Jerry Todd and the Oak Island Treasure by Leo Edwards - HTML preview

CHAPTER VIII
THE GIRL IN THE BLUE TAM

The next morning when we were eating breakfast, after an uneventful night, Dad came whistling to the brickyard dock to learn how we were getting along.

This was a good time, I thought, to sort of feel him out on our proposed Ashton trip.

“We’ll soon be going camping,” I told him, getting at my subject in a roundabout way.

“I wish I could go with you,” he grinned, helping himself to one of our doughnuts.

“We’ll let you,” Scoop put in quickly.

“No chance,” Dad sighed. “I’ve got to keep my nose to the grindstone.”

“We won’t have to bother you this year,” I went on, “to haul our truck up the canal in the car. For we’re going to use our boat.”

“This boat?”

“Sure thing. We probably can earn some money, too.”

“Taking passengers?”

“If we camp on Oak Island,” I said, “we can stop at Ashton on the way to the wide waters and give our show. And once we get to the island, it isn’t so very far to Steam Corners.”

“You better hire a mule,” Dad laughed.

“What for?”

“This engine of yours will never carry you that far.”

“Hey!” yipped Red, grinning. “Don’t you run down our swell engine.”

“It’s an old engine and liable to go blooey at any minute. I wouldn’t trust it two miles, myself.”

“If it breaks down,” boasted Red, “I can fix it.”

In our further talk, Dad made it plain to us that he wasn’t keen about letting us start out in the scow. He couldn’t bring himself to believe, he said, serious, that we would be able to go very many miles without a serious breakdown.

But he had promised to let me go camping when the other fellows went. And, as they had gained their parents’ consent to the trip, he couldn’t very well say “no” to me without backing down on his word.

So I finally got his reluctant consent.

That day we put a bigger advertisement in the Daily Globe, for the coming show was to be our last one in Tutter until we had returned from our out-of-town trip. When the advertising bill had been paid, I sort of balanced my accounts, if that is the way to express it. Here is the way my figures looked on paper:

That afternoon we started the engine and turned on the organ to let the townsfolk know that we were still on the job. Red told us that the engine was burning a lot of gasoline. We didn’t let that worry us, for Scoop was getting the gasoline for nothing at his father’s store. In preparing for our trip, the leader filled three five-gallon cans. There was another fifteen gallons in the engine tank, so we figured that we wouldn’t have to spend any of our working capital for gasoline for several days. By that time we probably would be rolling in money.

There wasn’t such a big crowd at our show that night. The older people, for the most part, didn’t seem to be greatly interested in our performance. But we took in four dollars, the most of it in ten-cent admissions. Mother and Dad were there. I talked with them just before the show started.

“Have a good time,” Mother told me, referring to our camping trip, “but be careful and don’t run any foolish risks.”

I promised.

“I hope you haven’t any guns on board.”

“None that I know of.”

“I’m afraid of guns.” She slipped something into my hand. “It’s a ten-dollar bill, Jerry. Keep it for an emergency.”

“There aren’t going to be any emergencies,” I boasted.

“I hope not. But it has been my experience that not infrequently the unexpected happens. Drop me a card when you get to Ashton. And be sure and brush your teeth and don’t go dirty.”

It was our intention to start on our trip as soon as the show was over. So our folks, having been advised of our plan, were there to say good-by to us. There was a lot of waving back and forth as the Sally Ann got under way. Then we passed under the bridge and the others were lost to our sight.

“Well,” said Scoop, dropping into a seat on a box, “we’re off.”

“The only thing I regret,” grunted Peg, “is that we didn’t even scores with the Strickers before leaving town. For we owe them something for that rope trick.”

“Let’s send the ‘friendly ghost’ back to clean up on ’em,” grinned Scoop.

“We’re fast leaving the ghost behind us,” I laughed.

“I hope so,” Red spoke up quickly, squinting uneasily down the canal.

Grinning, Scoop got to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Hey, mister friendly ghost,” he called, “give Bid Stricker a black eye for me.” He sat down, still grinning. “It’s all right now,” he waggled. “We’re revenged.”

In a short time we had left Tutter behind us. The moon was shining, making it easy for us to keep the Sally Ann in the middle of the canal. Peg was handling the tiller. Red had the engine in charge. Scoop and I had nothing to do except to enjoy the ride and thrill in the thought of the probable adventures that lay ahead of us.

“Let’s have some refreshments,” Peg sang out.

