The Green Turtle Mystery (12 page)

“Well, I’ll be out here in the Square whenever you’re ready,” Djuna said.

“Okay,” Ben said and he got up and started to finish his errand. He got only a dozen steps away when he turned around and hurried back. “Say!” he said. “You remember that funny smell in that house last night that you said smelled like nas–nas–”

“Nasturtiums,” Djuna said, helping him out.

“Yeah. Like that,” Ben said, excitedly. “Only that smell
wasn’t
like that at all. It was just like printer’s ink. I mean, that house smelled just like printer’s ink. I had to go back where they print the papers this morning, and the minute I went in the room I remembered that funny smell.”

“Maybe it did smell like printer’s ink,” Djuna said, stoutly. “But it smelled like nasturtiums, too. I don’t know just how printer’s ink smells.”

“Well,” Ben conceded, “I don’t know how nas’er’shums smell either. Maybe they smell alike.”

“I guess they must,” Djuna agreed.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. So long,” said Ben.

“
Hasta la vista
,” Djuna answered, grinning. “See you around twelve.”

Djuna got up and started to wander across the Square to find another customer when he saw Socker Furlong coming toward him in no great haste. Djuna waved at him and Socker’s teeth flashed in a wide grin as he flipped a hand at Djuna and sat down ponderously on one of the benches. Immediately he closed his eyes and he looked as though he was already asleep when Djuna reached him. Djuna put his box down between Socker’s feet and said, “Right foot, please, Mr. Furlong.”

“Hi-yah, Djuna,” said Socker as he lifted his right foot on to Djuna’s box with obvious effort. “What cooks?”

“Oh, gee, Mr. Furlong.
Everything!
” Djuna said so fervently that Socker opened his eyes and said, “
Eh?
”

Djuna, knowing by this time that when Mr. Furlong voluntarily opened his eyes, and left them open for more than a brief glimpse at the world, Mr. Furlong must be keenly interested in what was being said to him; launched into an enthusiastic account of what he and Ben had done the previous afternoon and evening.

A half dozen times Mr. Furlong laughed so hard that Djuna had to stop talking because he couldn’t hear himself talk, let alone think. And at other times there was a frank expression of admiration in Socker’s eyes as he listened, especially when Djuna told about standing his ground after the parrot first laughed the night before.

“And you know, Mr. Furlong, that parrot talks Spanish!” said Djuna earnestly. “It said ‘
Hasta la vista
,’ just as plain as could be! That’s Spanish, isn’t it? A man told me so, anyway. But before that, the
first
time the parrot yelled, it said ‘platter! platter!’ or
something
like that. Is that Spanish, too?”

Socker Furlong rubbed his own chin thoughtfully. “Hum!” he said. “Platter. Why, yes, that might be Spanish. He was probably saying
‘plata’
, That means ‘silver’ in Spanish. It’s another word for ‘money,’ too, in Spanish.
Plata!
Now tell me this, my analytical young philologist, why should a parrot be yelling for money? Or, for that matter, what would he do with it if he got it?”

Djuna looked puzzled. “I don’t know,” he said. “But, look, Mr. Furlong, don’t you think I ought to go over to Mr. Firkins’ office and tell him there’s a parrot in that house?”

“
No, sir!
” Socker said, emphatically. “You stay away from that big bale of blubber. He may be fat, but he’s no fathead. He has something on his mind beside that moth-eaten Panama hat he wears. He wasn’t kidding when he told you to stay away from that house.
Why
he doesn’t want you to go there is the little question at hand.”

“You know, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna said. “I was thinking that if, maybe, you wrote a funny story about that haunted house now, telling how Mr. Firkins’ ghosts turned out to be a parrot, Mr. Canavan might like it so much he’d give you back your job, because no other paper in the city would have anything about it.”

“A scoop, eh?” Socker said and his eyes twinkled. He watched Djuna while he polished his right shoe for the fourth time and said, “Well, my little brush-wielding whirlwind, perhaps you have something there at that. You say you and Ben are going to that bakery this noon to find out if the people there know who owns the parrot?”

“Yes sir,” Djuna said. “They might know something.”

“Well, it can’t do any harm,” said Socker. “I tell you what to do. After you talk to them you come over to my boarding house and tell me what they say. I have a date to see a monkey about a job and won’t be back there until about two o’clock, but I’d like to hear what the bakery people can add to the mystery.”

