CHAPTER XXIII
THE ARM OF THE LAW
“I KNOW’D I’d see ’im!” cried Joe, exultingly. “I know’d it! That chump a-chasin’ me says ter git, but I up an’ comes in jist the same.”
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen!” exclaimed the agitated manager. “I assure you that it is not our fault; you see, the young——”
“It’s all right, sir!” boomed Captain Bunderley.
“Oh,—oh!” gasped the manager. “I’m gratified to hear it.”
Red-faced and flustered he promptly turned away.
Joe, with as little ceremony as though he was in the menagerie tent, drew up a chair, plumped himself down upon it and laid his cap across one knee. Then, having stared at the captain with solemn earnestness for a moment, blurted out:
“What! Left the show?” cried the historian. “You don’t mean it?”
“Yes; I sure have, Dave.”
“Well, this is a big surprise, all right,” quoth Tom.
“It isn’t to me,” giggled Victor. “I had an idea last night that Dave’s particular crony was up to something desperate.”
“I presume this is the boy you told me about?” broke in Captain Bunderley.
“Yes, sir. Permit me to formally introduce Mr. Joseph Rodgers, of Iowa,” laughed Victor.
“What made you leave the show?” asked the captain.
“Him!”
Joe’s brown finger pointed straight toward Dave Brandon.
“I made you leave?” cried Dave. “How?”
“’Cause, when I meets a feller what’s got learnin’ like you, I couldn’t stan’ it no longer. I wants ter be somethin’.”
Captain Bunderley was interested.
“Joe, your desire to rise is commendable,” he exclaimed, heartily. “Have you ever spoken to Mr. Whiffin about it?”
“I begins to talk to ’im this mornin’, an’ he ups an’ gits riled ter beat the band. ‘I wish’t I’d never laid eyes on that fat feller,’ says he. ‘Brandon’s been puttin’ all them fool notions inter your head.’ ‘Look ’ere, Whiffin,’ says I, ‘don’t you never say nothin’ ag’in ’im; he’s the whitest chap I ever see.’”
“So I have a champion at last,” chuckled Dave.
“Then Whiffin hollers fer me ter git back ter work or he’d fetch me a good one on the ear. That makes me most bile over—him—Whiffin, talkin’ like that! So I skips right out.”
“How’d you get here—board a fast freight?” inquired Victor.
“I did not. I stepped inter a real car, with real winders an’ real seats, an’ I’ve got seventy-five cents left.”
“Goodness, what a risk—floating around in a real city with that much real money in your pocket!” said Victor.
Joe’s thoughts were on something else.
“Gee, I can most see Whiffin hollerin’ his way around the show an’ askin’ everybody if they’ve seen that young scamp, Joe! My, I’ll bet he’s so mad he’s clean forgot that quarter he give to Dave the other night.”
“What do you expect to do in Milwaukee?” asked Captain Bunderley.
“Do!” echoed Joe, rather blankly. “I dunno!” Thoughtfully, he ran his fingers through his bushy hair. “I—I—kinder thought as how Dave could tell me.”
“Has Mr. Whiffin any claim on your services?”
“Nix; he certainly ain’t,” asserted Joe, with considerable emphasis.
“Is the circus coming here?”
“Yes, sir! Day after to-morrow.”
“Well, I’ll look after you till then.” Uncle Ralph beckoned to a waiter. “What will you have to eat, Joe?”
“Eat! Me eat in a—a—place like this?” stammered Joe, for the first time abashed.
“Certainly! Why not? Order just what you please.”
Joe stared from one to another as though he feared that his ears were deceiving him. Then his eyes fell on the waiter, whose professional dignity was sadly shocked by the presence before him of such an uncouth specimen.
“Gimme a great big hunk o’ bread an’ cheese an’ a piece o’ real apple pie, with no skimpin’ o’ the apples, neither,” he said, “an’ a glass o’ water twic’t. Thankin’ you kindly, mister; I won’t do nothin’ to that pile o’ grub when it comes.”
