9
Fireworks and Buried Treasure
On the Fourth of July Rufus was sitting on the bottom step of the porch burning a piece of punk, the only thing he had left of his fireworks. Not that punk is really fireworks, but at least it burned. It was better than nothing and, besides, it kept mosquitoes away. Joey had fired off his last giant firecracker and Jane had watched her last snake wind out of its little capsule. Everybody was glad that Sylvie liked night fireworks the best and had spent all her money on pinwheels and Roman candles. Otherwise the Fourth of July would be over and it was only nine o’clock in the morning.
Usually Rufus did not want the nighttime to come because night meant bedtime. But today he wished it would hurry up, so they could shoot the Roman candles and the skyrockets. He burned his punk and he looked longingly at the night works. They were in a shoe box in a corner of the porch all ready to be set off. Beside the pink and green and blue skyrockets and Roman candles there was a box of sparklers, practically full. The children had burned one last night just to see how it looked.
Rufus watched his punk and the wisp of smoke winding away from it. It smelled good but punk is rather tiresome. It doesn’t flare up into anything big and bright. It just smolders. Still Rufus burned his punk waiting for the nighttime.
Rufus did not like to wait for nighttime or for anything else. Sometimes, when he went walking with Mama in the evening, she’d stop to talk with some lady around the corner. Rufus would stand first on one foot and then on the other. He would tug on Mama’s skirt every now and then, a gentle reminder that he was still there, that he was tired, that he wanted to go home, and finally that he didn’t like to stand there while she was talking. But talk, talk, Mama and the lady talked and talked.
Now he burned his punk and he waited. “Come, nighttime,” he urged impatiently.
Jane came skipping around the house.
“What time is it?” Rufus asked her.
“About nine o’clock,” she said.
“What time does it get dark at night?”
“About nine.”
Rufus groaned.
“How’m I gonna wait?” he asked.
Mama came out of the house and sat down in the little green rocker to sew. She moved into the shade cast by the hop vines and said, “Gracious, today is going to be a scorcher.”
“Do we have to wait till it’s pitch-black for the night works?” Rufus asked.
“Of course,” said Mama, fanning herself with a palm-leaf fan. She studied Rufus’s despondent little back for a while. Then she said:
“Why don’t you and Jane and Joey go over to Sandy Beach for the day? You could take some sandwiches.”
“Whoops!” Jane and Rufus tore all over the house like Indians, throwing off their clothes, putting on their bathing suits, and yelling for Joey. Sylvie helped make the sandwiches. Cheese sandwiches they were, snappy cheese, and Jane packed them in a box with some apples. Sylvie said she wished she could go, too, but she had to get ready for tonight. Ray Abbot said he might come over, and she wanted to shampoo her hair.
“Good-bye,” she and Mama called, as the three youngest Moffats ran barefoot across the grass, heavy coats slung over their arms, for they would be practically frozen coming home, dripping wet, with their teeth chattering no matter how hot the day was.
“Come home when you see the Richard Peck,” added Mama.
“All right! All right! Good-bye! Good-bye!”
The Richard Peck was the steamboat that ran between New York and New Haven and it sailed into the harbor at four o’clock on Sundays and holidays.
Well! Rufus was glad. They would swim all day and then they would have supper and soon after that they could light the night works.
He and Jane and Joe ran across the lot, their bare heels pounding the hard dirt path and their arms waving the grasshoppers and dragonflies out of the way.
When they reached Elm Street, they slowed down to a walk. The trolleys were so crowded with excursionists that some were hanging on the running boards, screaming and laughing and blowing thin horns, all on their way to the beaches for the holiday. There were too many automobiles on the road to play the game they had made up of “This is my car and this is yours.” Often they sat on the corner on Sunday afternoons and watched the autos go past and the first would be Joey’s and the next Jane’s and the next Rufus’s and then Joey’s again.
“Boy, oh, boy,” Joey would say when he got a beautiful long red car. And everybody would yell derisively when Jane got one dilapidated old tin lizzie after another the whole afternoon.
