Books: Pee Wee Harris
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Percy Keese Fitzhugh >> Pee Wee Harris
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These were the last words they heard as the big car moved slowly
over the rocky, grass-grown road. They are good words to end a
chapter with--hot corn with pepper and butter on it. ...
Oh, boy!
CHAPTER XXX
PAID IN FULL
Pee-Wee was just about to make a frantic rush to the house when
he saw another automobile coming along the road, brushing the projecting
foliage aside as some stealthily advancing creature might do. Not far
behind it he could hear other ears grinding along that impossible road
in second gear.
The world seemed to be making a pathway, of rather a highway,
to Pee-Wee's door. The sequestered, overgrown road, with its
intertwined and overarching boughs, was become a surging thoroughfare.
The birds, formally unmolested in their wonted haunts, complained to
one another of this sudden intrusion into their domains. Away back
where this obscure road branched off the highway to furnish the
unfrequented access to Everdoze and Berryville, a sign had been placed
that morning with an arrow pointing toward the depths of the Everdoze
jungle.
DETOUR -->
HIGHWAY CLOSED. FOLLOW
YELLOW ARROWS.
These yellow arrows appeared at intervals along the Everdoze road,
thus guiding the motorist back to the highway at a point a mile or two
below the gap where the bridge had been. Everdoze was on the map now
in dead earnest. The little hamlet nestling in its wooded valley was
destined to review such a procession of Pierce-Arrows, and Packards,
and Cadillacs, aye and Fords and jitney busses, as it had never
dreamed of in all its humble career.
Who was responsible for this? Or was accident responsible? Who,
if anyone, by the mere touching of a match had started a blaze which,
would illuminate poor little Everdoze? Everdoze had gone to bed
(at eight P. M.) in obscurity. It had awakened to find itself
dragged into the light of day. Already Constable Bungel was devising
a formidable code of "traffic regulations"--traps and snares to catch
the prosperous and make them pay tribute as they passed along.
As early as seven o'clock that vigilant agent of the peace had
placed a sign in front of the post office (where he was wont to
loiter) reading, "NO PARKING HERE." But all the while he hoped that
the unwary would park there and pay the three dollars and costs.
But of all the signs which appeared in Everdoze on that day when
fate, like an alarm clock, had awakened it out of its slumber, there
was one which thrilled the soul of Pee-Wee Harris and caused
consternation to everybody else. This appeared in front of the
"Town Hall" and at a number of other strategic places in and out
of the village.
"Come and read it! Come and read it!" shouted little Silas Knapp
as he madly intercepted Pee-Wee who, as I have said, was about to run
to the house. "It's a monolopy or somethin' like that--Mr. Drowser says
so! Come and read it!"
So before going to the house Pee-Wee went and read it. He did not
know that the stern phraseology had been penned ever so tenderly and
with a twinkle in the eye, of the writer. He did not know that it was
a tribute (or shall we say the repayment of a good turn?) to the little
red-headed girl, who, all unaware of this hubbub, was sleeping in her
little bedroom under the eaves. Strange that such a little girl could
thus shake her fist by proxy at the grasping villagers!
NOTICE
The property on both sides of the road
from two miles north of the Everdoze line to
the boundary of Ebenezer Quig's farm, is of
private ownership.
Anyone attempting to sell or vend or who
erects any tent or shack for such purpose upon
said property will be prosecuted to the full
extent of the law.
IRA C. JENSEN.
So Pepsy had kept her word after all, her one poor little
investment of kindness had paid a hundred percent dividend, and
the partners were the owners of a monopoly, or a monolopy, whichever
you choose to call it.
CHAPTER XXXI
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
Along the road and over the stone wall and straight across the
bed of tiger-lilies sped Pee-Wee, using his own particular mode of
scout pace, patent not applied for. Across the side porch and into
the kitchen he went, pell-mell, shouting in a voice to crack the
heavens.
"It's a monolopy--I mean a monopoly! We've got a monopoly! Where's
everybody? Hey, Aunt Jamsiah, where are you? Where's Uncle Eb? Hurry
up and make some doughnuts? There's a detour! Cars--hundreds of
cars--from the highway--they're coming along the road. You ought to
see. Where's the ice-pick? Can I have some lemons? Are there any
cookies left? I left two on the plate last night. Where's the
sugar so I can--"
He paused in his frenzy of haste and enthusiasm as Aunt Jamsiah
opened the sitting room door, very quietly and seriously.
"Shh, come in here, Walter," she said.
