Secret in St. Something

by Barbara Brooks Wallace

  “Well then, don’t just stand there,” the man said impatiently. “Come on over to the street lamp. It’s just come on and should give you enough light to do the job. But be quick about it. My wife is leaving something off at the church and will be right out. Blasted rain! Just enough to leave puddles around for a man to step in when he’s got someplace important to go,” he muttered.

  Robin was certain he was going to keel right over onto the shoes he was supposed to shine. Yet to his surprise, he heard himself saying in a voice cool as you please, “You’d best step over here, sir, and grab on to the post. Keep you steady while I fix up your shoes for you.”

  Robin could feel the man’s eyes fastened on him the whole time he was blacking and shining the shoes. His hands ought to be shaking like a dried leaf on a tree. He knew that. Yet they were as steady as the man’s shoe resting on the box. It seemed that St. Something must have been working another miracle. Not a drop of blacking was spilled, nor a scratch put on the shoes. They all but sparkled in the fluttering lamplight.

  “That ought to do it, sir,” said Robin, giving the shoe on the box a last flick of the polishing rag.

  He looked up into the man’s face and was glad he had not looked so closely into it before. For he found himself looking past a rich silk scarf, past a black beard, and into dark, piercing eyes, eyes to which no better word fit than the word “cruel.” If Robin had not known better, he would have thought he was looking into the eyes of—Hawker Doak!

  “What do I owe you?” the man asked.

  Robin was so shaken he had all but forgotten he was to be paid. But now the question had been asked, what was he to say? He could suddenly not remember what Duck, or Mouse, or Spider had asked for a shoe shine. Was it two cents? Three?

  “Five cents, sir,” said Robin in the boldest voice he could muster.

  “Here,” the man said, carelessly tossing a coin at him.

  Somehow, Robin managed to catch it in midair and jam it into his pocket. For all he knew it was no more than a penny.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said. But he was addressing the man’s back, for he had already turned abruptly on his heels and was striding toward the carriage.

  Robin snatched up his box, hardly able to get away fast enough. But as he approached the back of the church, he hesitated and then went right on walking away from it. The man was still standing by his carriage, waiting for his wife. They must be people who attended the church, and Robin knew how dangerous it would be for anyone to suspect that the cellar was being lived in by four—no, five street boys and a baby.

  When he was out of sight of the carriage, Robin stopped a moment under a street lamp and pulled out the coin the man had tossed him. It was not the five cents Robin had requested. But it was not one cent either. It was ten cents. Ten whole cents! He could not believe it. For only a few minutes’ work, he had earned ten cents. His very first money earned! But what made him almost as proud as the money was that he had done a good job and made not a single mistake. And oh, what a polite and proper businessman he had been! “That ought to do it, sir.” “Five cents, sir.” There was no doubt in his mind any more. He was going to make a fine shoe-shine boy indeed!

  It seemed impossible to believe that he had suddenly gone from having to return with a dismal report of his day, to one quite the opposite. He could hardly wait to report to the boys this amazing news. And while he was at it, why not surprise them with something else as well? It was an idea that had come to him when he saw how eagerly they worked at learning to tell time from his watch. And as he had to wait to get back into the church, why not go right now and get what he needed for the surprise? So that is what he did.

  By the time he returned to the church, the carriage had left. But in his shoe-shine box he now carried not only his brushes and blacking, but four pencils and a tablet of paper. Well, they were only pencil stubs purchased from a street peddler, but they would write as well as any new pencil.

  Unfortunately, his ten cents had now been reduced to eight cents, as the four pencil stubs had cost him a cent, and the tablet of paper a cent. Two cents out of the precious ten cents he had just earned. But now he knew he could earn it back. And was this not worth every bit of the two cents? For he was going to teach the boys their letters. He would teach them to write their own names. And yes, he might even teach them to read and write the real name of St. Something!

  But as he came bursting into their cellar room with his good news, he found it would have to wait, for there was some other exciting news awaiting his arrival.

  Piggy, holding Danny and surrounded by Mr. Gribbins, Duck, Mouse, and Spider, looked up at Robin with an ear-to-ear grin. “Wot kep’ you,” he said. “Come look. Yer baby brother’s done sprung a tooth!”

  “Piggy said as how he’s been fussin’ a bit all day,” said Spider.

