The Black Dog Mystery (4 page)

“No, I think you’d better come along with me,” Mr. Morrison said. “I’ll need your company, Les’. Must have somebody to talk to, you know.”

He chuckled again, and Les’ Sedd started the engine. It coughed and banged, and the whole truck shook as it began to move. It rattled past Mr. Boots’s shop, crossed the old stone bridge over Miller’s Brook, climbed sputteringly up the low hill on the other side, and then began to go faster. The floorboards rattled under their feet as they jounced along, and the truck made so much noise, it was no use trying to talk. They held on to the sides of the truck, and Djuna kept one hand on Champ’s collar to keep him from being bounced out altogether.

After they had passed through the strip of woods by the brook, there was nothing but farm-land all around them, with no houses in sight, and only the fields of young corn and oats, or else wide meadows in which cows were grazing. When they had gone a mile, they passed a narrow dirt road, fringed with weeds, which led off through the fields to the big woods surrounding Lost Pond. Les’ Sedd’s cabin was at one end of the pond, but the trees hid it completely from sight. They went on without pausing, and in a few minutes more the truck came to a sudden stop at the crossroad, which led into Clinton.

Mr. Morrison craned his neck around the corner of the driver’s seat and grinned. “Here you are, boys!” he called out. “End of the line, all out!”

But Djuna and Tommy were already scrambling down and lifting Champ after them. “Thanks very much, Mr. Morrison!” they cried.

“No trouble at all,” said Mr. Morrison heartily. “But listen—you kids will have to get back the best way you can. I don’t know how long we’ll be in Riverton, so don’t wait for us. If we get a load of shingles, we won’t have room for you, anyway.”

“Oh, we don’t mind,” said Djuna. “We can walk back. Thanks a lot!”

Mr. Morrison turned toward Les’, who was sitting in the driver’s seat with his eyes looking

straight ahead. “Okay, get going,” Djuna heard him say. Les’ Sedd stepped on the starter immediately. Djuna thought he heard Mr. Morrison say something more to Les’, but he wasn’t sure. The truck made too much noise.

They watched the truck as it rattled off in the direction of Riverton, and Tommy Williams said excitedly:

“Gee, he’s an awful nice man, isn’t he? I’ll bet Mr. Sedd wouldn’t have given us a lift at all, if he hadn’t said to!”

“Sure, he’s all right,” said Djuna, slowly. “But I don’t see why he had to say Mr. Boots was peculiar.”

Champ had trotted on ahead, and the two boys followed him. Champ had never been in this place before, and there were new sights to be seen and new smells to be sniffed at, all around him. He walked slowly and warily forward, his black whiskered nose held high in air, his stubby black tail wigwagging the question:

“What next?”

A
LINTON WAS
about ten times as big as Edenboro, but all its stores were on one street. This street crossed the road on which they had come from Edenboro, and went on east to Grandville, the next town, which was ten miles away.

Djuna had been in Clinton before, so he knew how to find the hardware store where he expected to buy the fish-hooks. It was at the other end of the block from the corner where they had got down from Mr. Sedd’s truck. He and Tommy Williams and Champ walked along the sidewalk slowly, because there were so many things to see.

All the stores were on that side of the street. On the opposite side of the street was a church, with a lawn on each side of it. Next to it, in the middle of the block, was a small brick building with a sign over the door which said: FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY OF CLINTON. Next to the library was another brick building, with gold lettering on its windows that said: FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF CLINTON. These were the only three buildings on that side of the street. Djuna looked up at the clock in the tower of the church. It said twenty-five minutes to ten.

On their side of the street, the first building they came to was a movie theatre; next to the theatre was a grocery store, next to that was a meat market, and next to the meat market was a little restaurant with a sign over the door saying: CLINTON­ INN, W. FOSTER PROP. Standing at the door of the restaurant­ was a man in his shirt-sleeves, with a white apron over his trousers­; Djuna guessed he must be Mr. Prop. A white dog with black spots all over him was lying on the sidewalk at Mr. Prop’s feet, watching the people go by, and when the spotted dog saw Champ coming along he jumped up and began wagging his long thin tail so hard that he thumped Mr. Prop on the knees. Champ and the spotted dog made friends with each other at once, and Djuna had to speak to Champ twice before he could get him to come along.

