The Counterfeit Mystery

by Norvin Pallas

  Either through curiosity, or because she felt that loyalty to Ted and his new job required her to show interest in the plan, Mrs. Wilford was among the Kirtland customers that first day. The shirt she bought for Ted was something he didn’t exactly need until it came time to leave for college, still a month off. When she showed Ted his new shirt, she also showed him the stamps she had received with the purchase. Ted immediately screwed up his eyes.

  “Are those the stamps you got, Mom? They aren’t blue. They’re purple!”

  “No, they’re not, Ted. They’re blue. Blue Harvest stamps. You can tell by the name.”

  Ted shook his head. “They still look purple to me.”

  “It’s just the artificial fight in here, Ted. They’d look different by natural light.”

  At her urging Ted took the stamps out on the front porch. It was nearly twilight, so the light was not too good, but at the same time Ted didn’t feel anything was changed. He still thought the stamps looked purple.

  “Are you sure those stamps look blue to you, Mom?”

  “Of course they do, Ted. It’s not a pure, true blue, I admit, but it is blue. Maybe your eyes are tired from doing close work all day.”

  Ted admitted that he was a little tired, but he still didn’t think that had anything to do with the color of the stamps. Well, he’d check with some of his friends when he saw them, and see what they thought.

  He had a chance to ask Nelson the next day when he ran into him at noon.

  “Got your stamps yet?” Ted called to him, as Nelson was driving past.

  Nelson drew over to the curb and stopped. “Sure have.”

  “So you did break down. I thought you weren’t going to have anything to do with these stamps.”

  “They’re for my mother,” said Nelson with dignity.

  “What about those stamps, Nel? What color do you think they are?”

  “What color? Why, they’re blue, of course. What’d you think? You blind or something?”

  “Just checking. Let’s have a look at them and see.”

  His friend drew the stamps from the bag he had with him and handed them over. To Ted they looked like the purple stamps his mother had showed him the night before.

  “Where’d you get ’em?”

  “Kirtland’s, of course. That’s the only outfit handling them so far, isn’t it?”

  “The only big one,” Ted admitted.

  Nelson got out of the car and looked at his friend as though he feared he had suddenly become demented.

  “Something the matter with you, Ted? Don’t these stamps look blue to you?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Ted disagreed. “They look purple to me.

  Nelson looked more than ever puzzled. He held up the set of stamps and pointed. “This cow, here, does that look purple to you?”

  “Sure, that’s the most purple of all.”

  “Well, what do you know, a purple cow. Are you sure you weren’t thinking about that poem about the purple cow, Ted, and that’s why these stamps look purple to you?”

  “No, I wasn’t. Are you sure It isn’t because you knew they were called Blue Harvest stamps that they look blue to you?”

  “I don’t think so. Who wrote that silly little poem about a purple cow, anyway?”

  “Gelett Burgess, but I wasn’t thinking of the poem.”

  “Well, I don’t know, Ted.” Nelson considered. “I’ve talked to a lot of people about these stamps, and nobody mentioned to me that they looked purple. What did your mother say about them?”

  “Oh, she thought they looked blue, just as you do.”

  “Well, then, you can rely on that, Ted, because most women have more color sense than men do. You just find me a girl who thinks those stamps look purple, and I might begin to think you have something.”

  He studied Ted once more, as though his friend had suddenly become an interesting medical case. “You say these stamps look purple, Ted. Well, what kind of purple is it? Is it a brilliant, flaming purple?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. Just an ordinary purple, with a kind of bluish cast. What sort of blue does it look like to you?”

  “Well—just an ordinary kind of blue, with a little bit of a purplish cast.”

  They both laughed. “Well, maybe we’re not so far apart, after all,” Ted remarked.

  “No,” Nelson agreed. “A funny thing about color, though. How can I know what you’re actually seeing, and how can you tell what I’m actually seeing? Maybe we’re both seeing the same thing, but we’ve each got a different name for it.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ted thought of something. “I know how I can show you what I mean. Come on over to the office a minute.”

  At his urging, Nelson followed him across the street to the locked office. They stood outside for a moment, looking at the large poster illustrating the Blue Harvest stamp.

  “There,” Ted pointed out. “What color does that stamp look to you?”

  “Why, it’s blue, Ted—a deep, rich blue.”

  “Sure it is,” said Ted with a growing excitement mounting within him. “Now would you say that’s the same color blue that appears on the stamps?”

  “Well, no,” Nelson admitted with some reluctance. Then he suddenly laughed. “Oh, now I see what’s the trouble. You’ve been looking at those posters so long you think that’s the way those stamps ought to look, and you’re disappointed. I don’t think you could expect anything like that, Ted. You know how posters are always gaudier than the real thing. You couldn’t expect to have those same brilliant colors by the time you’ve reduced the picture down to stamp size. You won’t see any stamps like that.”

  “No, I guess not,” Ted agreed slowly. “Well, I guess my cow wasn’t purple after all.”

  “No,” Nelson rejoined, “but come to think of it, a blue cow is just as queer as a purple cow, isn’t it?”

