“Oh, just everything. The weather, the sky, the clouds, everything.”
“You forgot to mention one other thing that’s wonderful,” Tink said.
“What?”
A chuckle bubbled from Tink.
“The fact that Nastee isn’t around causing trouble is pretty wonderful, I think.”
“Where is he?” Jing asked. “You told me, but I forgot.”
“He got homesick and went back to Ireland for a vacation,” Tink explained. “Maybe he’ll decide to stay there for good, but that’s too much to hope for.” Jing sat down again and frowned. “How did he get to Ireland?” she asked.
“He stowed away on a troop ship. He reached the County Down a few weeks ago. His home village is just a few miles from where the American soldiers have built their camp.”
“That isn’t far from Belfast, is it?” Jing asked. There was a troubled look in her eyes.
Tink noticed the expression. “Not very far,” he answered. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Jing answered. “Maybe I’m just being silly, but something in this morning’s paper has me worried. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now—”
“Now, what?” Tink demanded. “Has it got something to do with Nastee?”
“It might have,” said Jing. “Maybe you’d better look into it. There’s a morning paper over on that park bench. You’d better read the article.”
“All right,” said Tink, “I will.”
HE STOOD up and Jing jumped to the ground beside him, then the two of them skipped across the grass to the park bench. Tink swung himself up by using the braces as a trapeze artist might, but Jing leaped to the seat with one graceful bound.
When Tink swung himself over the edge of the bench Jing had already found the article in the paper. She pointed to it, as Tink reached her side, panting from his exertion.
“There,” she said, “what do you make of that?”
Tink frowned and began reading. The story was datelined: BELFAST. It was headed:
FRICTION SEEN DEVELOPING BETWEEN A.E.F. AND NATIVES OF IRISH STATE
(Belfast) Captain James Donavon of the American forces in Ulster, today issued an order confining his men to their barracks for the duration of their stay in Northern Ireland. The village of Ballycree which is the nearest village to the American camp has been ruled “out of bounds” for the American soldiers.
No explanation was given for this drastic action, but reliable observers are of the opinion that it will place a strain on American relations with Ulster. Captain Donavon refused to issue a statement to the Press. This is the first instance of friction between American soldiers and natives of Northern Ireland, all having been peaceful and serene until this time . . .
Tink read the dispatch twice, and he was scowling worriedly when he looked up at Jing.
“Are you thinking what I am?” asked Jing.
“I’m afraid so,” Tink said despairingly. “Ballycree is Nastee’s home village. I’ll bet anything he’s at the bottom of the trouble that’s brewing there.”
“But how could he be,” Jing protested. “It just doesn’t seem possible that he could cause that much trouble.”
“You don’t know Nastee,” Tink said gloomily.
“But,” Jing said, “what could he do to disrupt everything that way? And why would he want to make the soldiers mad at the people of Ireland?”
“No reason,” Tink said. “But he lives to stir up trouble, and I’ve got an awful suspicion that he’s behind this mess. This is terrible.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Jing.
Tink sat down and put his chin in his hands.
“There’s only one patriotic thing I can do,” he said.
“You mean—”
Tink nodded. “I’ve got to go to Ireland and stop Nastee. He’s getting too big for his britches. I’ll have to leave right away before things get any worse.”
“Will you wait for a troop ship?” Jing asked.
Tink shook his head firmly. “Nope. Haven’t got time.”
“What then?”
“I can get a bomber from Mitchell Field and be in Ireland in twenty-four hours. It’s the only thing to do.”
JING clapped her hands and pirouetted gaily.
“Oh, won’t that be fun!” she cried. “I’ve never been in a plane.”
Tink looked at her, startled.
“Who said you were coming along?” he demanded.
“I did,” Jing said sweetly.
Tink decided that it was time to put his foot down,
“No,” he said firmly, “you aren’t coming. It—it might be dangerous.”
“I don’t care. I’m coming.”’
Tink put his hands on his hips.
“For the last time, no! You absolutely aren’t coming.”
* * *
THE huge, American bomber landed smoothly and came to a stop within a hundred feet. When the pilots and radiomen crawled out and dropped to the ground, Tink said:
“Here we are, but I still don’t think you should have come.”
Jing grinned at him. “Maybe I can help you with Nastee. Anyway, I won’t be any trouble.”
The two leprichauns swung down from the plane then and headed for the green, sunshiny Irish countryside—and the village of Ballycree.
It only took them an hour to reach the small, picturesque, sea-side village at which the first contingent of American troops had landed. The camp where the bulk of the soldiers were bivouacked was situated several miles from the village. A winding dusty road led from the village to the camp, but when Tink and Jing arrived it was free from any travellers and there was not a sign of a soldier in any of the village streets or, what was worse, in any of the town’s numerous friendly bars.
Tink shook his head sadly as he viewed the cheerless, empty village. The townspeople walked the streets grim and unsmiling; even the children seemed oppressed by the lowering gloom that shrouded the village.
“Goodness, this is terrible,” Jing said anxiously. “Everybody looks so unhappy that it’s making me feel blue. You just have to do something about this, Tink.”
