CHAPTER XVII
Next morning Mark and Plunk and I went out to the Wigglesworth farm tosee Rock. We walked right into the yard like we always do, now thatJethro thinks we're working for him, but Rock wasn't in sight. Jethrowas, though. He was fussing around the side yard and we walked over towhere he was.
"Howdy, Jethro!" says Mark, and Jethro turned his face toward us. He hadone of the biggest and best black eyes I ever saw. It was a regularsocdolager of a black eye--one of the kind that runs way down on yourcheek and that starts to wiggling and twitching every once in a whilelike a blob of jelly.
"Howdy!" says Jethro, short-like.
"Run into somethin'?" says I.
"Yes," says he, and felt of his eye.
"I run into one of them things once," says Plunk, who talks sometimeswhen he ought to keep his mouth shut. "There was a boy on the other endof it, and he was mad at me."
"There wasn't no boy on the other end of this," says Jethro.
"Where's Rock?" says Mark.
"Around the house somewheres," says Jethro. "Yell and he'll come."
So we left Jethro and went around back of the house and yelled for Rock.In a minute he came, and you could see right off that he was either sickor something. He wasn't exactly pale, but he looked like he'd like to bepale. His eyes was kind of big and hollow like he hadn't slept much.
"Never was so glad to see anybody in my life," says he, and he said itlike he meant it.
"How d-d-did Jethro git his b-black eye?" says Mark.
"I don't know," says Rock, and he shivered a little. "Something has beenhappening. I don't know what. I'm scared, and I'm not ashamed to own itup. Last night, just after I went to bed, somebody came to the door.After that I heard voices down-stairs, and then a whopping racket likesomebody was smashing the furniture. Then there was a noise like a manwas dragging a bag of flour up-stairs--way up into the third story. Ididn't dare sneak out to see what it was, but I couldn't get to sleep.In about an hour I heard something moving around over my head somewhere.And then somebody began to thump on a door and yell, 'Hey, there. Lemmeout of here. Lemme out of here.'"
"Yes," says Mark, eager-like.
"Then Jethro went banging up-stairs and there was a lot of yelling andbanging, and then Jethro came down again. Since then I've heard somebodymoving around up there. Every once in a while, whoever it is, takes acrack at the door and yells a little."
"Um!" says Mark. "T-that's what Jethro run into, Plunk. It was af-feller's fist, which is what causes most black eyes. I've heard offolks gittin' 'em by f-fallin' out of bed, and by runnin' into ad-d-door in the dark, and by havin' a bird fly into their face, and bystoopin' over quick and buttin' their own knee. I've heard of all thoseways, but when you come to git the f-f-facts, most gen'ally you find outit was a fist they run into. I f-figgered it was that way with Jethro,and I guess I kin n-name the fist."
"Go on," says Plunk.
"It b'longed to a f-feller named Pekoe," says Mark.
"_Pekoe!_" says Rock.
"That's the f-feller."
"He's the man that brought me here," says Rock.
"Jest so," says Mark.
"What is he back for? And why did Jethro shut him up?" says Rock.
"That," says Mark, "is what it's our b-b-business to find out."
"Easy," says I. "Jest go up to his door and ask."
"Sure," says Plunk. "Jethro's out in the yard."
"M-maybe," says Mark, with a sort of grin, "we might try."
We went to the back door and started in, but just as, we opened the doorJethro came into the kitchen and looked at us, standing between us andthe door toward the front of the house.
"Better play outdoors to-day," says he. "I'm goin' to clean house, and Idon't want you kids underfoot."
So out we went.
"Hum!" says Mark. "Jethro's out in the yard. Easy to g-g-git to see thisPekoe. Easy l-like turnin' three summersets in the air without aspring-board."
"I guess he don't want us messin' around," says I.
"Didn't judge he would," says Mark, "so it must be there's s-somethin'to find out. As soon as you see a f-f-feller tryin' to keep somethin'away from you, why, you want to git to work to find out what it is.'Cause, m-m-most gen'ally it's somethin' you'll be glad to know."
"What room was he shut up in?" says I.
"Somewhere on the third floor," says Rock. "It sounded almost over myhead."
"Where's your room?" says Mark.
"Other side of the house," says Rock. "I'll show you."
"Not too s-s-sudden," says Mark. "We don't want to let on to Jethrowe're up to anythin', or suspect anythin'. Let's go to the other side ofthe house and p-play around awhile first."
So we did. We played tag, which wasn't much of a game for Mark Tidd,though he moved a lot faster than you'd have thought. But when he ran helooked like it was going to bust him all to pieces, and the sight of itgenerally made you laugh so you couldn't run yourself. That kind ofevened things up.
