Leo Edwards

“ Scoop and Peg were bitterly angry over our arrest and imprisonment in the lock tender’s attic bedroom. Red was scared. I was neither angry nor scared, but worried.
What gave me that feeling was the unhappy thought that it wouldn’t please Mother and Dad a little bit to learn, upon my return home, that I had been picked up twice in daily succession by the law. To be arrested, even when one is innocent, is something of a disgrace. Jails and prisons are things that any right-minded boy should keep away from. I was sorry now that I had been led into the greased-pig trick. ”

“ Ellery, a Tutter storekeeper, that the new family had rented the long-vacant house where Mr. Matson, a queer old man, had been murdered for his money. It is a lonely brick house on the edge of town. The front yard is full of pine trees, just like a cemetery. And when the wind blows the pines whisper strange stories about the murder and about the vanished body.
It is no place for people to live. Everybody in Tutter says so. And I wondered why this new Ricks family had picked out such a lonely, spooky home. ”

“ IN QUARANTINE
Boy, were we ever excited! And did we ever feel like yipping out a string of “Hip-hip-hurray-for-our-side” stuff! For now, as you can see, we had the cat by the tail. And soon it would be eating out of our hands—meaning the whole cat, of course, and not just its tail.
Yes, sir, clever little sleuthing doo-dads that we were, we had the goods on old “Mr. Ghost.” And to think that the mysterious “spook” was the one man in the tangle whom we hadn’t even suspected! ”

“ They want better pickles than they can buy. So how easy for us to build up our new business if we get the right kind of pickles to sell!”
I gave him a sad look.
“Poppy,” I sighed, “you’re too much for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“As long as you’re a boy,” I advised, as a further effort to pull him down to earth, “why don’t you be a boy? This Peanut Parlor stuff is out of your line, kid.”
“I didn’t say anything about a Peanut Parlor.”
“Well, a Pickle Parlor is just as crazy. You can’t make it work. For pickles are groceries. And the place to buy them is in a grocery store.” ”

“ The Strickers, of course, had made up the fake beauty letter.
“Anyway,” laughed Mrs. Crandon, “the soap is good soap, whether it makes people beautiful or not. It has such a good smell that the baby bit into a cake yesterday afternoon, thinking it was candy, I suppose, and I was up half the night with her.”
“If the baby has warts on the inside of her stomach,” grinned Scoop, “she’s cured for life. For Bubbles of Beauty is death on warts. If you think I’m stringing you, ask Jerry. The soap cured the wart that Mrs. Pederson put on the top of his head with a broom.” ”

“ Below us the Harmony Hustler was chasing his fingers up and down the keyboard. We were thankful for the music for it enabled us to go quickly about the room without the danger of attracting attention to our movements.
Our jailer, seemingly charmed by the piano’s music, was contentedly rocking back and forth in a big chair in the middle of the room. I sort of laughed to myself as I squinted at him through the stovepipe hole. We were putting it over on him! I could imagine his later bellowing rage at the discovery of our clever flight. ”

“ Mrs. Doane was buzzing around like a bumblebee. It was “dearie this” and “dearie that.” And when “dearie,” in walking up and down the room, got out a compact and powdered “her” nose, I thought I’d die. Everything looked so natural, “she” purred—only it was more of a squeak than a purr.
Having tried without success to get his mother on the telephone, young fatty primped in front of the hall mirror, to make himself pretty, and then sidled up to the “heiress” on the sofa. ”

“ Scoop Ellery’s face was rigid.
“Got to,” he said, steady-like. “If I miss, he’ll turn on us and kill us both.” [2]
“It’s a lucky thing for Red and Peg,” I said, thinking of my other chums, “that they aren’t in it.”
“They’ll miss us,” said Scoop, “if we get killed.”
My thoughts took a crazy jump.
“Why not aim for a tickly spot in his ribs,” I snickered, pointing to the dinosaur, “and let him giggle himself to death?”
“Sh-h-h-h!” cautioned Scoop, putting out a hand. “He’s listening. The wind is blowing that way. He smells us.” ”