“We’d better go up to the camp,” Tink said. “Maybe we can find out something there.” He shook his head worriedly. “This thing looks bad.”
At the camp they found the same gloomy atmosphere. Soldiers stood about in groups of three and four, saying little, doing nothing. There was a general air of discontent and grumpiness evident.
“Oh, what are you going to do,” Jing almost wailed. “I just can’t bear the sight of all these unhappy soldiers.”
Tink patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something, but first of all I think we ought to see this Captain James Donavon who gave the order that confined these men to camp. We may be able to find out something from him.”
They easily located the officer’s tent and slipped through the flap into its clean, well-ordered interior. At a desk in the center of the tent sat a tall, blackhaired young man, with light blue eyes and a square, determined jaw. He would have been handsome if it weren’t for the black scowl that was stamped on his features. He wore the uniform and insignia of a Captain.
“I think this is our man,” Tink whispered.
“I wonder what he’s so mad about,” Jing said, regarding the young Captain with interest.
Tink frowned. “I think we’ll have to find that out from Nastee.”
The flap of the tent opened then and an orderly entered and saluted.
“Excuse me, sir, but I think it only my duty to report that the men are becoming very restless and discontented. They’re doing a lot of talking, sir.”
CAPTAIN JAMES DONAVON tapped a pencil impatiently against the desk.
“Well, let them talk,” he snapped. “I’m giving the orders and I want them obeyed. I want none of my men associating with those crazy, unreasonable, hot-tempered villagers.” The Captain stared moodily at the surface of his desk. “That’s
final.”
“But, sir,” the orderly persisted, “our boys and the village people have been getting on splendidly. There hasn’t been one bit of trouble.”
“Then I’m making sure that there won’t be any,” the Captain said. His eyes were miserable and unhappy as he stood up and snapped.
“I don’t want to hear anymore about this, do you understand?”
The orderly shifted uncomfortably.
“I understand, sir. And you, yourself, won’t be going into the village, either?”
“No!” Captain Donavon exploded. “I never want to see the place again.”
“Well, sir, do you want me to pick up your belongings from Mayor McCarthy’s home? I stowed a lot of your gear there as you were billeted with the McCarthy’s when we first arrived.”
Captain Donavon clenched his fists and jammed them into his trouser pockets.
“Don’t mention the name of McCarthy in my presence,” he barked.
The orderly backed toward the tent flap.
“I didn’t mean to irritate you, sir,” he said worriedly. “I didn’t know you had anything against the Mayor. In fact, since you was so friendly with his daughter, Eileen, I kinda figured—”
“Get out!” Captain Donavon’ bellowed.
“But—”
“Get out!”
The orderly ducked through the tent flap, white-faced, and the Captain slumped behind the desk, his features grim and miserable.
“What a nasty man,” Jing said. She made a face at the young Captain and stuck out her tongue at him.
Tink was leaning against the leg of a camp stool, his forehead furrowed with worried lines.
“That won’t help any, he can’t see you,” he said abstractedly.
“I know, but it makes me feel better.”
Tink sighed. “We’ve got a big job ahead of us. Nastee has quite a head start on us. I guess we’d better look him up first.”
“How can you find him?”
Tink said, “follow me.”
HE LED the way out of the Captain’s tent. In the cleared area enclosed by the soldier’s barracks he paused. When he noticed several men strolling into one particular tent, he nodded at Jing to follow him and started in that direction.
“Dice game,” he explained.
“What do you mean?” asked Jing. “Well, it’s a good bet that those men are getting together to play craps. And Nastee loves to start trouble by kicking the dice around and spoiling things in general. It’s an old trick of his. So if there’s a crap game going, it’s a cinch Nastee’ll be around.”
Tink was proven right on two counts. There was a crap game going and Nastee was on hand. Tink saw him the second he crawled under the tent-flap.
Nastee was in the center of the ring formed by the gambling soldiers, his sharp little face twisted in a malicious smile. He had obviously already caused a great deal of consternation for there were angry rumblings from the gambling soldiers.
But with Tink’s arrival Nastee’s fun was over. He saw Tink and the mischievous smile faded from his face. It was replaced by an almost comical look of startled consternation.
“W—when did you get here?” he said weakly.
“Never mind that,” Tink said sternly. “I want to talk to you.”
Dumbfounded by Tink’s unexpected arrival, Nastee allowed himself to be led from the tent where Jing was waiting.
“Oh, you’re here too,” he said sulkily, when he saw the Leprichaun-girl.
“What have you been up to?” Tink demanded. “I know you’re at the bottom of this trouble.”
A sly evasive smile plucked at Nastee’s lips.
“What trouble?” he smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Tink said grimly. “What have you done to Captain Donavon?”
Nastee grinned and stretched out on the ground, cushioning his back against a soft blade of grass.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Tink turned despairingly to Jing. “We were right,” he said. “Nastee is behind this trouble.”
Nastee started to laugh, a thin, piping laugh that shook his whole frame. He rolled on his side, hands clasped over his belly, laughing uncontrollably.
“This is one mess you’ll never straighten out,” he said, between gasps of laughter.