  “I should o’ brung ’im a teethin’ ring,” said Mr. Gribbins. “Hannah done said as how I should. Ain’t nothin’ she don’t know ’bout babbies. I’ll be bringin’ one t’morrow.”

  “An’ yer Uncle Mouse is goin’ ter bring you a rattle,” said Mouse.

  “Wot d’you mean ’yer Uncle Mouse’?” said Duck. “His Uncle Duck done said it firstest.”

  It was clear that it was going to be a while before Robin could announce his news. But, in truth, he did not mind a bit. For was Danny’s big brother not just as proud of his new tooth as his Uncle Duck, his Uncle Mouse, his Uncle Spider, and his Uncle Piggy?

  But when Robin did finally tell them all the events of his day, there was yet more excitement all around. So much so, that Mr. Gribbins found it difficult to tear himself away to go home to his Hannah.

  Why then, Robin wondered as the evening wore on, was he not feeling as happy as he should? He had proved that when put to the test, he could be a good shoe-shine boy. He knew now that he really could make money to take care of himself and Piggy, and to buy all the milk in the world Danny needed. Further, the boys were just as happy with the pencil stubs and paper and learning their letters, as they had been with learning to tell time from his watch.

  So what was bothering him? Why did he have such a feeling of dread? And then, quite suddenly, he saw again the dark, cruel eyes of the man whose shoes he had shined. The leaden feeling he had turned to an icy chill. He almost would have given back the ten cents not to have seen those eyes. Why?

  What had the man done but give him ten cents for a five-cent shoe shine? There was really no reason for Robin to feel as he did. No explanation for it. But explanation or not, all he knew was that he did not like the owner of those eyes having anything to do with St. Something. Or anyplace near where he was. And most especially not near his baby brother Danny.

  And yet the frightening question remained. Why?

  Chapter XII

  A Puzzling Report

  “Wot’s ailin’ you, Robin?” Duck asked. “You been pickin’ at yer supper. You ain’t been payin’ no ’tendon ter wot any o’ us is sayin’. Can’t be yer biz. You got two customers terday. You got two day ’fore that, an’ one day ’fore that. An’ there’s the ten cents you got off’n that gent outside o’ the church. Ain’t bad pickin’s fer one wot’s jist got goin’. Better’n any o’ us done when we begun.”

  “It’s not that,” said Robin. “It’s not anything, Duck. Really.”

  “Yer lyin’,” said Duck, stuffing another bite of bread into his mouth. “C’mon. Say wot’s up.”

  Robin had not wanted to tell them. He had never told them how he felt about that man’s frightening eyes, so why tell them about this? Still, that was all in his imagination. This was something else entirely. This was not only frightening. It was very, very real.

  “C’mon, Robin. We’re waitin’,” said Mouse.

  “Well,” said Robin, hesitating, “it’s just that today I saw a friend of my step-papa’s. His name is Quill. I met him just before I ran away with Danny.”

  “So you seed this Quill,” Duck said. “That don’t mean nothi
n’. Wot might mean somethin’ is if he seed you.”

  “He did see me,” said Robin. “I know he did, because after I left to come home, he was following me.”

  At this, all four faces around Robin suddenly froze.

  “Did he actual foller you all the way here?” asked Mouse.

  “Oh no! No!” cried Robin. “I guessed right away I was being followed, so I turned at the next block and went right on in another direction. I kept on walking and walking. I knew he was behind me, because every time I turned around to look, there he’d be ducking into something. He’s thin as a stick. He can hide just about anywhere.”

  “So how did you git’ ’way from ’im?” Spider asked, his eyes ready to pop out of his head.

  “I just went on walking,” said Robin. “I think he ended up so tired he gave up, because the last time I turned to look, he was gone. But I kept on walking anyway, just to be sure.”

  “We knowed as how you got home later’n all o’ us,” said Duck. “But none o’ us thought ter arsk why.”

  “Wot I don’t git,” said Mouse, “is why he never jist nabbed you on yer corner, if nabbin’ was wot he had in mind.”

  “Maybe he never had nothin’ in mind,” said Piggy. “Maybe he never ’spected ter see Robin, an’ when he did, he jist wanted to see where Robin landed so some other party could go nab him, some other party like maybe his step-pa.”

  “But even if he don’t know where Robin landed,” said Spider, “he’s seed where Robin does shoe shinin’, an’ he c’n tell the other party where. That ain’t so good neither.”