Feeling around under the deck, where our provisions were stored, Scoop brought out a loaf of bread and the boiled ham that his father had generously donated. He made two sandwiches apiece.

Coming to the small wide waters, halfway between Tutter and Ashton, we anchored the scow close to the right-hand wooded shore, putting out the required lights. Then we turned in.

Just before I dozed off I heard a fish flop close to the boat. It must have been a big carp. Then a screech owl settled on a limb directly over the boat and told us, in mournful, plaintive hoots, what it thought of us. There were thousands of fireflies in the air. The night was wonderfully still. I filled my lungs with the cool air. Wouldn’t it be fine, I thought, if I could always live like this, and never again had to sleep in a bed in a stuffy bedroom?

Peg was the first one up the following morning. We heard him give a yell, which was followed by a loud splash.

“Come on in, you sleepy-eyed bums,” he shrieked, splashing around in the water.

“Next!” I shouted, skinning out of my underwear. Losing my balance, I bumped against Red. We both went rolling.

“Let’s get Scoop,” he whispered. So, in this scheme, we kept rolling until we bumped against the leader. Jumping up, we threw a blanket over the tricked one’s head. While he was fighting the blanket, to free himself, we ran and jumped into the canal, giving him the horselaugh.

“I’ll get even with you fellows to-morrow morning,” he told us from the deck.

“Jump in,” we cried. “If you don’t, we’ll come there and throw you in.”

“I’m after the red-headed engineer,” the leader cried, and leaping, he struck the water a few feet from where the chased one was frantically scrambling up the bank. Red managed to get out of the canal before his pursuer could touch him, and racing along the tow path he made a flying dive. Scoop was close behind him. Pretty soon the two of them came to the surface, sputtering and splashing.

“Here he is, fellows,” Scoop panted, hanging to the prisoner by the hair. “I’ve captured the engineer.”

“Make him dress and cook breakfast,” laughed Peg.

It was a dandy warm summer’s morning. We had slept later than we had intended. But we figured that there was still plenty of time for us to get to Ashton before noon.

“We probably won’t be able to get an ad in to-night’s paper,” said Scoop. “But we can have some handbills printed, telling about the show. Three-four hundred won’t cost much. We can distribute them this afternoon, a light job. For Ashton’s a small town.”

Breakfast over, Scoop and I and Peg gave the dishes a hurried bath in the canal while Red greased the engine, getting it ready for the day’s pull.

But when we came to crank the engine it wouldn’t respond. Ready to give up, after twenty minutes of steady winding, we finally got a faint explosion, then another and another. Once in motion the motor quickly gained speed. But, oh, boy, how it smoked!

Just before we came within sight of Ashton, two men appeared in the tow path, at a lonely spot in the canal, signaling to us to stop and put them on the opposite shore.

Red promptly stopped the propeller. As soon as the scow brushed the bank the men jumped aboard. The leader was white-haired, a man of probably sixty years of age, with a thin hard face and peculiar beady black eyes. As I looked at him I was instinctively turned against him. He was the direct opposite to the kind of a man that I liked. His face held hidden stories; even his guarded movements suggested hidden unworthy things.

The most noticeable thing about the other man, outside of his thin tallness and his preacher-like coat, which came to his knees, was his nose. It was a big nose. And what tended to make it seem still bigger was a wart on the end of it. I had to smile as I looked at him. He made me think of pictures I had seen of the schoolmaster in the Sleepy Hollow story.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping around sort of jaunty-like and taking in everything with a lit-up face. “What have we here? A stage! Upon my word, a genuine stage. And seats! Ah-ha! I have, I believe, penetrated the secret. I am aboard a theatrical craft. A theatrical craft, I should add, in charge of four young showmen. A juvenile venture into the realms of the dramatic art. How interesting. How very, very interesting. In this familiar atmosphere of the—aw—spoken play, I am stirred to memories of past golden days.” He got on the stage and sort of posed like an actor. I guess he would have given us an exhibition of his acting if his blazing-eyed companion hadn’t turned on him in a sudden fury.

“You fool!” the beady-eyed one cried. And at the cutting words, which were a sort of indirect command, the actor stopped stone-like, a look of fear rushing into his face.

They were a peculiar pair. And when they left the boat I followed them with curious eyes. There was a small dock here, to which two green rowboats were tied. Back from the canal was a big house, built after the plan of an old-time log cabin, with a wide summer porch in front and big fireplace chimneys.

“Huh!” grunted Scoop, as the two queer men disappeared up the path that led to the house. “They might at least have thanked us.”