“ Treasure hunters! That’s what we were now. And to think only a few hours ago we had let ourselves get excited over a dinky little pickle business! Why, if we could find the pirate’s gold cucumbers we’d have a thousand times more jack in our pockets than a pickle store would earn for us in a thousand years. Automobiles! Airplanes! Motor boats! Candy and ice cream by the ton! We could buy anything, no matter what it cost. For gold cucumbers would be worth as much, pound for pound, as gold money. ”

“ All four wheels toed out, like the wheels of Dad’s brickyard dump cart, and one front fender was gone.
There was an old man in the car—a queer-looking old man, sort of stooped and thin-faced. He was hanging to the steering wheel for dear life. I waved to him to stop, but he didn’t seem to see us at all, so deep was he in his driving job.
The crazy car having passed us, the noisiest piece of junk that I ever had seen on the road, I untangled myself from its smoky tail to find Poppy laughing his head off. ”

“ The Strickers had by this time arrived in a fighting mood at the top of the hill. I could hear them raving about the flattened tent. And realizing what would happen to me if they got their hands on me, I whipped out my pocketknife, slashing the rope that held the turtle to the tree. Then the two of us, the snapper and me, rolled over and over down the hill.
“It’s Jerry Todd!” I heard Bid Stricker screech. “After him, fellows,” was the leader’s furious command. ”

“ I repeated.
“Jerry, didn’t you notice anything familiar about the soap peddler?”
“No,” I said.
“Then you better have your eyes tested,” grunted Scoop. “For he looks a lot like old Mr. Matson. The same thin face; eyes set close together. Don’t you remember how the old puzzle maker looked?”
I did remember, for the miser had been dead but two years. And now that Scoop had directed my thoughts to it, I could acknowledge to a distinct resemblance between the soap peddler and the dead man. ”

“ Poppy still held the floor. “In fact,” he grinned, “you’re going to be the biggest frog in the puddle. For everything that the women do will be done under your directions. The point is, Mrs. O’Mally, that we’ve got to turn out better than average pickles if we’re going to put this scheme across with a bang. You know how to do it. And you’ll want to be on the job every minute, to make sure that every part of the work is being done exactly as you would do it if you were working alone.” ”

“ It was quite by accident that he found the diary. Reading it, to learn if it was his duty, as a friend who knew its probable secrets, to destroy it, he thus had found out about the lawyer’s trickery. But instead of writing and telling the granddaughter who he was and why she ought to be in the big house when the will was read, he worded his letter so crazy-like, with such queer reference to the dead man’s diary, that the letter frightened her. ”

“ On the way to the hotel I met the Stricker gang.
“How’s Mr. Gallywiggle?” grinned Bid. “Is he still manufacturing beauty soap?”
“I hope so,” I returned quickly, giving the questioner a cold eye. “For you certainly need a pile of it.”
“Mr. Gallywiggle,” he recited, flourishing his hands, “the man who has taken more warts from women’s noses than all of the talking machines in the world. The man who——”
“How did you find out about it?” I cut in.
“Oh,” he laughed, winking at his companions, “I met old fuzzy-wuzzy yesterday when I delivered Miss Prindle’s beauty letter to him at the old mill.” ”

“ But, kid, we’ve got to face the fact that we’re licked. There’s no getting around that. Smart as we are, his money and influence have been too much for us. And if you shoot it back at him, and make him mad, he may close up like a clam and leave us in the lurch.”
“What do you want me to do,” says Poppy, “lick his hand?”
“We’ve got to knuckle down to him. It’s as bitter to me, of course, as it is to you. But we’ve simply got to do it. There’s no getting out of it. Anyway,” I held up the brighter side, “we’ll be richer by two hundred dollars. And Mrs. O’Mally will get her two-dollar price. ”