  Duck looked around at them, and shrugged. “Seems ter me as how all Robin got ter do is get hisself ’nother corner nowheres near the other one.”

  “Too bad, seein’s how he got this one goin’ so good,” said Mouse. “We best help find ’im another spot where that boy with the pig eyes an’ pie-pan face wot Robin telled us ’bout don’t come hornin’ in.”

  Going back out into the streets was frightening, but Robin had to agree to what was suggested. After all, he could not stay and hide in the cellar of St. Something the rest of his days.

  · · ·

  The next day, as planned, a new corner was found for Robin. But before the day was out, Quill had found it as well. Once more he followed Robin when he picked up his box to leave. Up one street and down another Robin went. And though his heart might have been thumping at a great rate, he walked along slowly, carelessly swinging his box as if he were out for a Sunday stroll in the park. He had no intention of letting Quill know that he knew he was being followed. And though Quill followed him longer and later than the first night, once again he finally gave up.

  The following day, yet another corner was found for Robin. And the exact same thing happened. But this time, even though Robin led him on a merry chase, Quill stuck with him for even longer than the previous two times. Would he end up following Robin all night, especially when he must realize that Robin knew he was being followed? But what was he hoping to accomplish by this curious game of cat and mouse? Did he think knowledge of Robin’s whereabouts could help him get something he wanted from Hawker? That would, of course, mean that Hawker was still looking for Robin, and determined to find him. And that was a conclusion that chilled Robin.

  He told it to the boys, and they agreed that he was probably right. It would help if they could find out exactly what Quill was up to, and why. That, however, seemed almost impossible.

  “Be nice ter be a fly buzzin’ roun’ the table wot yer step-pa sits at with this feller Quill,” Spider said.

  “Wot table were that?” asked Duck. “Robin ain’t said nothin’ ’bout no table.”

  “Aw, Duck, why’re you allus tweakin’ me?” complained Spider. “I jist meant any ol’ table. Sometime or other they got ter be sittin’ at a table. Ain’t that right?”

  “That’s what they were doing when I met Quill,” said Robin. “Spider’s right, Duck.”

  “Yeah, I knowed that. Sorry ’bout it, Spider,” said Duck. “But wot was they doin’ at that there table, Robin. Guzzlin’?”

  Robin nodded.

  “Where were that?” asked Mouse.

  “A place called The Whole Hog,” Robin replied.

  “Aint’ never knowed o’ that one,” said Mouse. “My own pa allus goes ter The Rat’s Nest.”

  Suddenly Duck bit his lip and screwed up his eyes. “Wait a bleedin’ minute. I’m gittin’ a idea here. Spider, I got ter say it come from what you jist said ’bout the fly buzzin’ roun’ the table. Supposin’ it were a boy buzzin’ roun’ that there table ’stead o’ a fly. Or maybe jist hangin’ roun’ nearby.”

  “Wot boy you got in mind, Duck?” asked Piggy.

  “Any one o’ us,” Duck said. “Robin’s step-pa don’t know any o’ us from spit.”

  “We don’t know Robin’s step-pa from spit neither,” said Mouse.

  “Robin c’n tell us wot he looks like,” Duck said. “So tell us, Robin.”

  “Well,” said Robin, “he’s big and he has a black beard, and a scar across his cheek. It’s from a fight he was in. And he always wears this black jacket.”

  “You ain’t able ter do no better’n that?” Duck asked. “Sounds like a hunnert people wot I know. Wot’s ’is name?”

  “You mean one o’ us got ter go up an’ arsk ’im?” Spider asked.

  At this, Duck just looked at Spider, shook his head, and sighed. “No, Spider. Wot I were thinkin’ is hangin’ roun’ someone wot looks like wot Robin said. You wait long ’nough, someone’s got ter say his name. So wot’s ’is name, Robin?”

  “It’s … it’s Hawker Doak.” Just saying his name made Robin’s skin creep.

  Mouse’s eyes flew wide open. “Hawker Doak! He’s yer step-pa?”

  Robin nodded.

  “He’s the one wot comes ’round collectin’ rent where I used ter live with me ma and pa,” said Mouse. “I seed him more times ’n I cares ter count.”

  “Do you think as how he seed you?” Duck asked.