Jing regarded his convulsed form with frosty anger. Her small foot tapped the ground in helpless exasperation.
“I think you’re just terrible to cause all this trouble,” she said stormily. Nastee continued to giggle.
“You don’t even know what happened,” he said.
A SPECULATIVE gleam appeared in Tink’s eyes. He remembered something the young Captain had said.
“I think I do,” he said. “I should have thought of it before this. I’ll bet Mayor McCarthy and his daughter, Eileen, are mixed up some way. I’ll bet you’ve caused some mix-up between the Captain and Eileen. It’s just the kind of thing you’d like to do.”
“You’re just guessing,” Nastee jeered, but there was a sudden worried expression lurking in his sly eyes.
Tink noticed the expression and smiled.
“I was right,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Come on, Jing, we’ve got work to do.”
“Go ahead,” Nastee said grouchily, “but it won’t do you any good.”
Tink took Jing by the hand and they skipped across the camp ground to the Captain’s tent. Jing was red-cheeked with excitement.
“What are you going to do?” she demanded breathlessly. “Can I help?”
“You certainly can,” Tink answered. “We’ve got’ to work on the Captain and this Eileen McCarthy, whoever she is. I’ll take the Captain, but you’ll have to handle the girl. You can find her in the Village easy enough.”
Jing clapped her hands excitedly.
“That will be wonderful,” she cried. “But what will I do?”
“Just use your feminine intuition and trust to luck,” Tink replied. “I’ll go to work on the Captain and then I’ll meet you about dusk at the camp gate and we can compare notes.”
“Oh, this will be fun!” Jing cried. With a bright smile she flashed away in a series of brilliant pirouettes . . .
Tink watched Jing until she was out of sight, then he hurried to Captain Donavon’s tent. He found the young officer seated at his desk, head buried in his hands.
Tink’s sympathetic nature was touched by the spectacle of the young man’s unhappiness. He felt more anxious than ever to undo the misery Nastee had, somehow, caused.
But until he. found out the facts of the case there was little he could do. With this in mind he scaled the telephone cord to the top of the Captain’s desk and seated himself comfortably on top of a marble paper weight.
He put his chin in his hands and studied the Captain carefully. The young officer had lifted his head from the desk and was staring miserably at a small framed snapshot next to the ink-well.
Tink noticed the lines of pain and worry that interlaced around the young man’s eyes, and he noticed the sorrowful expression in his clear blue eyes, but he also saw the hard determined angle of the officer’s square jaw.
Tink then turned his attention to the snapshot. And the girl pictured in the snapshot was well worth anyone’s attention. She was young and fair, with an impish sparkle in her lovely blue eyes. Her lips were curved in a smile that illumined her features with a breath-taking radiance. Hair the color and sheen of ripe blackberries fell to her shoulders in two silken smooth braids, lending an old-fashioned dignity to her charming vivacity.
Tink sighed. She was lovely, that’s all there was to it.
THE Captain picked up the snapshot of the dark-haired girl, studied it for a moment, then crumpled it in his fist and dropped it to the floor.
His lips were twisted and bitter.
“And I loved her so,” he muttered savagely.
Tink found his sympathies allied with the young Captain. He was obviously a clean-cut, p
ersonable young man, and the girl in the snapshot—Eileen McCarthy, probably—had apparently thrown him over because of Nastee’s machinations.
Her actions, he was sure, were completely unjustified. For the remainder of the afternoon Tink stayed close to Captain Donavon and his liking for the young officer grew with each passing hour.
When the slanting rays of the sun were fading to a dull crimson glow, he left the tent and hurried to the camp gate to meet Jing. Maybe she had learned something from her visit to the village that would be helpful in unsnarling this problem.
She was waiting for him, tapping her foot impatiently against the ground. He noticed that her customary smile was not in evidence.
“What did you find out?” he asked. “Men!” she said. She wrinkled her nose in faint distaste. “I guess they’re all alike. That poor girl!”
Tink stared at her, puzzled.
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“Plenty,” Jing answered cryptically. “But perhaps you’d better tell me what you learned first.”
For no good reason Tink began to feel faintly uneasy.
“I didn’t find out much,” he said. “The Captain is a swell fellow, clean, upright, honorable, and this McCarthy girl is a fool if she let anything Nastee did change her mind about him. That’s all I found out.”
“Oh,” Jing said, “that’s your opinion of him, is it? Well. I think you should know that your precious Captain is nothing but a—a beast, that’s what he is.”
“You can’t be serious,” Tink said, dazed by her vehemence.
“I was never more serious in my life,” Jing said firmly. “Your Captain Donavon is an unscrupulous, dishonorable ogre.”
Tink shook his head unbelievingly. “You’re just being silly,” he said. “You’re acting just like a woman. I don’t care what you think the Captain’s done, I still think he’s all right.” Jing’s eyes were as frosty as the points of icicles.
“So you don’t care what he’s done?”
“No,” Tink said stubbornly, “I don’t.”
“Well,” Jing said frostily, “I’m certainly glad I found out this side of your character.
“For heaven’s sake, what’s he done?” Tink said in sudden alarm.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 119