Now and then they stopped to watch a boy set off a giant firecracker. And again Rufus and Joey wished they had some more day works. However, once they reached Sandy Beach, they all began to forget about firecrackers, for these were not permitted here. Only once in a while from a distance they heard a torpedo and a bang reminding them it was still the Fourth of July. They put their coats and lunch box in the shade under a crab-apple tree far up on the beach and now they were ready for a swim.
Rufus thought he could swim. All winter he had been thinking he could swim because the last time he went in swimming last summer he had actually swum five strokes without water wings, logs, or anything. Now, splashing around in the water, he found he was mistaken. He could not swim. Jane, standing shivering ankledeep, assured him swimming was like bicycle riding. Once you knew how you knew how for life. He’d soon get the hang of it again. And with these encouraging words she plunged in bravely, hoping the theory would work with her likewise. Joey had already swum way out to the raft and was doing the jackknife, the swan, and all kinds of dives.
Rufus and Jane splashed around vigorously, did dead man’s float, ducked with eyes open and eyes closed, tried underwater swimming, dived for rocks in the shallow water, and finally, completely water-soaked, with eyes pink and lips blue, they flopped in the hot sand to warm up. They gathered seashells and Rufus put them in a grubby old cigarette box he found for the Moffats’ museum, as they now called the barn.
It was then that Jane got the idea they should bury treasure.
“Let’s play pirates,” she suggested. “I’m Cap’n Blackbeard. You’re my man Bloody Jim.”
“Right,” said Rufus, not minding Jane’s being the captain since he had such a good name and, anyway, the game was her idea.
“Come on,” said Jane. “We’ll bury treasure, mark the spot with a stick, and when Joey comes back we’ll dig it up and surprise him.”
This idea appealed to Rufus. “It will get even with him for pulling up that onion that time in his Victory Garden,” he said energetically.
They dug a hole in the sand above the high-water line. The captain paced off the distance. Ten feet from the gnarly crab-apple tree, three feet above the high-water mark, and two feet from a deserted little boathouse.
“Now what’ll we bury?” asked Rufus. The hole was dug, gaping in the sand waiting for the treasure.
Jane thought a moment. “Valuables. My little blue ring for one.”
“The one Tonty sent you from New York?” asked Rufus incredulously.
“Of course. Treasure is treasure,” said Jane, dropping her ring into the hole. “What have you got? Speak up, Bloody Jim.”
“Nuthin’,” came the tough answer of the assistant pirate.
“Nuthin’!” exclaimed Cap’n Blackbeard.
“Well,” said Bloody Jim after a thoughtful pause as he considered the possibilities. Since they had come in their bathing suits, naturally they were not very well equipped with treasure. “There’s my shells,” and he dropped in the grimy box with the delicate little shells.
“All right. What else?” demanded Cap’n Blackbeard.
“That’s all the valuables I got, Cap’n.”
“Men have died for less than that, Bloody Jim. How about the signet ring on your little finger?”
“Won’t come off, Cap’n. Honest,” said the man Bloody Jim, with an appropriate whine.
“Less
ee!” The captain’s voice boded ill.
Bloody Jim held out his chubby fist. The captain coaxed and pulled at the ring. No use. The ring was on to stay.
“How are you ever goin’ to get that off?” A momentary lapse into Janey Moffat’s own voice.
“Old Natby the blacksmith’ll file it off,” replied Rufus in his regular Rufus voice.
But now harsh sounded the voice of Captain Blackbeard. “You’ll hang for the next offense. For the present keep your ring,” he said, flinging the hand of Bloody Jim from him in high dudgeon. “And consider yourself lucky I don’t saw off your finger,” he added.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Fill in the hole. Be quick about it.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Then the captain marked the spot and the buried treasure was ready to be dug up as soon as Joey came back. And here was Joey now. But Jane and Rufus forgot about the treasure when Joey said:
“Come on, Rufe and Jane! A fellow said he’d take us for a row. He’s in my Naval Reserve.”
“O-o-o-h! Swell!” said Jane, and they all ran for their coats and their lunch. Then they went back to the water’s edge to wait for the boy.
“Here he comes,” said Joe.