  “Nah,” said Mouse. “They was hunnerds o’ kids in the buildin’, an’ it ain’t likely he knowed one o’ us. All he were in’erested in were the sight o’ me pa’s hand forkin’ over the money.”

  “Then sounds like as how yer the one wot gits chose ter do the buzzin’ roun’ the table at The Whole Hog,” said Duck. “You c’n pertend you was there fer yer pa. Ain’t nobody goin’ ter think nothin’ o’ that.”

  “But when is it I got ter go hangin’ ’round?” Mouse asked. “I ain’t in’ erested in hangin’ roun’ mornin’ ’til night. ’Sides, if I’m seed hangin’ roun’ all day, you think there ain’t no one goin’ ter arsk questions? Don’t take all day ter pick up somethin’ fer yer pa.”

  Duck took a few moments to think this over. “Well, ain’t much doubt this here Quill’s goin’ ter be follerin’ Robin agin tomorrow. An’ Robin’s goin’ ter lead him ’roun’ again. That right?”

  “I believe it is,” said Robin.

  “So,” continued Duck, “soon as Robin knows he ain’t bein’ follered no more, he high tails it back here. Mouse is waitin’ fer ’im, an’ he hightails it ter The Whole Hog. This here Quill, bein’ all wore out from follerin’ Robin, more’n likely won’t be goin’ no faster’n a dyin’ rat. So Mouse gits there, sets up his waitin’ place near this here Hawker … and waits.”

  Mouse gave a deep sigh. “Sounds as how lots got ter happen ‘fore somethin’ else happens. An’ wot if nothin’ happens like wot you said, Duck?”

  “You got a better idea?” asked Duck. “Anybody here got a better idea?”

  Nobody did.

  “Then that’s how it’s goin’ ter be,” said Duck.

  “Mouse,” said Robin, “thank you for doing this. I want to thank all of you. I don’t know what Danny and I would have done if … if … well, I just wish I could get everybody something. When I start making more money, I’d like to get …”

  “Git us all ’nother one o’ them big
dinners like you got us first night you b’come one o’ us.” Duck grinned. “Nah, I were jist tweakin’ you. You ain’t gittin’ us nothin’. Wot Mouse is doin’ ain’t nothin’ he wouldn’ be doin’ fer any o’ us, nor us fer ’im. We all knows as how you’d be doin’ the same. So no more ’bout gittin’ us anythin’. Did you git that?”

  “I got it,” said Robin with a sheepish grin.

  Mouse need never have worried, for it all happened just as Duck had laid it out. Quill followed Robin. Robin led him the usual merry chase until he gave out. Robin “hightailed” it back to St. Something. Mouse “hightailed” it to The Whole Hog, and then at last raced back with his report to four anxious, impatient boys.

  “Wot took you?” asked Duck, even though Mouse had actually returned in little over an hour. This was confirmed by Robin’s all-important watch, which had been consulted at least once every other minute. Mouse, fortunately, was too out of breath from running to let Duck know what he thought of the question.

  “Did … did you see Hawker Doak?” Robin asked hesitantly.

  “I seed him,” replied Mouse.

  “Quill too?” Robin asked.

  Mouse nodded.

  “Well, wot did you find out?” asked Duck.

  “Was … was I right, I mean what I was thinking about Quill, and that he might not say anything to Hawker about finding me?” asked Robin.

  Mouse stared at Robin for a few moments, and then slowly shook his head.

  “Maybe I’d best tell you wot happened from the beginnin’, an’ you c’n figger it out,” he said with a shrug. “You were right ’bout one thing. This feller wot were thin’s a stick, like you said, come draggin’ in after I done arrived, and I knowed it were Quill. I’d got me a seat nex’ from where Hawker Doak were sittin’ with a fat man wot I guessed might o’ been this Maggot wot you tol’ us ’bout. There I sits holdin’ this can wot I picked up on the street, lookin’ like I were waitin’ ter git it filled fer me pa, when this Quill comes in and plunks hisself down like a stone nex’ ter Hawker.”

  “‘Hawker, I ain’t goin’ ter do that no more,’ he says. His voice aint’ much more’n a whisper an’ got a queer little whistle in it. It gives me the creeps, I’ll tell you. ‘I’m wore ter a bone,’ he says, which are a ’orse laugh, ’cause he ain’t much more’n a bone any-ways.”