaned upright against
the window jam and had probably been used for propping up the departed
sash. He laid the burning magazine open over this bar holding it well
clear of the house. Then he allowed himself a breathing spell of just a
second.
This flaming torch would do well enough for a makeshift signal, only it
would not last long. Pee-wee had but one hand disengaged, but the
feeling of infinite relief which came over him enabled him to do calmly
what was still to be done. It was not an easy matter. With the light
which his projecting torch shed in the little enclosure he was able with
one hand to remove the oil receptacle from one of the red lanterns. It
was much rusted but he managed it and was glad to find that the dried
out wick was intact.
The hardest part was filling the little container, which he stood on the
floor under the faucet of the old oil tank, and replacing it in the
lantern. But these things were camparatively easy; anything was easy now
that he had his flaming signal flying, and his suspense was over.
Yet still this sturdy little hero had a vague feeling that he would be
blamed, condemned, and perhaps punished. He still felt that he was
trifling with things too important for his young hands—good little scout
that he was. He was doing his best, and a very glorious best it was, but
he had unhinged the universe and he was still fearful and apprehensive
of what would happen to _him_. From which you will see that he was not
one of those self-sufficient super boys that one reads about.
[Illustration: Pee-wee held the burning magazine well clear of the
house.]
The work of lighting the red lantern with his flaming torch was not easy
but it was not so difficult, though he burned his fingers. This done he
cast the magazine from the iron bar well clear of the little tower
house. Then he tied the red lantern to the end of the bar and tried to
devise a way of lodging the bar so that it would remain in its
horizontal position, projecting from the window. This, with all his
ingenuity, he could not do so he leaned out of the window holding the
rod with his tired, nimble, little hands.
“Anyway, gee whiz, that was a dandy inspiration,” he panted in a feeling
of exquisite relief. “It shows I got a lot of resources, you bet.”
He meant _resource_ but what’s the difference?