A big boy in a small red boat rowed skillfully to shore.
“What a beaut!” said Rufus, and the three Moffats climbed aboard. Jane sat in the backseat with her feet overboard in the cool green water. As she watched the shoreline grow farther and farther away, she suddenly remembered the buried treasure. Her finger missed the little blue ring. Well, the game of digging it up and surprising Joey would have to wait until they got back. The way the tide was coming in, it was lucky she knew enough to plant the treasure above the high-water mark.
The three Moffats didn’t say much. They just watched the scenery change. Now they were way out by the raft, and now they had passed it and were heading for the coal barge. Now they had reached the coal barge, and the only way they could distinguish Sandy Beach was by the large crowd of children there. The boathouses looked like toy houses and the shouts from the raft sounded miles away. Maybe Joe’s friend was going to row them under the Cumberland Avenue bridge. All the Moffats hoped so.
“I’ll row if you get tired,” Rufus offered shyly. But the boy didn’t hear him. Rufus spoke a little louder.
“. . . Row if you get tired,” he suggested. The boy heard him this time.
“Right,” said the boy. “Soon’s we get through the bridge the job is yours.”
Rufus smiled and sat in readiness to take over. Now they were going under the bridge. They couldn’t help ducking though there really was plenty of room between them and the bridge. And now here they were in the river beyond. It wound its way through the high grass of the marshes. Dragonflies and horseflies darted over their heads. An occasional seagull swooped ahead of them into the river for a fish. And schools of little fish scattered hither and thither at this intrusion into their quiet waters.
Rufus took the oars and the Moffats began to feel at home in this boat and with this big boy. They began to sing.
“Row, row, row the boat
Gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.”
They sang it over and over, that is, all of them but Rufus. He was working very hard at the oars. Occasionally an oar slipped out of his hand, his right hand. And it would have gone sailing down the river had not Joey’s friend quickly retrieved it. So Joey sat beside him and took one of the oars and pulled with Rufus. And they pulled up the river to the next bend. The water was rising quickly and spreading over the marsh. The children rested now and ate their sandwiches, sharing them with Joey’s friend.
“Goodness!” said Jane. “How high the tide is getting!”
“Sure,” said Joe. “Today is perigee tide.”
“Perigee tide! What’s that?” asked Jane.
“Well . . . it’s an unusually high tide.”
“Oh,” said Jane, clasping her finger where her ring was supposed to be and with dismay clutching at her heart.
“Why? What’s the matter?” asked Joe.
“Oh . . . nothing. But . . . how much higher does this pedigree tide come than the regular everyday one?”
“Way up. Covers the whole of Sandy Beach. Sometimes reaches way up to the bushes,” put in Joey’s friend as he again took the oars.
“It does?” gasped Jane. And she tried to catch Rufus’s eye. But he was watching how with each pull the fellow almost yanked the oarlock out of the boat but never did quite. If he did, who’d dive for it, Joey or the big boy? Rufus couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe by the time they had to go home, he’d have learned to dive. Swim and dive, both.
Jane did not enjoy the last part of the row. They were going back under the Cumberland Avenue bridge now and everybody really had to stoop this time in order not to bump their heads, for the water had risen so. Now they were back in the harbor and Jane kept straining her eyes for a glimpse of the shoreline. At last she could distinguish Sandy Beach and, yes, the water had rolled way up onto the shore. There was almost no Sandy Beach at all. When the boat scraped the bottom, she breathed a hurried “Thank you,” grabbed her coat, and tore across the beach. Joey and Rufus followed curiously.
“What’s up?” asked Joe.
Jane did not answer. She was busy measuring off ten feet from the gnarly apple tree. It landed her knee deep in the water.
“Oh, the treasure!” Rufus remembered now.
“What treasure?” asked Joe.
“We had directions to dig ten feet from that crab-apple tree and we’d find buried treasure,” said Jane mournfully.
“Who gave you directions?” asked Joe.
