The Red Chipmunk Mystery (11 page)

“Where does this guy who calls himself Scissors live when he’s at home?” the man rasped.

“I—I don’t know,” Djuna said. “You see, I—–”

“Whadda yuh mean, you don’t know?” the tall one snarled as he took a step towards Djuna.

“I—I mean, I don’t—
don’t know!
” Djuna said, and he bent down very quickly and grabbed at Champ, who had begun to snarl and to look as though he were going to leap at the tall man.

It was a good thing that Djuna ducked to grab Champ just when he did, because the tall man had swung his open hand at Djuna’s head with all the force he could swing it. The blow swished above Djuna’s head as Louie grabbed at the tall man and barked, “
Lam!
The old guy is comin’ up the street with the other kid!”

The tall one turned his head to look, as he was getting set to launch a kick at Champ’s snarling head. Without another word they turned and ran towards the black sedan. Djuna saw them duck into the sedan, one on each side, and a moment later the motor roared to life. The gears clashed for an instant as the driver tried to mesh them. Then the black car disappeared up the road in the swirl of dust that floated out behind it.

“Stop it, Champ!” Djuna said as Champ, trying to follow it, tugged at the leash Djuna had snapped on him.

Then Djuna let his eyes wander slowly back to the awful wreck the two men had made of Mr. Scissors’ beautiful wagon and he forgot his fright of a few minutes before and tears came into his eyes because he knew how badly Mr. Scissors was going to feel. He wished he could go somewhere and hide so that he wouldn’t have to be there when Mr. Scissors arrived.

But when Mr. Scissors came hurrying across the road a moment later he came to a dead halt and stared at his things lying around on the ground and all over the wagon, and then he seemed to forget the wagon as he went quickly over and put his arm around Djuna’s shoulder.

“Did they hurt you, boy?” Mr. Scissors asked as he looked at Djuna’s stricken eyes. Djuna shook his head and when he tried to speak he couldn’t, because there was something stuck in his throat.

“No—no, sir,” he finally managed to say. “They threatened to, but they saw you coming and ran.”

“I saw ’em,” Mr. Scissors said grimly. “I knew somethin’ was wrong.”

“I—I tried to stop them, Mr. Scissors,” Djuna said. “But one of them threatened to knock my head off if I didn’t shut up. I—I didn’t know what to do. I’m awful sorry about the wagon.
Honest
, Mr. Scissors, I—–”

“Never mind about the wagon, boy,” Mr. Scissors said, and gave Djuna a pat on the back. “As long as you’re all right we won’t worry. Remember it was only an old wagonette when I got it. We can fix it up again. There ain’t no harm done anyway,” Mr. Scissors added as he began to poke around in the ruins. “Did they take anything?”

“I don’t
think
they took anything,” Djuna said, and his voice was steadier, now that he knew that Mr. Scissors did not blame him for the damage that had been done.

“What did they say?” Mr. Scissors asked, as he picked up his best pair of pants and folded them carefully and laid them on the grassy bank.

“They didn’t say anything much,” Djuna said, and for an instant he had an awful urge not to tell the truth, but he did. “You see I fell asleep for just a few minutes after you left, and when they drove up Champ woke me up by barking at them. They were looking at Old Blade and arguing. I spoke to them and they came over and pretended to be admiring the wagon. I asked them if they wanted something sharpened and they said they had some things they wanted sharpened but they hoped no one would get stuck with them after they were sharpened. I didn’t know what they meant by that.”

“They didn’t mean no good,” Mr. Scissors said, and he looked quite mad—for Mr. Scissors.

“Then,
all of a sudden
, they just started to tear everything apart as though they were looking for something,” Djuna went on.

“Maybe they were looking for some kind of a gun to hold someone up!” Buddy said excitedly. It was the first time Buddy had spoken since he had come back with Mr. Scissors and had been struck dumb by the sight of the wagon. It was a long silence for Buddy. “Have you got a gun, Mr. Scissors?”

“No,” Mr. Scissors said, “but I’m a-goin’ to borrow one from Ed Harley to-night. He’s the constable here in Cliffton Valley. We’ll go over and tell him all about this as soon as Joan comes back.”