Next to the restaurant was a small brick building with a sign on it saying: CITY HALL. There was a little lawn in front of it, and an iron bench by the steps. Two motorcycles were parked at the foot of the steps. On the bench sat a man in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a cigar. Pinned to his suspenders, he wore a big gold star and, when the boys got nearer to him, they read the words,
Chief of Police
, on the star. At each hip, the Chief wore a leather holster. The butt of a revolver stuck out from each. When the Chief saw the little black dog walking sedately in front of the two boys, he snapped his fingers at him and tried to coax him to come nearer. Champ stopped and looked at him and then looked at Djuna to see what Djuna wanted him to do.

“Nice dog you’ve got there, bub,” said the Chief of Police. “Real Scotty, ain’t he?”

“Yes, sir,” said Djuna proudly. “He’s got a pedigree.”

“Well, now, think of that!” said the Chief admiringly. “Don’t it bother him any, in this hot weather?”

He grinned, but Djuna and Tommy didn’t know exactly what to say, so they didn’t answer.

“You two boys live around here?” the Chief asked.

“No, sir,” said Djuna; “we live in Edenboro.”

“Edenboro, hey? I thought I hadn’t seen you around here before. Don’t mind my askin’, do ye? Got to keep track of all suspicious characters, you know!”

The boys knew he was just trying to tease them, but the Chief’s joke didn’t seem very funny to them, so they just smiled, feeling a little embarrassed.

The Chief chuckled, stood up, tossed away what was left of his cigar, and yawned.

“Well, take care of yourselves, boys,” he wheezed. “Don’t let the street cars run over you!”

He climbed the steps and went back to his office in the City Hall. The boys walked on.

“What did he say that about the street cars for?” whispered Tommy. “There aren’t any street cars here.”

“Oh, he was just trying to be funny,” said Djuna, carelessly. “Look, Tommy, there’s the hardware store!”

He wanted to hurry on, to get the fish-hooks, but both Tommy and Champ had other ideas. Before they reached the hardware store, they came to a drugstore. There were all sorts of things in the drugstore window that Tommy wanted to look at—shiny new cameras, and some stamp albums with foreign stamps pasted in them, and a whole tub of candy, tipped over on its side, so that you could see the candy all tumbling out in a heap. Tommy looked at the candy and his mouth began to water.

As for Champ, he didn’t want to go any farther at all, because he saw an old setter dog, with a very kind face, lying on the pavement in the sun, in front of the drugstore. When he saw Champ coming along the sidewalk, the old dog stood up slowly and waved his tail very gently. Champ trotted up to him, his own short tail wagging very fast, and the two dogs sniffed at each other in a friendly way. They were ready to stand there and talk to each other for the rest of the day, it seemed.

“Come on, Tommy,” said Djuna impatiently. “Come on, Champ!”

“Huh?” said Tommy, without turning around. “What’s the hurry?”

“Oh, all right,” said Djuna.

He went on into the hardware store. Champ hesitated a moment, for he really wanted to go on talking to the old setter dog, and then wagged his tail once more and trotted after Djuna. The old dog settled down again with a sigh. He had liked

the little black dog at first sight, and he was sorry that Champ had to go so soon.

Inside the hardware store, Mr. Granger the storekeeper was standing behind the long wooden counter, measuring out five pounds of nails into a tin scoop on the scales, for a man who was waiting to get them, so Djuna and Champ looked around the store. Right in the middle stood a glistening new bicycle, which was so beautiful that Djuna almost forgot what he had come into the store to get.

He was still staring at the bicycle when Mr. Granger came over to see what he wanted.

“Mighty nice bike, isn’t it?” said Mr. Granger. “Thinking of buying one?”

Djuna looked up, startled. “Oh, no, sir,” he said hastily. “I just wanted some fish-hooks, please.”

Mr. Granger looked at him closely. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” he asked. “You were in here the other day with old George Boots, weren’t you, from Edenboro?”

“Yes, sir,” said Djuna.

“
Thought
I remembered you,” said the storekeeper. “Want some hooks, you say? What kind would you like?”

“Bass hooks, please,” said Djuna. “And some line.”

Mr. Granger led the way over to a glass showcase in which there were all kinds and sizes of hooks, neatly arranged on cards. Some had little tufts of feathers fastened around them. Some were shaped like minnows, with the hooks dangling from their tails. Djuna pointed at one of the big ones. “How much is that one?” he asked.