“And you may add to that order plenty of roast beef and potatoes,” added the captain. “I have an idea that our friend has a famous appetite.”
Joe Rodgers had never really lived until that afternoon. He seemed to be fairly lifted out of himself, and a side of life was revealed which he had never before dreamed could exist.
“Honest, Dave,” he declared emphatically, “I can’t never go back to Spudger’s.”
“We’ll see if anything can be done to help you,” said Dave, encouragingly. “But you ought not to have run away. Anyhow, fellows, I propose that we invite Joe to see the sights of Milwaukee from a seat in the motor car.”
Even Victor Collins made no objection. He was beginning to realize that character counts for more than appearance, and that the passport to respectable society consists of something besides good clothes.
Presently, leaving Captain Bunderley in the reading room, the boys walked briskly out upon the street.
At the garage Joe became immensely interested in the automobile.
“It’s the finest I ever see,” he cried, admiringly. “Looks most too good to use.”
“Climb in, Joe,” commanded Bob.
He sprang to his place in the driver’s seat, pushed the button on the dash, and, immediately, the thunderous din of the motor echoed from every side and corner of the big interior.
“You’ve got ter know somethin’ to be an engineer of one o’ these things,” exclaimed Joe. “Still, I wouldn’t be a bit skeered to try my hand at drivin’.”
“There is nothing like a motor car to chase dull care away,” said Dave, who was reclining at ease on the rear cushions. “Let’s see: what does Bryant say——?”
“Nothing about motor cars, that’s quite sure,” laughed Bob, as the wheels began to revolve.
HE SPRANG TO HIS PLACE
Many vehicles and pedestrians were about, and warning blasts of the horn were often sounded. But the boys, not being in any particular hurry, gave Chauffeur Somers an easy job, following whichever streets their fancy dictated.
“This is rippin’!” cried Joe, enthusiastically. “Feels jist like gittin’ boosted along without nothin’ doin’ it.”
The car slowly rolled through the business section, giving them interesting glimpses of attractive stores and windows filled with all sorts of goods. They crossed and recrossed the Milwaukee River, and, finally, on one of the more quiet streets, were bowling steadily along when the actions of a certain policeman attracted Bob Somers’ attention. He was standing by the curb with his eyes eagerly fixed on the approaching car.
“Hey there,” came a loud command. “Stop!”
“Is he speaking to us?” inquired Bob, turning to his companions with a puzzled look. He glanced about, and, seeing no other vehicles near, answered his own question. “Yes, he certainly is.”
“Have we busted any traffic regulations, I wonder?” asked Charlie.
“Maybe it’s ’cause we haven’t got no cow-catcher,” said Joe, with a grin.
“Hey there—stop!”
The man in uniform was stepping out into the street, the significant movement of his arm indicating an authority not to be questioned.
“Ha, ha—somebody’s pinched—jugged!” cried Joe. “Is this the feller you want?” His finger dug sharply into Victor Collins’ ribs. “I’ll help you tote him along.”
“I’d like to know what all this means!” exclaimed Tom, in his most manly tones.
Bob Somers smilingly awaited an explanation.
The policeman, looking searchingly at each in turn, took from his pocket a memorandum book. Then, glancing over the pages, gave a grunt of approval.
“Correct, all right. Descriptions and license number correspond.”
This information, while interesting, did not enlighten the boys as to the meaning of his strange action.
“Would you have any objection to telling us why we’ve been stopped?” drawled Dave, from the rear.
“I don’t think we ought to stand for anything like this,” growled Tom, bristling up in a very threatening fashion.
“Which one o’ ’em shall I chuck out o’ the car for yer?” inquired Joe. “You kin take any but the fat feller.”
The officer glanced at him and wagged his head knowingly.
“The police station is just around the corner, boys,” he answered, quietly. “I reckon the sergeant will tell you what it’s all about.”