“And after they had searched the whole wagon and thrown everything every which way, they were awfully angry,” Djuna went on. “The nastiest-looking one asked me if I knew where you lived, Mr. Scissors, when you were home. I told him I didn’t know. He was going to do something to me when the other one saw you and they both ran.”

“Well, I’ll borrow a shotgun from Ed Harley, and if they come foolin’ around here to-night I’ll print my address on the seat of their pants with it!” Mr. Scissors said, and he snorted in very much the same way Old Blade would snort after he’d had a drink of water.

“
Granpa!
” Joan said suddenly from behind them. They all whirled to see her standing there with eyes that were big and round and full of anguish. “
Oh, Granpa!
” she sobbed again. “My dresses, and
my pots and pans!
” Mr. Scissors hurried over to her and put his arms around her and said, “Now, now, Pet,” over and over and over.

And then Djuna put one arm around Joan, too, and he resolved that if any more men came around to tear things apart it wouldn’t make any difference to him how many of them there were, or how big they were, he’d stop them
some way
. And when Buddy put his left hand on Joan’s shoulder to reassure her, his teeth and his right fist were clenched and his hair had become so fiery red that any one with any sense at all would have known it was a danger signal.

SOCKER JOINS THE PARTY

T
HE
next morning at ten o’clock Mr. Scissors, to show all the people of Cliffton Valley that they were not downhearted, played “Dixie” on his accordion while Joan, Djuna, Buddy and Mr. Scissors himself, sang it. One man, whose grandfather had fought in the Civil War and had taught him the rebel yell, split the valley with it as he let it go three times. A colt in a nearby field kicked its heels in the air and a bunch of sheep started running like mad towards the river.

Buddy and Djuna didn’t know that verse but when Joan led them into the chorus they really put their heart into:

Because “Dixie” was one of Old Blade’s favourite songs, Djuna, who was driving, had quite a little trouble holding him in check as they started off. He lifted his feet much higher than usual and tossed his head back and forth to keep time to the music and show off the red and yellow zinnias Mrs. Harley had given Joan to put in his bridle.

After they finished the last chorus and all stood on the seat to wave good-bye to the people on the road, Mr. Scissors said, “Watch Blade slow down. He’ll mope along for the rest of the day after that burst of energy.”

“Jeepers, but they’re awfully nice people,” Djuna said as he waved both hands above his head.

“Salt of the earth,” Mr. Scissors said sincerely.

“What does that mean, Mr. Scissors?” Buddy asked.

“It means—it means,” Mr. Scissors said, “you couldn’t live without them. You’ve got to have salt to live, an’ you got to have people like them or the world would be an awful place.”

The afternoon before, when Joan and the boys and Mr. Scissors had gone over to tell Ed Harley, the constable, about the men who had wrecked Mr. Scissors’ wagon, Mrs. Harley had insisted that they stay there for supper and for the night
and
for breakfast. When Mrs. Harley said she had plenty of food in the house and wouldn’t go to any trouble Mr. Scissors finally consented and said they would be very thankful to stay.

But a few minutes later Mrs. Harley called her husband out into the kitchen and whispered in his ear to go down to the general store and get a lot of mixed cold cuts and two quarts of strawberry ice-cream. She already had a big bowl of potato salad in the ice-box, and she went down into the cellar and got more kinds of delicious pickles and relishes than the boys had ever seen before.

Of course it wasn’t more than fifteen minutes after Mr. Scissors had told Mr. Harley about the two rascals who had raided his wagon that the whole town knew about it.

Mrs. Harley, with her husband Ed’s help, persuaded Mr. Scissors not even to go back to look at the wagon until after they’d had some food to give them inner courage. Mr. Scissors insisted on going back to get Old Blade though, and they put Blade in Mr. Harley’s barn, where there was a stall filled with straw where he could lie down. After he’d had his supper and some water he looked all around to thank every one and then he curled up against the wall and went to sleep.

And while they were eating supper at the Harleys’ some of the women in Cliffton Valley went down to the wagon and got all of Joan’s pretty little dresses and things and took them home and washed and ironed them so that they were all crisp and fresh the next morning. Their husbands went along, too, and picked up and sorted out all of Mr. Scissors’ tools and even filled the water-can on the top of the grindstone. The women made up the bunks with clean sheets and after they had looked around on the ground carefully they knew just what the two scoundrels had thrown out of the mess boxes and they went down to the general store and reprovisioned them.