Her manner, kind, gentle, but serious, disconcerted Pee-Wee and
chilled his enthusiasm. The very fact that he was summoned into the
sitting room seemed ominous for that holy of holies was never used;
not more than once or twice in Pee-Wee's recollection had his own
dusty shoes stood upon that sacred oval-shaped rag carpet. Never
before had he found himself within reaching distance of that plush
album that stood on its wire holder on the marble table.
This solemn apartment was the only room in the house that had a
floor covering and the fact that Pee-Wee could not hear his own
foot-falls agitated him strangely. Uncle Eb sat in the corner near
the melodeon looking strangely out of place in his ticking overalls.
"Is--is she--dead?" Pee-Wee whispered fearfully.
"Sit down, Walter," said Aunt Jamsiah; "no, she isn't dead, she's
better."
Uncle Eb said nothing, only watched Pee-Wee keenly.
Pee-Wee seated himself, feeling very uncomfortable.
"Walter," said his aunt, "something very serious has happened and
I'm going to ask one or two questions. You will tell me the truth,
won't you?"
"I'll answer fer him doin' that," said Uncle Eb.
"Sure I will," said Pee-Wee proudly.
"Walter, do you know what Pepsy's secret was? You remember she
said she had a secret that would make lots and lots of people come
and buy things from you?"
"Girls are--" Pee-Wee began. He was going to say they were crazy,
but remembering the one that lay upstairs he caught himself up and
said, "they're kind of--they think they have big ideas when they
haven't. I should worry about their secrets."
"But some of Pepsy's ideas and plans have been very big, Walter,"
his aunt said ruefully. "You see we know her better than you do. She's
very, very queer; I'm afraid no one understands her."
"I understand her," said Pee-Wee. "She believes in bad luck days."
Aunt Jamsiah paused a moment, considering; then she went straight
to the point. "Pepsy wants to do right, dear, but she will do wrong
in order to do right--sometimes. We have always been a little fearful
of her for that reason. She--she can't argue in her own mind and consider
things as--as you do."
"I know lots of dandy arguments," Pee-Wee announced.
"You know, Walter, her father was a--he was a--not a very good man.
And Pepsy is--queer. Last night she made a dreadful mess in the cellar.
She was at the kerosene; oh, it makes me just sick to think of it.
She had some rags soaked with kerosene. Some of them were found out
by the well. The others--" Aunt Jamsiah lifted her handkerchief to her
eyes and wept for a moment, silently.
"What others?" Pee-Wee asked.
"The ones that were used to set fire to the bridge, dear. Oh, it's
terrible to think of it. Poor, poor Pepsy. That is what is bringing
lots and lots of people along our road to-day, Walter. Pepsy was found
lying unconscious near the bridge. She had kerosene all over her. One
charred rag was found over there. It just makes me--it makes me--"
Pee-Wee arose and laid one hand on the back of the hair-cloth
chair. He, too, was concerned now.
"You--you didn't tell her--you didn't blame--accuse her--did you?"
he asked.
"No, I didn't," his aunt breathed worriedly.
"I asked her to tell me all about last night and she would tell
me nothing. She said that the planks on the bridge tormented her.
To almost everything I asked her she said, 'I won't tell.' She is
very, very stubborn; she was always so."
"Because, anyway," Pee-Wee said, alluding to his former query,
"if anybody says she burned down the bridge on purpose it's a lie.
I don't care who says it, it's a lie. She's--she's my partner--and
it's a lie. If--even--if the minister says it, it's a lie!"
"Listen, my dear boy," said his aunt kindly. "I'm not angry with
Pepsy, poor child. I'm not accusing her, and you mustn't talk about
the Rev. Mr. Gloomer telling lies. Pepsy tried to burn down the
orphan home once, for some trifling grievance. We can't take the
responsibility of the poor child any longer. I'm afraid that any
minute Beriah Bungel will want to take her--arrest her. I know she's
your partner, dear, but it would be better for us to send her back
to the state home where she will probably be kept than to let her
be arrested. I don't think she knew what she was doing, poor, poor
child--"
Aunt Jamsiah broke down completely, crying in her handkerchief.
So Uncle Eb finished what little there was to say.
"We had to send fer 'em, Walter," said he. "She'll be better
off there fer a spell, I reckon. I ain't so sure about her doin'
it, though it looks bad. Least ways, she didn't know what she was
doing. But don't you worry--"
Pee-Wee did not wait to hear more. He just could not stand there.
"When--when are they--coming?" he asked. "I reckon to--morrow, boy.
Now, you look here--."
But Pee-Wee had gone.