“You say you have a date with a
monkey
, Mr. Furlong?” Djuna asked and he looked up at Socker with puzzled eyes.

“Oh, that’s just a figure of speech, Djuna,” Socker said and he laughed. “This guy I’m going to see isn’t really a monkey. He’s only a managing editor. But he acts kind of like all the other monkeys because he wants you to come to work on time, and eat your meals on time, and wash your neck on time. He acts just like old man Canavan. Shouts and runs his hands through his hair in the same way.” Socker shook his head and then he added, “But maybe he has fleas. I’ll let you know when I see you later on.”

“You’ll let me know what, sir?” Djuna asked.

“Whether or not he has fleas,” said Socker. “So long, Djuna.”

“So long, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna said.

Djuna was waiting downstairs in the newspaper building when Ben came down in the elevator a few minutes after twelve. They nodded and smiled at each other without saying a word and went out of the building and down Sixth Street toward Carpenter.

“We can stop at my house and get a sandwich and a glass of milk and then take Champ with us,” Ben said as they turned on to Carpenter Street.

“Gee, that would be nice,” said Djuna. “But won’t it be too much trouble for your mother?”

“She won’t mind,” Ben said. “She always figures on a couple of extras because some of my sisters or brothers who don’t live with us are always dropping in just at meal time.”

When they arrived at the little white house that was 906 they went inside and Ben introduced Djuna to his mother and eight or ten different sized boys and girls who were his brothers and sisters.

Djuna couldn’t ever remember having seen so many children in one house before except at a party. They were all over the place and they all seemed to be having such a good time that it sort of reminded Djuna of a party.

They each ate three large sandwiches made of chopped hard-boiled eggs mixed with mayonnaise and salt and pepper and ground nuts; drank two glasses of milk and topped it off with a remarkably large piece of chocolate cake, so, as Mrs. Franklin said, smiling, “You won’t grow faint during the afternoon.”

“Gee, that was just awful good, Mrs. Franklin,” Djuna said before they went whooping out to untie Champ and start for the bakery.

Champ could smell the chocolate cake and jumped up and down, and up and down, and up and down until Ben said, “Gee, I guess we better get him a piece of bread or we’ll never get there.” He ran in the house and came out with a piece of bread that Champ devoured in a half dozen gulps. Then he started pulling on his leash as though to say: “Well, what’re we waiting for?”

They went down Carpenter Street a half block and then turned on to a busier thoroughfare that was called Chestnut Street. There were a great many automobiles and trucks dashing back and forth on Chestnut Street so Djuna kept a very tight grip on Champ’s leash.

“How much farther is it?” Djuna asked Ben as they turned.

“It’s just across the street on the next corner,” Ben said, pointing.

They waited on the corner until the traffic seemed to be almost clear and Ben said, “C’mon!” The three of them stepped off the curb together and just as they did a big, black car that had been easing along up toward the curb as though it was going to park came shooting out toward the middle of the street and bore directly down on them.

Ben was looking in the other direction and didn’t see the car at all, and Djuna got only a hasty glimpse of it out of the corner of his eyes as it came tearing at them like a juggernaut of death.

“
Look out!
” Djuna screamed. At the same instant he gave Ben a push that caught him off balance and sent him reeling out of harm’s way. Almost with the same movement he scooped Champ up in his arms and dove straight ahead to land on his side beside Ben. The left front wheel of the car just grazed his feet as it passed him.

Djuna could hear the screams of two women standing on the corner, the hoarse shouts of men, and the shrill protest of tires as brakes were applied.

People came running from all directions to pick the two boys up. A policeman had halted the black car on the far corner and was berating the driver with words that no one could have misunderstood.

“Gee! We’re all right,” Djuna told another policeman who had helped them up and was trying to find out whether or not they had been hit by the car, and whether they needed an ambulance.

They were both a trifle pale, but except for Ben’s skinned knee and a bruise where Djuna had landed on his elbow, they were all right.

“You come on over here with me,” the policeman said, grimly as he nodded toward the black car that was parked at the curb with so many people around it the driver couldn’t open the door. “I want to tell that guy a couple o’ things he maybe never heard of.”

Djuna, with Champ in his arms, and Ben meekly followed him. But they couldn’t get near the car because there were so many people crowded around it glaring at the driver.