Red was excited.

“Did you notice what the gabby one had in his coat pockets?”

“What?”

“Tools. Screw drivers and wrenches. I noticed that the pockets bulged. And when the man came near me I took a good squint.… What do you bet,” freckles made the guess, “that he isn’t a safe breaker?”

“The one with the beady eyes,” Peg spoke up, “looked to me like the type of fellow who would knife his best friend in the back for a bottle of horse-raddish.”

“He’s got the other one scared of him,” I put in.

Scoop was studying the lonely surroundings.

“Do you suppose,” he inquired of us, in a sort of reflective way, “that the log house is a counterfeiters’ den? That would explain the tools in the man’s pockets. And this is the kind of a secluded place that counterfeiters would like.”

“Lookit!” I pointed. “Here comes a girl around the corner of the house. She’s heading this way. Let’s pump her.”

Scoop saw a chance to have some fun.

“We’ll let Red talk to her. For he’s the best lady-killer in the gang.”

His engine having stopped for some reason or other, the engineer had gone to work on it.

“What’s that?” he inquired, lifting a greasy face.

“Wipe off your chin and pull down your vest,” grinned Scoop. “For we’re going to have company.”

Red let out his neck at the approaching girl.

“Aw!… You think you’re smart,” he scowled.

The girl came to the dock and regarded us with amused eyes. She wasn’t quite as old as we were, probably not more than twelve. She wore a blue tam, which, as you may know, is a sort of cloth hat with a tassel on top. Her dress was blue, too, the color of her eyes.

In his interest in the engine, Red had forgotten all about the approaching girl.

“Blame it!” he cried, straightening and giving the balky engine a kick. “I can’t get it started, fellows.” When he saw who was watching him from the dock, only a few feet away, his face got two shades redder than his hair.

“Maybe you’re giving it too much gas,” the girl spoke up. “We have an engine like that in my grandfather’s automobile; and we’re always having trouble with it. Let me show you what to do.”

She jumped aboard and joined the worker. This tickled Scoop. And he got behind the flushed engineer, nudging the latter in the ribs.

“Huh!” Red grunted, scowling at the newcomer. “What do you know about machinery?”

The girl looked at him and laughed.

“What will you give me,” she asked, “if I start your engine for you?”

“Huh!” Red grunted again, giving her a sort of contemptuous up-and-down look. This thing of a small girl telling him how to run his own engine was more than he could stand.

The newcomer turned to Scoop.

“Is ‘Huh!’ the only English word he knows?” she smiled.

“At mealtime,” the leader laughed, “he can say ‘pie’ and ‘cake.’ And he can say ‘Pretty Polly’ when he wants a cracker.”

“Shut up!” scowled Red.

Here the girl forgot about the engine in a sudden interest in our show stuff.

“You have a regular theater, haven’t you? What kind of a show is it?”

“Magic.”

“Who is the magician?”

“Me. This fellow,” the boaster further informed, pulling me forward, “is the ‘Living Head.’ Ham-and-gravy over there,” he added, pointing to Peg, “is my chief stage assistant. Little fuss-budget here sells tickets and takes in the mon.”

“I’ll ‘fuss-budget’ you with a monkey wrench,” screamed Red, “if you don’t dry up.”

The girl pretended fright.

“Does he eat people alive?” she inquired of Scoop.

“Not as a general rule,” the leader returned seriously. “As a matter of fact, after you once get acquainted with him, if you can stand his freckles and red hair, he’s a pretty likeable sort of a kid.… Do you live here?”

The girl nodded, with a quick glance toward the house.

“It is my grandfather’s home,” she informed.

“Does your father live here, too?”

“No. My parents are both dead.”

“Maybe,” said Scoop, “it was your white-haired grandfather that we just helped across the canal.”

“It couldn’t have been him. For he has been working in his flower garden all morning. I just left him there.”

“We put two men across the canal,” Scoop informed, “and they went into your house.”

The girl looked at him, puzzled.

“Two men?” she repeated.

“Yes,” Red spoke up, giving the girl a spiteful look, “and they were a couple of bums.”

The granddaughter’s eyes flashed angrily.

“My grandfather doesn’t associate with bums.”

Red gave a tantalizing laugh, glad of the chance to anger the other.

“You look like a bum yourself,” the girl cried, in a burst of passion. “And so do you and you and you,” she jabbed with her finger. “I hope you never get your old engine started. There!” and stomping her foot she turned and ran up the path to the house.