Up the narrow, boxed-in stairs he went, never asking permission.
He could see nothing but a big enclosed wagon, dark inside, with
Pepsy inside it. He had no more idea what he was going to do that
day than the man in the moon. But he knew what he was going to do
that very minute. When a scout makes up his mind to do a thing. ...
Into the little room under the eaves he strode, his eyes
glistening, but his heart staunch and his resolve indomitable.
And she smiled when she saw him. She was sitting up and she looked
ever so little in her nightclothes and ever so plain with her tightly
braided red hair. But her eyes were clear and she smiled when she
looked at him. ...
"I won't tell anybody where I went," she said, "because I was a
smarty and I thought I could make somebody do a good turn ever
so--ever so big. And they'd only laugh at me if I told them what
it was. So I'm not going to be a tell-tale cat."
"Pep," he said, "it shows that you're right because lots and lots
of automobiles are coming along our road since the old bridge burned
down and it's a detour and that means hundreds and hundreds of them
have to go past our refreshment place and we're going to make lots
of money. And I thought of a dandy idea, it's what they call an
inspiration. We're going to name the place Pepsy Rest, because Pepsy
will remind people to buy chewing gum, because that has pepsin in it
and as soon as you're all well we'll start in and keep on being
partners, because we have a monopoly. Do you know what that is? It's
when you can sell all you want of something and nobody else can sell
it. ...
"Mr. Jensen, he put up a sign, and he said no one should sell
things on his property and he owns all the property along the road,
and you bet everybody is scared of him. So now we're going to have a
great big business and we began as poor boys, I mean girls, I mean a
boy and a girl. So don't you believe anything that anybody tells you,
not even--not even Aunt Jamsiah. Because you know how I told you I
was a good fixer and I'm always lucky, you have to admit that."
"Can I be the one to count the money?" Pepsy asked.
"Sure, and I'll be the one to eat what's left of the things that
won't keep," said Pee-Wee. "Only don't you worry no matter what you
hear--"
She was on the point of telling him how Mr. Jensen had done his
good turn after all, and all about what she remembered of the
previous night. But she decided that she was not going to have a
boy laughing at her and put it within his power to call her a
tell-tale cat some day. So instead she threw her arms around him
and said, "Oh goody, goody!"
You know how girls do.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE CLEW
Pee-Wee never knew until now how much he cared about his little
companion of the summer and how little he cared about their roadside
enterprise except so far as she was concerned in it. All morning the
almost continuous procession passed along the road reviewed by a
gaping assemblage on the platform in front of the post office. Many
motorists who read the enticing promises along the way paused for
refreshment only to find the little rustic shelter bare and deserted.
But they were not the only ones to be disappointed. Upon the front
porch of Doctor Killem's house there sat in a wheel chair the queerest
little figure ever seen outside of a soup advertisement. He was of the
kewpie type, all head and eyes, and he had a kind of ridiculous air of
stern authority about him as he sat all bundled up in blankets soberly
reviewing the passing cars. So odd and gnomelike was he that he might
have stepped out of the pages of "Alice in Wonderland." He would have
made a good radiator ornament on an automobile.
This, you will know, was little Whitie Bungel, who seemed not
at all disconcerted at being elsewhere than in his own home. He had
been moved about so much without any exertion on his own part that
he was quite at home anywhere.
Though Pee-Wee had spoken in high hope to Pepsy about their
unexpected and glowing prospects, he was haunted by thoughts of
the terrible thing which was to happen on the morrow. Pepsy was
to be taken away, back to the big brick building which she hated,
just as the planks of the old bridge had foretold;
Pee-Wee's loyalty was so staunch that he did not even consider
the things his aunt had said. He was going to save Pepsy from that
place and make her the sharer of the fortune that was within their
grasp. He made this resolve with the same generous impulse as that
which had caused him to put two hundred and fifty dollars within
the reach of Mr. Bungel who had boxed his ears.
"I'm lucky," he said to himself as he trudged down to the post
office; "I'll fix things all right. I'll show them; I don't care,
I'll show them. They won't take her back to that place, not while
I'm around."
He did not know how he was going to prevent this but he had
unbounded faith in his capacity to fix things and in his good luck.
So, as he trudged along, stepping out of the way of many cars, he
came to the home of Doctor Killem.
"Hello, soldier," piped up a little thin voice upon the porch.
"I'm not a soldier," said Pee-Wee.
"My father can arrest people," said the little gnome, looking
straight ahead of him.
"That doesn't prove I'm a soldier," said Pee-Wee.