“Break it up! Break it up!” the policeman bellowed. “Get movin’. What yuh t’ink it is, a convention?”

The people moved hastily away until only one or two were between them and the driver of the car when the policeman said to the boys, with a wink, “I’d prefer charges against him if I was you. He ain’t got no business wid a license in d’ first place.”

Then Djuna saw the face of the frightened fat man who sat in the driver’s seat of the car and he said, “Why, it’s Mr. Firkins!”

Mr. Firkins turned his frightened gaze away from the policeman who was relating all his weak points to him and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Then he gasped, “You don’t mean to say it was
you
boys I almost run over, do you?”

“Gee! I guess it was, Mr. Firkins,” Djuna said. “But we weren’t hurt any. I just skinned my elbow a little and Ben skinned his knee.”

“Why, you see, officer,” Mr. Firkins said. “I
know
these boys! I’d just as soon run over my own son as run over them. I–”

“I ain’t sayin’ yuh wouldn’t!” the policeman said in disgust. “What I’m sayin’ is yuh ought a go some plaee like a kin-ergarten an’ learn how to drive an automobile. You’re a menace to life an’ limb.” The policeman spat on the curb and said to Djuna, “Do you kids wanna prefer charges against him?”

“Oh,
no
sir!” Djuna said. “Mr. Firkins is a friend of ours.”

“Okay!” the policeman said and he took his indignation out on the several people who were still idling near the car. “Break it up! Break it up!” he growled. “Work duh muscles in yer legs ’n git goin’.”

Mr. Firkins beamed at the boys and climbed out of the car to stand beside them as Djuna put Champ down on the pavement. He explained to them that he had intended to park at the curb but had put his foot down hard on the gas pedal instead of on the brake and the car had got away from him.

“Hadn’t you taken it out of gear?” asked Djuna. “Mr. Boots lets me drive his truck in his yard sometimes and he told me to always be sure to take it out of gear before I stop the engine to park.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Firkins beamed. “I should have. I must have forgot.
Say! What the
–”

Mr. Firkins’ fat frame banged against his car as he jumped backward to get away from the snarling Champ. Champ had leaped at him.

“
Stop it, Champ!
” Djuna shouted and pulled at Champ’s leash so hard Champ toppled over backward. But Champ didn’t stay on his back, he whipped over on his feet and came up on his hind legs again and he continued to bark at Mr. Firkins with a shrill, high-pitched bark until Djuna picked him up in his arms again to quiet him.

“Well, I can’t say as I blame him much at that,” Mr. Firkins said. “I’d feel that way, too, if someone tried to run over me.”

“He’s just excited,” Djuna explained. “He’s never been in a city before. He gets mixed up, I guess.”

“So,” Mr. Firkins said. “He’s never been in a city before, eh? Well, he’s a mighty nice dog. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you ten dollars for him.”

Mr. Firkins reached in his trouser pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill and waved it in front of Djuna to add weight to his offer.

“Oh no!” Djuna said indignantly. “I wouldn’t sell him for a million dollars.”

Then Djuna forgot his indignation as he saw a peculiar expression come over Mr. Firkins’ face as he stared at the ten-dollar bill in his hands. Djuna watched him shove the ten-dollar bill quickly back into his pocket and jam his hand into an inside poeket to bring out a wallet from which he pulled out two five-dollar bills.

“Well,” Mr. Firkins said. “I couldn’t go to a million. But I’ll give you ten dollars cash. There it is,” and he waved the two fives under Djuna’s nose. “I’ve always wanted one of them Scotty dogs. Most dogs ain’t got much sense, but I think I’d like him.”

“That’s very nice of you, Mr. Firkins,” Djuna said because he could see that Mr. Firkins was just trying to be kind because he had nearly run over them. He knew Mr. Firkins didn’t really want to buy Champ. “But I wouldn’t sell him for
anything
.”

“Well, I don’t know as I blame you,” said Mr. Firkins. “I wouldn’t sell him if he was mine.” Then Mr. Firkins wheeled on Ben and said, “Has your turtle come home yet?”

“No sir,” Ben said, eagerly. “We put a tub out in the yard, too. But he hasn’t come home.”

“Well, maybe he’s tired,” Mr. Firkins said and he chuckled. “I tell you what you do. If he ain’t home by tomorrow, sometime, you come down to my house tomorrow evening and I’ll have a turtle just like him there for you.”