“ What stumped Poppy and I right now was the sort of contradictory side of the crazy tangle. There was old Ivory Dome. Having surprised him in the kitchen, very “ghostlike” indeed in his long white nightshirt, we had jumped to the natural conclusion that he was back of all the “spooky” stuff that was going on in the house. But now we knew differently. The old man wasn’t the “ghost,” as we had suspected. He had secrets, of course. And maybe he knew who the “ghost” was. ”

“ But from what I’ve heard, I have the impression that a ghost is sort of unfriendly. Of a mean disposition, it delights to sneak up on people. And the more people it scares into fits, the merrier for it. That is my idea of a ghost, Yet, if I am to believe your story, this ghost did you a good turn.”
“A friendly ghost,” grinned Peg, amused in the thought. “Haw! haw! haw!” he burst out, in his rough way. “It isn’t every company of showmen with a friendly ghost on their side. We’re lucky.”
At Scoop’s request I repeated my dream. [29]
“I was in a cave,” I told him. ”

“ I grinned, forgetful of my bump, in the thought of it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pederson,” I heard him say. My, he was polite! His voice was all honey and cream. I got up and went closer.
There was a flower bed beside the porch. He let on as though he was awfully surprised and tickled to find the flower bed there. From his actions you would have thought that a flower bed—this flower bed—was the most wonderful and the most important thing in the world. ”

“ The pirate’s tunnel, as we now called the underground passageway, seemed cooler to me, once we got into it, than the average old tunnel of its kind. As we went deeper into the icy hole, where everything beyond the reach of our flashlight was as black as pitch, we not only stopped every few seconds to listen, but we doused our light, thinking that if we stood in the darkness we could better pick up another moving light, either ahead of us or behind us. ”

“ For how would Poppy feel toward me to learn that I had hid from the ghost in a closet? No, instead of backing up, the thing for me to do, I realized, getting out all my grit, was to go farther down the stairs, even around the bend. Then I could see into the kitchen.
So down I went, slowly you may be sure, and on tiptoe. I was at the bend now. Another step; two steps. I could see a man in a long white nightshirt—ghostly enough, all right! Stooped over, he was doing something to the lock of the kitchen door.
Well, if you must know the truth, I felt sort of weak as the “ghost” turned his face. ”

“ The sun came up in the time that we were washing the breakfast dishes. We could now see to have some fun. Borrowing the girl’s boat, Peg and Red went rowing. It was their plan, they told us, to make a circle of the island, keeping close to shore. There is always fun in doing that, for one can catch glimpses of interesting wild life at the water’s edge, beautiful spotted snakes and big bullfrogs and sometimes a long-legged heron or a mud hen.
Left alone, Scoop and I and the girl set out to explore the island afoot. ”

“ Probably they are fairly good pickles, as pickles go. Because I am in the pickle business myself is no reason why I should run down anybody else’s pickles. Yet, on the other hand, I feel that I have a right to uphold the superior quality of my own pickles. And it is of such pickles that I am going to make good your loss. Not store pickles, Mrs. Clayton, as we usually accept the term, but home-made pickles, of which the more you eat the more you want; pickles that you never tire of; pickles with the lasting, lingering taste; pickles with a skin you love to touch ”

“ What? Dr. Madden? What did you say? Dr. Madden what?... No, all I can hear is ‘Dr. Madden.’ Just a minute,” and trembling like a leaf, she partly turned and motioned to me. “There’s a boy here, and I’ll let him talk. Maybe he has sharper ears than me.”
The receiver switched hands.
“It’s long distance,” she told me nervously. “And I think it’s Pardyville, but I’m not certain. Oh, dear! How helpless people do get when they grow old. I hope it isn’t bad news. If the call is from Pardyville, no doubt the doctor has found Miss Ruth. And certainly that isn’t bad news.” ”