"You've got a uniform," said the gnome. "I'm not afraid of
soldiers. My father's got a lot of money, he's got two hundred
and fifty dollars and I'm not going to get dead."
"Where's your father?" Pee-Wee asked.
"He's up the road and he's going to catch people and put them
in jail."
"Is he?"
"Why do you say 'Is he?' I didn't go to the hospital last
night. Do you want to know why?" He asked questions as if they
were riddles.
"Yes, why?" Pee-Wee asked, half interested.
"Because the bridge burned down. Do you like bridges?"
"It isn't a question of whether a person likes them or not,"
Pee-Wee said; preoccupied with his own sorrow and worry, yet
amused in spite of himself at this queer little fellow.
"Yes it is," said Whitie Bungel.
"All right then, it is," said Pee-Wee.
"Why did you say it wasn't?"
"Oh, I don't know, I guess I was thinking of something else."
"What were you thinking of?"
"Oh, I don't know--nothing."
"Why did you say you were?"
"You didn't tell me about why you didn't go to the hospital last
night."
"I can see things that other folks can't see," Whitie announced.
"You're like Licorice Stick," said Pee-Wee.
"He's black," Whitie said.
"I know he is."
"Then how am I like him? I'm white. My name is Whitie."
Pee-Wee felt like a prisoner at the bar of justice with this
little personage swathed in blankets, staring down at him. His
wrappings covered his neck and all that could be seen of him was
his face, perfectly motionless. Finally he said as if he were
pronouncing sentence.
"Doctor Killem took me in his auto. We had to turn around and come
back when we came to the bridge burning down. He's going to take me
another way. I saw a man getting dead,"
"Where?" Pee-Wee asked, his interest somewhat aroused,
"Will you give me that tin thing if I tell you?"
"That isn't a tin thing, it's a compass, it tells you which way to go.
"Can it talk?"
"No, it can't talk."
"Then how can it tell you?"
"It points its finger."
"You're crazy."
"All right," Pee-Wee laughed in spite of himself. "You tell me
about the man getting dead and I'll give you the tin thing."
"He was lying down in the bushes and wriggling."
"Where? Near the bridge?" Pee-Wee asked.
"Doctor Killem didn't see him and he laughed at me. He said I was
seeing things. Can you wriggle? I looked back out of the window and
saw him."
"Did you tell your father about it?" Pee-Wee asked, hardly
knowing what to think of this information.
"My mother made him give her the two hundred and fifty dollars
so I wouldn't get dead. Do you know what I'm going to be when I grow up?"
"No; what?"
"A giant."
"Well, you'd better hurry up about it."
"Do you know where my father got that two hundred and fifty dollars?"
"Where?"
"It was a prize for catching thieves. You can't catch thieves."
"I know it," Pee-Wee said.
"Are you going to be a thief when you grow up?"
"No, I guess not," said Pee-Wee.
"You can have three guesses."
"All right, I guess not three times. Now, tell me if you told your
father about seeing that man getting dead."
"Yes, and he said I'm always seeing things; everybody says that.
Maybe I'll get dead when it rains."
"Don't you believe it," Pee-Wee said; "Licorice Stick's been
telling you that. Didn't you say you were going to be a giant first?"
"You're not a giant."
Alas, Pee-Wee knew this only too well. He knew too that it would
be quite impossible to get anything in the way of a connected
narrative out of this stern little autocrat. Whether he had actually
been "seeing things" or had only seen something in his queer little
inner life, who should say? Evidently no one took him very seriously.
And this fact did not seem to trouble him at all. Removing the
compass cord from about his neck, Pee-Wee advanced to proffer his
second gift to the Bungel family. Little did that stiff, serious
little figure know that the much-needed money which Mrs. Bungel had
been wise enough to take from her husband, had come from the same
source. Pee-Wee searched in vain for any sign of hands in those
enveloping blankets. There were no hands, there seemed to be no
body even; just two eyes looking straight ahead as if their owner
were not going to assist at all in the transfer of the little gift.
So Pee-Wee laid the compass on the porch rail.
"There you are," he said; "that needle always points to the north."
The two severe eyes stared down at the compass on the rail but
their owner made no attempt to reach it as Pee-Wee started off. If
Pee-Wee had not been so worried and preoccupied he would have thought
that he had never seen anything so absurdly amusing in all his life.
"Come back and say good-by," the little voice commanded.
Pee-Wee returned and stood in the exact spot where he had stood
before and said, "Good-by." Although the little pale face did not
turn the fraction of an inch, the staring eyes followed Pee-Wee as
he went along the road.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE TRAMPLED TRAIL
Pee-Wee felt as if he were emerging from some enchanted spot in
the "Arabian Nights," abounding with giants and men "getting dead."