“The idea! Just listen to that!” stormed Tom. “I’d demand an explanation right here, Bob Somers. Don’t let those spokes move even as much as half an inch.”
“If there’s any fightin’ to be done I’m right here to help you,” laughed Joe.
Dave Brandon smiled languidly.
“In spite of ourselves, we seem destined to have fame pushed upon us,” he exclaimed. “It looks as though something is rocking the pedestal.”
“We are too polite not to accept such a pressing invitation,” grinned Bob Somers.
“All the same, I’ll bet we can sue somebody for this!” cried Victor. “My father’s best friend is a United States senator, and he——”
A series of crisp, vibrating notes from the motor drowned his voice. The car moved forward, and, always under the watchful eye of the law, as represented in the person of the man in uniform, chugged its way around the corner, to presently come to a stop before a building of a dark, unpleasantly grim appearance.
“We know where we’re going, and we’re on our way!” cried Dave. “All of us wanted in there, officer?”
“Oh, yes. We won’t steal your car,” grinned the policeman. “Kindly step out.”
They followed the officer up a broad flight of stone steps, pushed past a pair of swinging doors and entered a large square room. At one end two desks stood on a platform with an ornamental railing in front.
Several policemen lounging on a bench looked up with interest as the crowd marched across the floor. A large, stout man, with iron gray hair and mustache sitting behind one of the desks glanced inquiringly at the officer.
“These are the boys mentioned in the telegram, sergeant,” explained the policeman. “Description of the one that’s wanted just fits.”
He waved his hand toward Joe Rodgers.
“Me—me?” cried Joe. Then an inkling of the true situation for the first time dawned upon him. “Oh, Dave, I’m ketched!” he exclaimed, almost pitifully. “Whiffin’s done it. I might have know’d he would! But I ain’t never goin’ back—perlice, or no perlice,” he added.
Joe, blank with despair, as new-found hopes were shaken, stared moodily at the floor.
“Now I suppose you’ll have to get a hundred thousand dollars bail, Rodgers,” said Victor. “Of course, this is one of the most important cases of the year.”
“Well, what’s he goin’ to do with me?” demanded Joe. “I’m goin’ ter stand up for me rights.”
“You must be detained until the arrival of the complainant”—the sergeant glanced at a paper in his hand—“Peter Whiffin. You look like a respectable crowd of boys,” he added, taking a careful observation of the faces before him.
“I’ve never pinched a better lot,” agreed the policeman.
“Sergeant, may I have the use of your ’phone for a moment?” spoke up Dave.
“Certainly!” answered the official.
In a short time Dave, his mouth at the transmitter, was explaining matters to Captain Bunderley.
“Says he’ll be over here within an hour,” he announced, hanging up the receiver. “No; he didn’t seem surprised, Bob. I guess the captain is too old to be surprised at anything.”
The crowd took seats on a bench, their lively conversation soon helping to cheer up the dejected Joe Rodgers. But even then he found the long wait trying to his nerves.
At length Uncle Ralph tramped noisily into the room.
“It just shows how careful one must be in forming new acquaintances, boys,” he chuckled. “I’ve only known you for a few days—yet here I find myself in a police station, and all on your account. What’s to be done, sergeant, with such a reckless lot?”
“That’s a hard one to answer,” grinned the official.
“Well, now, let’s get right down to business. When will Mr. Whiffin be here? I’ve become interested in this boy, sergeant, and I don’t propose to let all the talking be on one side.”
“By Jingo, if you’ll only stand up for me, mister, I’ll never forgit it!” cried Joe.
“I hope you’re going to make a base hit, Rodgers,” laughed Tom.
“Mr. Whiffin will be here to-morrow morning,” explained the sergeant. “Until then the boy will have to remain with us.”
“And I’ll be here, too, with this strong-arm squad,” laughed the captain, “ready to face the manager of Spudger’s Peerless show.”