“Oh, some pirate,” answered Jane absentmindedly. “And now the water’s come where it’s never been before,” she said, shaking her head sadly and combing the bottom of the ocean with her fingers and toes, trying to find her little blue ring. All the children did dead man’s float for a long, long time, keeping their eyes open, hoping the water would wash up the ring. But it never did. And gone now was Jane’s little blue ring and gone now was Rufus’s box of shells. Tears smarted Jane’s eyes. She had loved that ring. But of course she couldn’t cry. After all, she could see that what had seemed such an exciting idea before had turned out all wrong.
“Well,” said Rufus, “they’re gone. And here comes the Richard Peck!” he yelled.
It was time to go home. The three children wrapped the coats around their shivering shoulders and, completely water-soaked, they trod the hot pavement home.
Jane thought about her ring. Maybe a fish swallowed it. She would make everybody go very easy when they ate their fish, hoping it would turn up in one of them.
But she did forget about her ring for a time when she reached home and found that Mr. Abbot had brought a whole big wooden box full of fireworks. Night fireworks. Skyrockets, Roman candles, and pinwheels! Great big ones! And finally the nighttime did come, and one by one he and Joey set the things off into the air. Jane and Sylvie and Mama and Rufus sat on the porch and watched and burned sparklers, and they all exclaimed admiringly whenever a particularly pretty skyrocket spun up in the air with a hiss.
Mr. Buckle, the oldest inhabitant, shuffled up the path and sat down with them. He burned a sparkler, too, and between the skyrockets and Roman candles, he led Rufus and Jane through the whole battle of Bull Run.
It was truly a glorious evening. And Rufus stomped up to bed tired and happy and wondering how he could wait until the next Fourth of July. But when Jane went to bed, she closed her eyes to go to sleep and she tried to remember what it was that made her heart heavy. Oh, her little blue ring. It would be nice to go to Mama and tell her about losing the ring, and hear her say, “There, there.” But Mama was talking to the big people and Jane finally fell asleep, thinking, “Perhaps the little mermaid has found it, the little mermaid in Andersen’s fairy tale.”
10
The Fly
ing Horse Named Jimmy
“Stay on, now,” said Rufus as he settled the cardboard boy comfortably and safely on the back axle of his bike. His bike was really a tricycle, but of course he never called it that. “Stay on,” he said, “and I’ll take you for a ride.” This cardboard boy was Rufus’s friend and enemy. Friend when he needed a friend; enemy when he needed an enemy. Right now he was his friend and Rufus was taking him for a ride; a little ride down along the Green.
Rufus had picked the cardboard boy out of a pile of rubbish outside the grocery store. Apparently the grocer did not want him anymore. This cardboard boy was a familiar figure, for his picture was in every trolley car and newspaper. He was always offering a biscuit with a smile. The biscuits were cardboard, too, not real, the same as the cardboard boy. He had on his same yellow rubber raincoat, rain hat, and boots that he always wore in rain or shine.
Today that was a good thing, for it was a very misty day in the late summer. Lots of worms had come out of the ground and lay around on the sidewalks. It must have rained during the night though it wasn’t raining now and hadn’t rained all day. It was just misty. Very, very misty and very quiet. Rufus rode down Raven Avenue and his ears rang from the quiet. He swallowed hard and his ears seemed to pop open. He pedaled slowly down along the Green, trying hard not to run over any worms.
It’s too bad I’m not goin’ fishin’, thought Rufus. Look at all the bait I’m wastin’. The worms were just lying around tantalizing him. Rufus paused at the drinking trough for a drink and he surveyed the sidewalks. Half worms, quarter worms, and whole worms sprawled all over the place. Well, let them lie. He couldn’t go fishing by himself. Mama didn’t allow him to and the rest of the family was busy.
He got back on his bike. “Want to go home now? Or want to ride some more?” he asked his cardboard friend.
By rights Rufus should not go any farther than this on Raven Avenue, because this road led to Plum Beach, where there was an amusement park. None of the Moffats was supposed to go down there alone. Sometimes they all went together on Saturday nights to see the fireworks and to ride the merry-go-round. Or on a sultry Sunday afternoon they might stroll down there to hear the band concert. But alone none of them ever went.
Rufus M. Page 11
