A FRESH START
It was wonderful what fresh inspiration the presence of Robin Hood gave
to the rather disheartened searchers. In the seething mind of Pee-wee
all else was forgotten at this adventurous turn of their enterprise. He
was all excitement. The scouts would triumph and be the heroes of the
town; their exploit would be heralded abroad.
To discover the lost child in the woods would have been an achievement.
To track her with a police dog and carry her home to her distracted
parents; to witness the consternation of the police; there would be
adventure and glory! To Pee-wee it was as good as done.
He had begun to feel the fatigue of this eventful day; a dull weariness
had set in as they concluded their search of the woods. But now, in the
flush of the new adventure, he seemed invigorated. He forgot everything
and could think only of what they were going to do. The hour was late
but that made it all the better.
It was in high spirit of elation that he ran to Toby’s house with him to
get the dog leash; he would take no chances with freakish parental
objections. If necessary, he would meet Mr. and Mrs. Ralston
single-handed. But no obstacles were met there; Toby was happy in the
possession of easy-going parents who did not require any strenuous
representations of scout duty to release their son to a nocturnal
enterprise.
All was hurry and excitement now; the air seemed charged with
expectation. The seven scouts who, with Toby, constituted the party
hurried into the woods, Robin Hood securely leashed and enforcing his
autocratic will by pausing to sniff here and there, then dragging his
young master willy-nilly after him. Only Hamburger Mike seemed
undisturbed. His next call to service would be when the milk train
stopped at four o’clock in the morning. No one should go wanting for
refreshment while Hamburger Mike lived.
In half an hour, they were back on the state road and hurrying into
Bridgeboro. The town was dark and deserted. A lone auto sped up Main
Street as they crossed, and its swift passing seemed to reduce the
sleeping town to insignificance, so much greater is a speeding auto to a
sleeping town in the still, small hours of night.
They hurried through Terrace Avenue where the school (scene of Pee-wee’s
famous coup) seemed like a thing dead. Not a sound was there, nor a soul
upon the street. They turned into Elm Place, then to Carver Street and
to the cottage of the Garrisons. Here, at least, were signs of life. The
interior was illuminated, the front door wide open, and a little group
upon the porch. It looked strange at that hour of the night, and in the
surrounding solitude, to see the bright oblong area caused by the open
door, and the hatrack and stairs within. It spoke pathetically of
waiting and trouble and suspense.
Mrs. Garrison was there, and her elder daughter, and a couple of
neighbors with shawls thrown about them. They seemed to have been just
standing on the porch. Mr. Garrison was out somewhere with others,
pursuing inquiries. The mother’s anxiety, which had mounted all through
the evening, was heartrending. Disappointment after disappointment she
had met; ’phone call after ’phone call had dealt her blows as from a
hammer. Still she waited with these comforting, patient, hopeful
neighbors in the still night air. She was too distraught to sit inside
and wait for the ringing of the door-bell.
“Let me do the talking, kid,” said Westy out of his familiar knowledge
of Pee-wee. It was always Westy to talk in a case like this.
“Oh, the scout boys!” said Mrs. Garrison.
“Mrs. Garrison,” said Westy, “we—we didn’t find her in the woods. Is
there any news?”
“No, dear—you’re good boys, all of you,” she said, wringing her hands.
“We’ve got a police dog here,” said Westy, “and we know about her being
in Westover’s field this afternoon. She cut across the field on her way
to Stella Henry’s house—I know the path. Let’s have something that
belonged—belongs to her, will you? A dress or something; stockings would
be good.”
There was no chance to talk; he pinned her down to the vital
requirement; and seeing them all, restless, ready, efficient, she
hurried into the house and brought out some articles of clothing,
weeping as if they belonged to some one dear, and lost indeed.
“You call up our houses and tell them,” said Westy hurriedly. “You know
us all I guess—Blakeley, Van Arlen, Bennett, Benton, Harris, Carson
and—that’s all. See you later.”
They were gone, Robin Hood dragging, pausing, dilly-dallying; his young
master pulling, then running after him.
The field where little Margie had last been seen was a corner lot which
afforded a short-cut to the door of the house next to it. It was known
that she had called at that house for a girl friend and, not finding her
at home, had cut through the lot again and entered the bordering street.
No one had been found who had seen her after that.
It was in this field that Robin Hood took upon himself the
responsibility of the search and became master of the situation.