After a while Mark says, "N-now, Rock, you run like the d-dickens,around the other side of the house, with Binney chasin' you. Go over bythat l-little grape-arbor where we used to m-meet you, and then l-laydown like you was tired out. We'll come along behind."
Rock and I tore off, with Plunk and Mark coming along behind, and alllay down like we were tired right in front of the arbor.
"Don't l-look at the house," says Mark. "Probably Jethro's watchin'."
"There's your cat," I says to Mark, pointing over where his stone catwas.
"Huh!" says he. "N-n-ninety degrees in the shade. There's where you quitwalkin' where she l-looks," says he. "Right under that tree there."
The tree was back toward the rear of the house, but out quite a waysfrom it. We all looked at it.
"I can't make out," says Mark, "what the weather has to do with it. Hotor cold, it gits me."
"Ninety degrees in the shade is pretty hot," says Plunk.
"Maybe," says I, "it hain't got anything to do with how hot it is. Maybehe wrote it that way just to fool folks and make it harder to know whathe was tryin' to tell."
Mark he looked at me a minute like he was mad. Then he reached over andbanged me on the back, and says: "Binney, I sh'u'dn't be s'prised if youamounted to s-somethin' some day. Weather was what Mr. Wigglesworthwanted f-folks to think of that happened to see the writin'. So," sayshe, "it wasn't weather he meant at all. I was a noodle not to think ofthat. Um! ... Ninety degrees. What's ninety degrees except weather?"
I didn't think of anything, and nobody else did, either. We thoughtquite a while, and then Mark slapped his fat leg' and started to shakeall over with one of them still laughs of his. "Why, you boobs," sayshe, "ninety degrees is m-measurin'! That's it. You know a circle? Well,there's three hunderd and sixty degrees around one. In 'rithmetic orsomethin' they divide up a circle l-like a clock, only, instead ofhavin' minutes marked off, they have degrees. Ninety degrees.... Um! ...That's a quarter of the way around a circle. If you walk to the middleof a circle, and then turn off to the place on the circle that's ninetydegrees from the place where you first stepped on the circle, why, it'sa right angle. See?"
"No," says I, "my eddication hain't got that far."
He drew it out on the ground, and then it was as plain as plain couldbe.
"You walk where the c-c-cat looks," says he, excited and stuttering likethe mischief. "When you've walked as far as the writin' says--a hunderdand t-ten feet, wasn't it?--you turn off at a right angle, and there youare."
"Which way d'you turn?" says I.
That stopped him a minute, but he recited over Mr. Wigglesworth'swriting: "'Where p-pussy looks she walks. Thirty and twenty and ten andforty-six. N-ninety degrees in the shade. In. Down. What color is ab-brick? Investigate. B'lieve what t-tells the truth.'"
"Yes," says I.
"What comes after ninety degrees in the shade?" says he.
"'In,'" says I.
"In what?" says he.
"I dunno," says I.
/> "Well," says he, "use your b-brains. If you turn to the left what isthere to go in?"
"Nothin'," says I, looking over that way.
"If you turn to the right, what is there to g-g-goin?"
"Why," says I, "the house is that way."
"Well," says he, "then I guess you t-turn to the right, don't you? Ifdirections tell you to go in, and there hain't anythin' to _go_ into,why, then, you're turnin' wrong. Whatever it is we're l-lookin' for isin the house."
"Looks that way," says I.
"What doors are on the back of the house?" says Mark to Rock.
"Kitchen door, and a door that goes down cellar," says Rock.
"The cellar d-d-door's the one," says Mark, "because the next word inthe writin' is 'Down.' You got to go in and down, which m-m-means you goin the cellar door and down cellar. We're gettin' it, Rock. I knew wewould if we stuck to it long enough. Now we've got to get into thatcellar. Can't f-f-figger out the rest of that writin' till we do."
"If you say so," says I, "I guess it must be so." Maybe I was a littlesarcastic, but he didn't pay any attention to me; he was too interested.That's the way with him. When he gets his mind settled down to thinkingabout a thing, you could shoot him out of a cannon and he wouldn't payany attention to it. Concentrate is what Tecumseh Androcles Spat callsit. He says Mark is one of the greatest concentrators he ever saw.
Pretty soon he sort of waggled his head as if he was shaking a fly offhis nose, and says, "Well, we can't do any m-more about that to-day.Besides, we've got this Pekoe on our hands. Rock, turn around gradual,like there wasn't any reason for it, and tell me how many windows fromthe back yours is."
"It's the fourth, on the second floor," says Rock.
"All right. Now which s-s-side of you did that noise come from, or wasit r-right straight on top?"
"Sounded like it was almost over my head. It may have been to one side.I was pretty excited, you know. Come to think about it, it might havebeen a _little_ toward the front of the house."
