The Red Chipmunk Mystery (12 page)

“
Jeepers!
What is it, Mr. Scissors?” Djuna asked eagerly.

“I ain’t no coward,” Mr. Scissors said, “but I’m cautious!”

“Say,
that’s
good!” Buddy said. Djuna didn’t say anything while he went over it in his mind.

“You see, Djuna,” Mr. Scissors said, “what happened to you yesterday probably wouldn’t happen to you again if you lived a hundred years. But if it did, next time you’d know just what to do.”

“Gosh, Mr. Scissors,” Djuna said, “what
should
I do?”

“
Just
what you did, Djuna,” Mr. Scissors said. “You wasn’t no coward but you was cautious.” He raised his voice and shouted, “GIDDAP, BLADE!” Then he added, “We might just as well pull over there in the shade an’ eat them san’wiches Mrs. Harley made for us. If we don’t, Blade is goin’ to lay right down in the middle of the road.”

Djuna guided Blade over to the spot Mr. Scissors had indicated and the old horse came to a stop with a great sigh of relief. Mr. Scissors unfastened Blade’s over-check rein, and the horse dropped his nose right into the bucket of water Mr. Scissors had ready for him. While he fastened on Old Blade’s nose-bag with some lunch in it and put his straw hat over his ears, Joan got the box of sandwiches out of the ice-box and the thermos jug of milk, that had been refilled.

When Joan opened the box of sandwiches she found that some were made with a layer of both peanut butter and jelly between the home-made bread, others with cottage cheese mixed with salt and pepper and a little chopped onion, and others, that were more for Mr. Scissors, made with different kinds of cold cuts. Besides the sandwiches there were devilled eggs and dill pickles and a whole chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, on which Mrs. Harley, with a pastry tube filled with white frosting, had drawn a picture of Old Blade.

“Well, now I
do
declare!” Mr. Scissors said, when he saw the cake. “She shouldn’ve gone to all that trouble. She must a-stayed up half the night to make that cake.”

“Gee! I don’t think she should have either,” Buddy said as he stared at the cake. “But I’m awful glad she did!”

For the next fifteen minutes there was a complete silence until Champ woke up in the back of the wagon, and when he smelled the food he tried to climb up into the front seat, too.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Djuna said, and he gave him the rest of the sandwich he was eating. Champ was quiet for five seconds while he gulped it and then he began to beg again. Djuna climbed into the back of the wagon and got a few of the dog biscuits he had bought at Cliffton Valley and put Champ under the wagon with the biscuits. He hurried because he didn’t want to miss the chocolate cake.

After Mr. Scissors had eaten a piece of cake he reached for his accordion. Buddy groaned as he swallowed the last of his second piece and said, “Gosh, I think I’m too full to sing!”

“Help your digestion,” Mr. Scissors said, and he slipped his hands through the straps and played one line of “Listen to the Mocking Bird.” The next line he just whistled without the accordion, and the next one he played on the keys. By the time he had whistled through another line they were all laughing so hard that Mr. Scissors couldn’t play or whistle. When he was able to play again he said, “Maybe make us a little cooler if we sing ‘Jingle Bells,’ eh?”

“Let her rip!” Buddy shouted, and he looked longingly at the chocolate cake Joan was putting back in the box, although he knew he couldn’t eat another piece if his life depended on it. Mr. Scissors went into the first verse with a flourish and they all sang:

Suddenly Mr. Scissors stopped playing as a sedan painted all in white went by them, stopped a hundred feet farther on, and began backing up in the dust it had raised.

“
Jiminy crimps!
” Buddy said, and he looked frightened. “It’s a state trooper’s car. It has S
TATE
P
OLICE
painted on the side.”

“Well, they ain’t lookin’ for
you
, are they?” Mr. Scissors said, and he chuckled. But then he noticed that
both
Buddy and Djuna looked very worried as they exchanged glances and that made him look a little worried, too, as the white car came to a stop opposite them.

The next thing Djuna saw he almost couldn’t believe. The front door of the car opened and Socker Furlong stepped out!

For a moment he looked as though he couldn’t believe his eyes, either, when he saw Djuna, and then a big grin spread across his face as he said, “Well, my little wandering minstrel, how in the name of my old Aunt Matilda did you get
here
?”

