MUG
Simultaneously with Pee-wee’s appearance on the roof of the front porch
the chintz curtains in his sister’s window were cautiously drawn
together so as to confound any attempt to look within. Pee-wee was too
preoccupied to take note of this insult.
His eyes and thoughts were fixed upon a large elm tree which grew close
to the sidewalk some yards distant across the lawn. The tree was
stately, as only an elm knows how to be, its tall, thick trunk being
free of branches to a point almost level with the roof of the house. At
that height great limbs spread out over the sidewalk and shaded a large
area of the Harris lawn. Pee-wee studied this tree with the critical
eyes of an engineer.
He next drew out of the depths of one of his trousers pockets a ball of
fishing-line, and out of the depths of the opposite pocket the
detachable handle of a flat-iron. This he tied to the cord which he
proceeded to unwind until he had released enough for his purpose. He
frowned upon the distant elm tree as if he intended to annihilate it.
Meanwhile, the muffled hum of the sewing machine could be heard through
his sister’s window.
Pee-wee now replaced the ball of cord in his pocket and threw the
flat-iron handle into the branches of the tree. It fell to the ground
with the attached cord dangling after it. He pulled it up and cast it
again. Twice, thrice, it failed to find lodgment in the branches. If it
had been a kite or a beanbag or one of those twirling, ascending toys,
it would have stayed in the tree upon the first cast, out of pure
perversity. But the flat-iron handle had not the fugitive instinct, it
would not stay.
Not only that, but a new complication presented itself. Mug, the puppy
who resided with the Harris family, made a dramatic appearance on the
lawn below just in time to catch the flat-iron handle as Pee-wee was
about to lift it.
“You let go of that!” Pee-wee shouted. “You drop that, Mug, do you
hear?”
But Mug, more interested in adventure than in science, did not drop it.
Pee-wee tried to pull it away but Mug rolled over on his back in the
full spirit of this tug of war, and was presently so much involved with
the cord that obedience to Pee-wee’s thunderous commands was out of the
question. For a few moments it seemed as if Mug might be hauled up
bodily and made an integral part of the aerial.
Pee-wee endeavored by lassoing maneuvers and jump-rope tactics to
release the enmeshed pup, using the entire porch roof for his stage of
action. He loosed the cord, imparted long wavy motions to it, jerked it,
pulled it to the right, pulled it to left, but all to no avail.
At last the puppy extricated himself, and with no regard at all for his
harrowing experience, immediately made a dash for the departing
flat-iron handle, caught it, shook it, ran half-way across the lawn with
it, shook it again, and darted around a bush with it.
The bush was not a participant in this world war. Pee-wee pulled with
all his might and main, part of the bush came away, the puppy pounced
upon the fleeing fragment, it dropped from the cord, and the puppy with
refreshed energy caught the flat-iron handle again, bracing his forelegs
for the tussle, his tail wagging frantically. Thus has every great
scientist encountered hardships and obstacles.
“You get away from that now, do you hear what I tell you!” Pee-wee
roared.
He might have pulled the cord away from his diminutive antagonist but
that it caught in a crack between two shingles at the edge of the porch
roof. The cause of science seemed to be baffled at every turn, and on
the edge as well. If Mug rolled over on his back again all hope might be
lost in new complications.
In desperation, Pee-wee glanced about him for something to throw at Mug
by way of diverting his attention to fresh novelties. The puppy was
already on his back, the cord wound around one of his forelegs. The roof
was clear of all possible missiles. Pee-wee pulled out a loose shingle
and hurled it down but Mug saw it not.
Then Pee-wee did something which showed his power of sacrifice. He
pulled out of his pocket the sole remaining cocoanut-ball from a
purchase of three—for a cent. It was heavy, and sticky, and encased in
tissue paper. There was no time to take even a single bite of it.
“Here you go, Mug! Here you go, Mug!” he called.
The new temptation enabled Mug to extricate himself. He did not care for
candy but he was a ready adventurer in the matter of sports. His
preoccupation with the rolling cocoanut-ball gave Pee-wee the
opportunity to crawl cautiously to the edge of the roof and disentangle
the cord where it had caught.
He now hurled the flat-iron handle with all his might up into the
branches of the distant tree and there it stuck. To make certain of its
security he pulled, first gently, then harder. It held fast.
Having successfully accomplished this part of his enterprise, he cast a
wistful glance down upon the cocoanut-ball which Mug was pushing about
the lawn with his nose.
Just then the window of his sister’s room was flung open.