  * * * *

  It was a busy and pleasant week for Ted. He buried his doubts, and things went well at the office. He and Nancy had fun during the evenings as he helped her get acquainted with his crowd.

  On Saturday evening Nelson called for him. Then the boys picked up Nancy and Jane, and headed out toward the country. Twilight had just settled across the rolling farmland, and a big orange moon was lifting its head upon the eastern horizon.

  “Full moon,” Nelson gloated. “Did you girls plan that, too?”

  “Well, we looked at the calendar just to make sure,” Jane admitted.

  It was a warm, still summer evening, without the trace of a cloud in the sky, and with some big hampers of food in the trunk, everything seemed in readiness for a perfect evening.

  They found a circle of cars already in the farmyard. Cliff Corby drove up at about the same time as they did, and when he saw the other boys he almost exploded.

  “Hey, what goes here?” He stepped out and they saw that he was wearing overalls, although all the rest were wearing sports coats and slacks. “I thought you girls said we were all going to wear overalls?”

  “Why, no, Cliff, we said we thought about it,” Helen Howland corrected him. “What’s the difference? Maybe overalls would have been better.”

  “Sure,” Nelson remarked, “and maybe if you’re a good boy Farmer Smith will let you help drive the horses.”

  At that moment Mr. Smith led a horse out of the barn.

  “Oh, a real racer!” one of the boys exclaimed. “You sure he won’t run away?”

  No answer, of course, was expected. It was a stolid old plow-horse, built for strength rather than speed, who looked as though he couldn’t have run a step if he tried.

  The team of horses was soon hitched up, and everybody climbed up into the hay. Mrs. Smith was coming along, too, and she got into the front seat beside her husband. There was some surprise when they actually began to move, as though they had
doubted that a team of horses could pull a wagon as heavy as this.

  “What do we do if these hayburners run out of gas?” someone asked.

  “That’s the trouble, they can’t run out of gas. That’s why they had to invent automobiles.”

  “Did anybody bring dill pickles?” called one of the girls. “It wouldn’t be a picnic without dill pickles.”

  Fortunately there were plenty of dill pickles, as well as every other item of food customary on a picnic, including plenty of pop in a cooler.

  “I didn’t know hay itched like this,” remarked Jane.

  “Anybody that’s got hay fever is in for a rough time.”

  The girls had done as well as they could in the musical department, coming up with an accordion, a harmonica, and a saxophone. They sang and it soon became apparent to the others that Nancy had the best voice in the crowd, and she was urged to lead the singing. When things had quieted down afterward, it was suggested to Nancy that she ought to plan on a singing career.

  “Oh, no, I know my voice isn’t good enough for that. I do want to study music, though, and perhaps help other people to like music the way I do.”

  “Do you play a musical instrument?” she was asked.

  “No, not really. We did have a kindergarten orchestra once, and I used to beat the sticks.”

  At this there was a wild howl of laughter, since it was well known that this was also Ted’s only musical accomplishment.

  “You two were made for each other,” Nelson remarked. “Tell her about your purple cow, Ted, and see what she thinks.”

  Ted would just as soon not have had Nelson bring up the matter, but he carried through with it in good grace.

  “Well, it just seemed to me that the cow on the Blue Harvest stamps looked more purple than blue.”

  “I thought so, too,” said Nancy quickly. “It really is a purple cow.”

  “Wow! Now I’ve heard everything,” Nelson exclaimed. “Are you sure you aren’t saying that, Nancy, just to be polite?”

  “Why, no. I mean,” she explained quickly, “I think people should be polite. But if I agree with one person and disagree with a second person, I don’t see how that’s being more polite than if I disagreed with the first person and agreed with the second.”

  “Well, that’s Nancy’s opinion,” said Nelson to the crowd in general. “Anybody else here think the cow’s purple?”

  There came a chorus of “No’s,” which seemed to make it pretty clear Ted and Nancy were in a minority. Then a voice came from the front seat which quieted down the crowd.

  “You youngsters think there isn’t any such thing as a purple cow? Well, let me tell you something. I’ve got a purple cow back on my farm.”

  “Now, David—”

  His wife laid a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Don’t try to stop me, Amy. These kids nowadays are too skeptical about everything. It wouldn’t hurt to let them know there are such things. Anybody wants to see my purple cow, just let ’em come out to see me. You, Ted—I think you’d be interested.”

  “Maybe I would,” Ted agreed, but the whole crowd had become more subdued. They didn’t quite know how to take the strange remark Mr. Smith had made. Of course they didn’t really believe he had a purple cow—unless somebody had painted it purple. But since he claimed to have it, what could they say to contradict him?

  “I didn’t even know farmers had cows any more,” said Jim with a laugh. “I thought maybe scientists had invented something new.”

  “No, I don’t think they ever have invented anything as good as a cow, or that they ever will,” Mr. Smith went on, paying no attention to his wife, who was trying to motion to him that he was talking too much for a young people’s picnic. “That’s what we need, a return to a more natural way of life. Now if—”

  If he had intended a rather untimely lecture, he was interrupted as one of the horses seemed to falter, and he brought them to a sharp halt.