Djuna jumped down from the front seat as Socker Furlong crossed to the wagon and shook the hand that Socker held out to him. “Well, you see, Mr. Furlong, I,” Djuna began, and then he stopped and shook his head and added, “It’s kind of a long story. I—–”

“I’ll bet it is!” Socker said. “You do turn up in the strangest places! But let’s skip it for a minute. Introduce me to your friends. I think this is the snazziest-looking outfit I’ve seen since I ran away to join a circus!”

After Djuna had introduced Socker to Joan and Buddy and Mr. Scissors, Socker shook his head and said to Mr. Scissors, “You wouldn’t swap jobs with me, would you? This is really
something
!”

“What’s your line, Mr. Furlong?” Mr. Scissors said with a chuckle.

“I’m just another reporter,” Socker said. “But please call me Socker, because I’m going to travel along with you for the rest of the day, if I may.” Socker turned around and shouted at the white police car, “Hey, Cannonball, come over here. I want you to meet some friends of mine.” A form slid out from under the wheel of the white car and across the seat and when it unwound itself it as over six feet of broad-shouldered might, with black hair, blue-grey eyes and a square jaw.

“Hallo, Mr. Scissors,” the big policeman said as he started towards the wagon. “Hallo, Joan.”

“Nice to see you, Dannie,” Mr. Scissors said, and Joan smiled and said, “Hallo, Mr. McGinty.”

“Oh, you already know each other,” Socker said, and he turned to Djuna and added, “Djuna, this is Trooper McGinty. I call him Cannonball because of the way he eats up the road with that white aeroplane without wings he’s driving. And this,” Socker went on, indicating Buddy, “is—I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, my carrot-topped minstrel.”

“It’s—it’s Buddy—Bu-u-u-ddy—–”

“
Turner!
” the tall, black-haired trooper said, and he fixed Buddy with a stern eye.

“Yes—yes, sir!” Buddy admitted, and there was misery written all over his freckled face. His lips moved as though he were going to say something, but he didn’t.

“Now, now, Dannie,” Mr. Scissors said as he put a reassuring arm across Buddy’s shoulders. “What’s the boy done, anyway?”

“He’s a runaway,” Trooper McGinty said with that expression on his face that all troopers have, even when they’re at home eating soup.

“I—I was at a camp near Thompsonville,” Buddy burst forth. “I just wanted to go home and see my brother, because he’s been away for three years. I—I knew they wouldn’t let me go if I asked, so I just started for Riverton.”

“Then why didn’t you go to Riverton?” the trooper said grimly. “Your parents are—
Ouch!
Can’t you move your big feet without stepping on mine, Socker?” Trooper McGinty said, glaring at the reporter. He took a couple of limping steps, then rubbed his toe.

“How did you and Djuna happen to meet, Buddy?” Socker asked, and he grinned at Buddy.

“We ran into each other at my grandmother’s old place near Dean’s Mills,” Buddy said eagerly. “I went there to stay because I knew no one lived there and I could sleep in the barn. Djuna and Champ came along just as I was going to go to bed.”

“You see, Mr. Furlong,” Djuna put in, “I got off the train at Thompsonville to take Champ for a walk and he ran after a cat. Before I could catch him my train had gone and when I started to buy a new ticket I found out I’d lost my wallet. So, I decided to hitch-hike to Riverton. When I met Buddy at his grandmother’s place,
he
had my wallet! He had found it at Thompsonville!”

“Well, braid my hair!” Socker said, and both he and Mr. Scissors were chuckling. “So, you joined forces and ran into Mr. Scissors and he let you join his troupe. How soon will your brother be home, Buddy?”

“Oh, not for four or five days yet,” Buddy said. “I’ve been keeping very careful track, Mr. Furlong.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Trooper McGinty said. “Instead of taking you back to camp I’ll take you home to Riverton. That’s where I’m headed for now.”

“Oh, stop throwing your weight around, will you, Cannonball?” Socker asked him, with a grin. “Now—–”

“Throwing
my
weight around!” the trooper said indignantly. “Who just stepped on my toe with about two hundred pounds of fat?”

“
All right!
A-a-l-l
right
!” Socker said soothingly. “Come over here, I want to talk to you for a minute.” Trooper McGinty followed Socker over to the white car suspiciously and they each put a foot on the running board.