“That trolling hook? Let you have that one for a dollar,” said Mr. Granger.

“Oh, gee!” exclaimed Djuna ruefully. “I didn’t know they cost
that
much!”

The storekeeper smiled. “Well, you can probably catch just as many with a plain hook,” he said, picking up a small one. “Let you have these for a nickel apiece.”

“Oh, sure, they’ll be all right,” said Djuna. “I want two of those, please. And some line.”

“Got some good line here for a penny a yard,” said Mr. Granger. “How much of it will you be wanting?”

Djuna counted it up. Two hooks, ten cents. And he had a quarter. “Fifteen yards, please,” he said. Mr. Granger measured it off, handed over the hooks and the line, and took the quarter.

“Mr. Boots come over with you today?” he asked, as he rang up the cash.

“No, sir,” answered Djuna.

“Well, give him my regards when you see him,”

said Mr. Granger. “George Boots is a mighty nice old man, and you can tell him I said so. Say, is he working on any job just now?”

“I don’t think so,” said Djuna, doubtfully. “I don’t think he’s had any work for an awful long time.”

“Well, now, see here,” said Mr. Granger, “you tell him he’d better get over to this new Army camp as quick as he can and see if the contractor can’t give him something to do. You know where the camp is, don’t you?”

“No, sir,” said Djuna.

“Well, it’s over towards Riverton, southwest of here,” said Mr. Granger. “It’s an awful big job. They’re going to put up buildin’s enough for five thousand men, or more. Started work just this week. They’ve got a thousand workmen there already, clearin’ off the land and puttin’ in the water system and buildin’ roads and so on, and they’re hirin’ carpenters right now. You tell George Boots he’d better get over there right away. Tell him to stop in here first and I’ll give him a letter to the contractor. Will you do that?”

“Oh, sure!” said Djuna eagerly. “Thanks very much! I’ll tell him as soon as I get home!”

“You be sure and do that,” said Mr. Granger, coming out from behind the counter. “That Army camp is going to mean a lot of new business, around here. Of course, most of it will go to Riverton, but there’ll be plenty of overflow trade coming into Clinton, too. Bound to! Every store in this town is putting in extra stock. It’s a good thing you got here this morning, young fellow—give us another day, and we’re going to be so jammed up with customers that you won’t be able to walk along the street.”

Djuna was hardly listening. He couldn’t take his eyes off the shiny new bicycle. It shone like silver, and its equipment included the very latest and finest accessories.

But finally he tore his eyes away from it and started for the door, wondering how he could ever earn enough money to buy a bicycle like that. Tommy Williams had one, and sometimes lent it to Djuna, but that wasn’t like owning a bicycle of one’s own. He felt pretty discouraged as he walked away. Champ followed meekly behind him.

“Say, wait a minute!” said Mr. Granger. “I see you’re interested in that bike. Thinking of buying one?”

Djuna felt embarrassed. “I’d like to,” he mumbled. “But I haven’t got any money.”

Mr. Granger pointed at Champ. “That’s a mighty nice dog you’ve got there,” he said. “I’ve been thinking for quite a while I ought to have a dog around here. Maybe we can make a trade. How would it be if I let you have the bicycle for, say, half price
and
the dog?”

Djuna looked at him in alarm. “Oh, no, sir!” he cried, stooping to put his arms around Champ. “I
couldn’t
do that! Why, Champ’s my very best friend!”

Mr. Granger nodded understandingly. “That’s right,” he said. “You’ve got the right idea, son. I don’t blame you at all. I wouldn’t do it myself if he was mine.”

He patted Djuna on the shoulder. “Yes, sir, you stick to him and he’ll stick to you,” he added. “You’ll remember to tell Mr. Boots about that job, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” exclaimed Djuna. “I won’t forget!”

He hurried to the door, with Champ at his heels.

A
S
D
JUNA
walked out of the hardware store, followed by Champ, he glanced toward the drugstore and saw Tommy still standing there, waiting for him. He started toward him. But at that moment he was interrupted.

Directly across the street from him, a small black car was just coming to a stop at the curb. There were no other cars on that side of the street. No one on Djuna’s side of the street was paying

any attention to this car. They were all deep in their own affairs, going in and out of the stores to do their shopping, or standing chatting with others idly. Djuna himself would not have noticed the car particularly, if a strange thing had not happened.