That morning, after breakfast at the Harleys’, Mr. Scissors and the boys sharpened all the knives, scissors, shears, chisels, and even skates, to be ready for the next winter, that he had collected the day before. When they returned the various things to their owners Mr. Scissors wouldn’t take a cent for sharpening anything from any one. But all of the people in Cliffton Valley knew that Mr. Scissors needed every penny he could earn, so they all handed to Ed Harley the amount Mr. Scissors usually charged them. After Mr. Scissors had gone, Ed went to the post office and bought a money order with the money and posted it to Mr. Scissors, so that the money would be waiting for him when he reached Farmholme.

After they were about a mile out of Cliffton Valley and Mr. Scissors had stopped once to set and sharpen the teeth of a crosscut saw, Old Blade began to lag and drag, just as Mr. Scissors had predicted he would. “Drat him, anyway,” Mr. Scissors said and he shouted, “GIDDAP, BLADE! That’s what soft livin’ll do. One night lyin’ down on soft straw in a stall and he won’t even pull his own weight.” Old Blade turned his head slowly and gave Mr. Scissors a scornful look out of one eye as he swished his tail back and forth just once to say, “What’s
your
hurry?”

They rode along in bright silence for a few minutes and then Mr. Scissors said, ” Say, Joan. Did you remember to ask Mike Tromboni about Old Blade’s bridle? I forgot all about it in the confusion.”

“Why, yes,” Joan said. “I forgot to tell you, too. He said he hadn’t been able to get around to fixing it yet, but he promised he’d have it ready when we came back this way.”

“Good!” Mr. Scissors said, and he chuckled. “I think it makes Blade a little more sprightly when he’s wearin’ it.”

“
Gosh
, Mr. Scissors!” Djuna said suddenly. “I’m awful sorry I let those men do what they did yesterday. I—–”

“Joan,” Mr. Scissors interrupted, “I think it’s time you let Djuna drive for a while.”

“Yes, Granpa,” Joan said, and handed the reins to Djuna.

“Boy,” Mr. Scissors said gently, “I want you to stop worryin’ about it. Just remember that fools rush in where angels fear to tread, but he who learns to run away will live to fight another day. That ain’t quoted just right but it’s close enough.”

“Oh,
Granpa
!” Joan said. “Why do you always try to get people so mixed up?”

“’Cause I always have been a little mixed up myself,” Mr. Scissors said with a chuckle. “There ain’t nobody that knows everything, no matter how hard they try to make you think they do. You see one wise fellah would write: ‘It’s never too late to learn.’ And everybody’d nod his head and say, ‘That’s right!’ Then another wise fellah would write: ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’ And everybody’d nod his head and say, ‘
That’s
right!’ Both of them sayin’s is right when you stop to
think
about it, but each of them means a diff’rent thing.”

“Then
why
do you say them together, Mr. Scissors?” Djuna asked, and he looked very, very puzzled.

“To make people
think
,” Mr. Scissors said, and his eyes were twinkling. “I used to get so mixed up by ’em they near drove me crazy. So, every time I’d think of one I’d think of t’other an’ I began sayin’ ’em together so other people’d be just as mixed up as I was.”

“
Jiminy crimps!
” Buddy said. “You know I bet I could learn more on your wagon in ten minutes than I could ever learn in a million—oh, maybe not that many—a thousand years at school.”

“No, you couldn’t, Buddy,” Mr. Scissors said very seriously. “Every boy needs his schoolin’. That teaches you how to
think
. After you get through with your schoolin’ it helps you to know how to live with the rest of the people in the world, an’, by crimps, there’s an awful lot of ’em.”

“But why did you say something about fools rush in where—or something like that, when I said I was sorry about the two men yesterday?” Djuna asked, and he was still very puzzled.

“Oh, I was just trying to take your mind off it,” Mr. Scissors said with a chuckle. “I have a little sayin’ of my own that would apply to what you did when them two men was wreckin’ the wagon yesterday.”