  “What’s the matter?” came several voices.

  “Loose shoe, probably. I’ll get down and take a look.”

  He did so, and his expectation was confirmed.

  “What do we do now?” asked Cliff.

  “Anybody got a spare?” came an unidentified voice.

  “I guess Joe’s done for the night,” the farmer decided, “and I don’t like to see old Amos try to handle the load alone. I’ve got another horse back at the farm, and we’re not very far from home, because we’ve been traveling in a circle. How’d you young people like to wait while I lead Joe home and get another horse?”

  “Alone in the dark?” asked Helen with a little shudder.

  “The Dutch Mill’s a little way up that hill. Why don’t you put up there? You can take your lunch along and have your spread while you’re wailing. We won’t be more than an hour.”

  This met with a chorus of approvals. The passengers jumped down from the wagon and began to brush the hay from their clothing. The hampers of food were unloaded, along with the soft drinks. Mrs. Smith was to stay with the young people. Taking one of the lanterns from the wagon, the crowd started up the hill.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE DUTCH MILL

  The Dutch Mill might have been transplanted from the Netherlands itself. It had been constructed by a Dutch immigrant family, as a close replica of the windmills found in their homeland. Although not very profitable, it perhaps helped to make the family feel at home, and it also made a picturesque addition to the countryside. It had been abandoned now for about a year when the family, with the children grown, had been obliged to make other living arrangements. Vacant though it was, it was not rundown property—at least not yet. The Dutch family had left it in neat order, and vandals had not touched it. There had been some talk of having Forestdale or one of the other nearby communities take it over and preserve it as public property, but so far nothing had been done.

  The refugees from the hayride knew they would not be unwelcome there, for the doors were unlocked, and picnicking parties often came out that way for a holiday. The mill had an air of mystery about it, as most abandoned places do. Though the crowd may have doubted that any old-world spooks were still loitering about the place, it is probable that none of them would have cared to enter the place alone at night. However, in a group, it was a welcome adventure.

  As they trudged up the hill, the mill loomed starkly above them, silhouetted against the night sky. The moon, so full and brilliant before, now seemed smaller and duller as it climbed higher in the sky. Although there was a light wind, the huge blades were not turning, but seemed to be creaking and tugging at some sort of brake that held them in position.

  “What do they use windmills for?” Nelson inquired.

  “Why, to pump water and grind up grain, don’t they? Anyway, in Holland they do.” This was Ted’s observation.

  “Sure, I know that. But what do they do when the wind stops?”

  “Maybe it never stops in Holland. Even over here it doesn’t stop completely as often as you might think.”

  “I don’t know how they do it in Holland,” Cliff stated scientifically, “but farmers in this country still use windmills to pump up water from a well and fill a tank, which they can draw on when they need it. But not big windmills like this one, that a family could live in. I guess they don’t need them now, with electricity so cheap.”

  “Well, who wants to go in first?” asked Jim as they stopped in front of the door.

  None of the girls cared for the honor, and having paved the way for a demonstration of his own bravery, Jim held the lantern high and pushed open the partly resisting door. There was a little scream from some of the girls as a flutter of wings was heard, and a bird sailed by close to their heads.

  “Only a bat,” Jim announced, though privately Ted doubted it, being under the impression that bats—not really birds—were more
silent fliers than that. Anyway, nothing else followed, and the girls were persuaded to follow the boys inside. They found things neat and in good order, except for a few leaves that had drifted in, and an inevitable layer of dust. The bird may have been a straggler which accidentally came down the chimney, for no other wild life seemed to have found its way in.

  “Well, let’s get a fire built,” Jim ordered, apparently having taken command. “You, Ted, stop daydreaming and get a move on. You’re in charge of the fire detail.”

  It may be argued that Ted could hardly have been daydreaming at night, but at least he came to with a start. His thoughts had been wandering, and if he had been required to explain them he would have had to admit they centered around a purple cow. Nelson had almost talked him out of his notion that the cow was purple, but now Nancy had come along and claimed the same thing. And she couldn’t have gotten the idea from the posters. Probably she had never seen them, and at least she hadn’t stared at them all day as Ted had for the past week. She had denied that she was just being polite, and Ted didn’t believe she was. That cow really did look purple to her and to Ted, but apparently to no one else. Why was that?

  “Why do we need a fire?” asked Ted, but moved slowly toward the fireplace. Certainly the evening was warm enough, and as far as Ted knew they hadn’t brought anything along that required cooking.

  “Because—it’ll make things more cheerful,” Jim decided, although he had apparently just thought of his reason. He was a person more inclined to act than to think, and had made his decision that they ought to have a fire before having any logical excuse.

  Ted began to clear out the fireplace and in a few minutes had a fire blazing. Margaret was there to help out, handing him the kindling, and she and Ted exchanged amused and understanding glances. She wasn’t in the least jealous of Ted’s attention to Nancy, for she realized that Ted’s obligation to Miss Monroe required him to show Nancy around and help her become acquainted in town. The warm friendship Ted and Margaret had enjoyed for years was too solid to be disturbed by such a small thing.