Mark got up slow and went into the grape-arbor. When he got inside wesaw him turn around, back in the shadows where nobody could see him fromthe house, and look careful up toward the windows on the third floor.
He wasn't gone but a minute. Then he came waddling out and says: "He'sin a room with the blinds shut. Fifth window from the back. Blindscloses t-t-tight. That's what makes me think he's there. Maybe they'ren-nailed."
I sneaked a look, and sure enough, the window he was talking about didhave its blinds closed. That made it hard for anybody inside to see out,and impossible for anybody outside to see in, or to make any signals oranything.
"Fine chance," says I, "of getting at anybody up there. There ain't aladder in town that'll reach him."
"There's things b-besides ladders," says Mark. "Say, Binney, if you wass-shut in a room, and something came and rapped on your window likethis, _rap-rap-rap_, then _rap-rap-rap_, what would you think?"
"I'd think somebody was doin' it to make me take notice," says I.
"That's what this Pekoe would t-t-think," says Mark.
"But," says I, "you can't reach him. If you tried it with a long poleJethro'd catch you at it."
"Yes," says Plunk, "and if you tried it by throwing stones, he'd catchyou at that too."
"Maybe," says Mark. "But I got a d-d-dodge that'll work, maybe, andJethro won't see it, either. Let's all git into the arbor where we can'tbe seen."
We went in and Mark asked if Plunk and I had our sling-shots. We had,because we always had them along. You can never tell when you may need asling-shot in your business.
"Now," says Mark, "here's the notion. We shoot at Pekoe's window. Ishoot, then Plunk, then Binney. One, two, three. L-l-like that. Thenstop a m-minute, and do it right over--one, two, three. See? Jethrowon't be able to _see that_," says he.
"Go ahead," says I, getting a good stone in the leather, and another inmy hand to be ready for the second volley.
Mark shot, then Plunk, then me. _Pat-pat-pat_, the three stones sounded.Then we did it again. _Pat-pat-pat_. After that we waited with our eyesglued to the window, and our ears, too. Pretty soon we heard a noiselike glass breaking, and then Pekoe, if it _was_ Pekoe, began pushingand banging at the blinds.
"Hope he don't make too m-m-much noise," says Mark.
It seemed like he couldn't open the blinds, so they must have beennailed or fastened somehow, and they were strong, heavy blinds, but hecould work the shutters up and down so as to get a better look outside,and we could see his fingers reaching through. We knew he must have hiseyes right there, looking, so Mark went to the door of the arbor andstood there quiet. Pekoe couldn't miss seeing him any more than he couldmiss seeing the new post-office in town if he was standing right infront of it. That's one good thing about being fat--it's easy for folksto see you when you want them to. But, on the other hand, it's hard tohide from folks you want to keep away from.
Mark looked at the house careful, but Jethro wasn't in sight.
"Rock," he says, "you and Plunk go to the kitchen and yell to Jethrothat you're hungry. If he comes, one of you back over to that kitchenwindow there and waggle your hand behind you."
Off they went, and pretty soon Plunk showed up in front of the windowand waggled his hand. So we knew Jethro was in there where he couldn'tsee. Then, quick as a wink, Mark looked up at the window and waggled_his_ hand. The man inside saw it, because he shoved as much of his handthrough the shutters as he could, and wiggled it as hard as he couldwiggle. Mark nodded his head.
Plunk was still standing in the kitchen window, so we knew Jethro wasthere yet. Mark gave a look, and then started making letters with hisfingers. You know that sort of deaf and dumb alphabet that every boy inthe United States can use if he wants to--mostly behind his geography inschool. Well, that's what Mark was doing now. He was trying to talk toPekoe.
"Is your name Pekoe?" he spelled out as slow as time. Then he spelledout, "If you can read what I say wiggle one finger."
Just one finger came through the blinds and wiggled.
"Are you a friend of Rock's? If you are show two fingers," Marksignaled.
Two fingers came into sight.
"If you know who he is, and why he's kept here, show two fingers again.If you don't know, show one finger."
Just one finger came through.
"I wonder what he's g-g-got to do with it, then," says Mark to me.
And then Plunk and Rock and Jethro all came around the corner of thehouse, and Mark didn't dare make another move. We didn't stay long afterthat, because we had a lot of work at the _Trumpet_ office, so we wentalong. But we promised Rock we'd be back next day, some of us, and forhim to lay low and not to try monkeying with Pekoe unless he got a goodchance and was sure Jethro wasn't around.
While we were walking home Mark says, "P-p-perty good day's work. Gotthe worst part of Mr. Wigglesworth's writing f-f-figgered out, and had al-little chat with Pekoe."
"There's some bridges to cross yet," says I.
"Yes," says he, "but we'll cross 'em. You _bet_."
Mark Tidd, Editor Page 17