He had no more belief in what this imperious little imp had told him
than he had in the predictions of Licorice Stick, or the homely
superstitions of Pepsy.
Indeed, if he had thought seriously of these erratic snapshot
bits of information about figures wriggling in the dark and "getting
dead" he would never have mentioned these things to Licorice Stick
whom he ran plunk into as that aggregation of rags and nonsense sat
upon a stone wall up the road engaged in the profitable occupation
of watching the passing cars. Licorice Stick's business was
contemplating the world and he always attended strictly to business.
"Lordy me!" he said, rolling his eyes, "you don' go nowheres
that kid 'e tell you. Dat wrigglin' man, he no man, he a sperrit.
Don' you go near dat bridge, you get a spell. Yo keep away f'm dat
bridge."
How much this had to do with Pee-Wee's actually going to the
scene of the fire it would be hard to say. If he had not talked
with Whitie he probably would not have gone. At all events, he had
nothing else to do and he wanted to think. So he followed the trail
through the woods to the highway.
It seemed quite probable that Whitie's jerky sentences were about
true, that the doctor had been compelled to turn back by reason of
the burning bridge. The fact that Whitie was holding his imperial
court on the doctor's porch made this part of his story seem true.
Perhaps it would be about right to say that little Whitie's
spasmodic announcements directed Pee-Wee in his idle wanderings on
that morning when he was fearful and sick at heart.
Long afterwards he remembered with interest that it was little
Whitie Bungel (for whose recovery he had sacrificed two hundred and
fifty dollars and not a little glory) who put him in the way of
the terrible discovery that he made on that fateful day. And the
funny thing about it was that the little gnome had given the clue
to his benefactor and not his father who knew nothing about the
frightful revelation of that morning until it was all over.
So perhaps there is a little god of good turns after all, who,
all unseen, administers punches in the nose and pays back two
hundred and fifty dollar gifts and so forth, and has the time of
his life watching how these things work out. Or a "pay back sperrit"
as Licorice Stick might have called him. ...
As Pee-Wee approached the scene of the fire he saw in the bushes
something which caught his eye. This was a torn fragment of clothing.
The bushes were trampled down at the spot. It was not hard for the
scout to follow this line of trampled brush which was so disordered
that he thought it could not have been caused by a walking or fleeing
person. It was well away from the area where the men had fought the
flames.
Here and there something brown and sticky on the leaves caught
the scout's eye. Some one had crawled stealthily through here. Or
else dragged himself through. Pee-Wee shuddered at this thought.
He examined the trampled channel more carefully. And from this
examination he was satisfied of one fact which made him uneasy,
apprehensive.
The weight which had crushed the bush down had been a prone, dead
weight. At intervals of perhaps three or four feet were gathered
wounded strands of the tall grass, as if some groping hand had
reached ahead, gathering and pulling on them. Pulling a helpless
weight. Pee-Wee knew this for he saw with the eyes of a scout.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE TRAIL'S END
This trampled channel petered out in a comparatively bare area
across which was more brush. Almost hidden in this was a tumbled-down
shack, hardly bigger than a closet, in which boys who had been wont
to dive from the old bridge had donned their bathing suits. It had
been thrown together as a storage place for fishing tackle and crab
nets and these latter, rotten and gray with age still hung in the
dank, musty place.
Pee-Wee paused a moment, irresolute, nervous. He had a strange
feeling, a feeling of apprehension which amounted to a certainty.
And as he paused two charred bits of timber from the old bridge,
still held together by a rusty brace, creaked, and the creaking
seemed loud in the stillness of desolation.
A rusty can, the discarded receptacle of bait, lay at his feet,
and in his hesitation and transient fear, he kicked it, and followed
it, kicking it again. Then, banishing such cracked-up excuses for
delay he put aside his fears and went around the tiny shelter to
where the rotted door hung loose upon one broken hinge.
Within lay a human figure. The hair was wet and matted and
prickly leaves were stuck in it. The face was streaked with
blood, the clothes were torn. One of the legs lay in a very
unnatural attitude. The eyes were wide open and staring with a
glassy look at some rough fishing rods which lay across the rafters
above. One of the arms was outstretched and the hand lay open as if
its owner were saying, "Here I am, you see." There was something
very appalling about that dumb attitude of speech and welcome when
the voice and the eyes could not speak. For he had "got dead," this
poor troubled creature "got dead" after committing one hideous
crime to hide another.
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