“Look, you big lug,” Socker said to Trooper McGinty with a grin, “what about this Mr. Scissors? He’s all right, isn’t he?”

“They don’t come any better,” the trooper said earnestly. “He has more friends in the five or six counties around here than any one I know of. Any of them would give him the shirt off his back.”

“I thought I was right,” said Socker, and he grinned like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Now, I’ll tell you what—you putt along over to Riverton at your usual slow pace and tell Buddy’s parents—you know who they are, don’t you?”

Trooper McGinty groaned and put his head in his hands. “I’ll say I do!” he said. “They’ve been in our hair for the last—–”

“Fine!” Socker said. “They’ll be so glad to hear that he’s okay that they won’t object. Tell them Buddy is having one whale of a time. Tell ’em all about Mr. Scissors and his granddaughter, and young Djuna. You know about Djuna, don’t you?”

“Sure,” the trooper said, “but orders are orders. I’ve got to take that kid to Riverton or take him back to camp.”

“Look, Cannonball,” Socker said with infinite patience. “Tell them why he left camp and tell ’em we’ll escort him home in time to see his brother. And, oh yes, tell ’em we’ll do them the great honour of bringing Mr. Scissors along to meet them, too. Now, do you suppose you can remember all that, Cannonball?”

“Socker,” Cannonball McGinty said, “some day you’re going to get me into trouble. You’ll take the responsibility?”

“With the greatest of ease,” said Socker. “Now scram!”

“Aren’t you coming along to cover that other story?” the trooper asked.

“Not with you, pal,” said Socker. “If there’s anything to the lead we have, young Djuna will uncover it faster than you will. Besides I want to ride on that wagon. There’s even a bunk where I can go to sleep this afternoon if I get too tired to sit up. I’ll be ready to go to Riverton with you when you pick me up this evening
after supper
.”

“When
I
pick you up after supper!” Cannonball said, but he was grinning now, too. “Where’ll I find you?”

“Oh, along the valley road here, some place,” Socker said, and he started back towards the wagon. “Okay, kids!” he said. “Cannonball is going to look up your parents and tell ’em where you are, Buddy.”

“Oh, boy!” Buddy said, and his face was shining like the sun coming over the hills in the morning. “You mean I can stay
here
and go on to Farmholme with Mr. Scissors?”

“That’s right, my red-headed troubador,” said Socker and he looked at Mr. Scissors, adding, “on the condition that I can go along with you, too, for the afternoon, and have supper with you. Old Cannonball McGinty will pick me up later and take me to Riverton for the night.”

“It would be a pleasure to have you, Socker,” Mr. Scissors said, with his eyes twinkling, “provided you don’t mind walkin’ a mite on the hills.” Socker looked a little alarmed for an instant at the idea of walking uphill in the sun but he covered it up quickly and said, “Sure,
sure
!”

“Say, Mr. Scissors,” Cannonball, not Trooper McGinty, said a little hesitantly, “I used to sing a pretty good tenor, especially with that song ‘Jingle Bells’ you were playing. Do you suppose we could sing a verse of it before I go along?”

“That’s a marvellous idea!” said Socker. “Was
I
a bass in college!”

“Why, sure, boys,” Mr. Scissors said, and he reached for his accordion. “Now, I tell you what, Djuna an’ Buddy an’ me’ll carry the melody, Joan’ll take the alto, Socker the bass, and Dannie the tenor. Okay?”

“Take off the soft pedal!” Socker said, as Mr. Scissors began to pump and skim his fingers over the keys.

Any one, especially the Superintendent of the State Police or Mr. Canavan, editor of the
Morning Bugle
, if he had happened to drive by that spot on the valley road between Cliffton Valley and Ferry Crossing on a hot afternoon in August, would have been more than a little astonished to see, and hear, three men and two boys, and a little girl, singing “Jingle Bells” as though the whole future of their lives depended on it. Perspiration was streaming down their happy faces as they went into the last chorus:

“Boy!
Are we good!
” said Socker as he wiped his streaming face with a large, white handkerchief.

“Let’s go over it just once more,” Cannonball said, and his face was wreathed with smiles now. “How about—–”

“On your way, big boy!” Socker said, and in a lower voice so that only Cannonball could hear, “
Buddy’s parents!
”