“ Peg broke the silence, “no news is good news. So let’s look on the bright side.... What are we going to do this morning?—peddle soap?”
While we were talking, making our plans, sort of, an automobile came into sight from the country, a classy red roadster, driven by a boy our age. There was a screeching of brakes, and on the instant that the car came to a skidding stand-still, Tom dove from sight into a lilac bush beside the path.
“It’s young Gennor,” he hissed at us from under cover. “Watch your steps, fellows! He’s up to some trick in stopping here.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ But I saw right off that it was no ordinary gander. So the name was all right.
White, like most ganders, though peculiarly marked with small purple spots, it was the biggest fowl of its kind that I ever had seen. Standing on its webbed feet, which reminded me of a pair of palm-leaf fans, its tonneau, as we used to call the rear end of an automobile, sort of dragged behind like an overloaded dump cart. Of course, like all big geese, it waddled when it walked. Yet it had dignity in its waddle. A fat king, you know, would waddle much more becomingly than a fat junk peddler! ”

“ With all of his wise talk there isn’t a boy in Tutter, where we live, who has more real he-kid fun in him than this long-legged, long-headed chum of mine. And that he has big ideas is, of course, the more credit to him. As he says, half of the fun of being a boy is getting ready early in the game to be a man. Take the stilt factory that I told about in the book, POPPY OTT’S SEVEN-LEAGUE STILTS. That was a big idea, let me tell you. Imagine two boys starting a real, honest-to-goodness factory! ”

“ I told him.
“If you’ll help us get the talking frog from Gennor,” I cried, “we’ll pay you a hundred dollars.”
“Go lay an egg! You haven’t got a hundred cents.”
“We’ll have a lot of money,” I cried, “if we save the talking frog. Aw, come on, fellows! We’re Tutter kids. You ought to stick up for us, rather than let an outsider cheat us.” ”

“ I shivered, conscious of a pair of burning eyes in the stovepipe hole, “if you don’t hurry and get out of here.”
“I’ve got it. Boy! It weighs a ton.”
Whang! Bang!! CRASH!!! BING!
“It’s the cat!” screeched Scoop, leaping to his feet. “Beat it, Jerry. Here comes old blunder-buss.”
We went out of the house like a streak, my daring companion in the lead with the piano leg under his arm and me hot on his flying heels. Behind us we could hear the killer bounding down the stairs. The lock tender, in his bedroom, was roaring at the top of his voice. ”

“ I was about to unhinge some more of my crazy gab, when all of a sudden the leader gave a whoop and scooted down the road.
[14] “Here’s a signboard, Jerry. ‘New Zion ten miles,’” he read.
“Ten miles!” I groaned.
“We can make it.”
“But look at the road!” I wailed. “It’s nothing but sand. We’ll slip back faster than we can go ahead.”
“Then we’ll walk backwards,” came the quick grin.
“Ten miles!” I suffered anew. “It’s no use, Poppy,” I waggled weakly, as a sort of climax to my little act. “I’m done for. Remember, kid, the jigsaw’s yours. ”

“ No, she told me, after tasting the pickles, they weren’t out of her kitchen. Nor could she help me. But she’d like to buy some of the pickles, she said, if it turned out that there were more of the same kind for sale. I went to three women in turn. No success at all. [21] But here’s an important point, Jerry: Every woman who sampled the pickles wanted to buy some. So you can see the big money that’s waiting for us if we can find out who this unknown pickle genius is and win her over to our scheme.”
There’s nothing I like better than mystery stuff. ”

“ Scoop quizzed.
“Ask Jerry and Tom,” the woman smiled. “They saw him.”
“Golly Ned!” cried Scoop, tugging at his hair. “I can’t understand it. It doesn’t seem possible to me. But it must be so if the three of you say so.”
We started for the brick house.
“I wonder,” grinned Tom, as we turned the corner, “if the soap will beautify all of our customers.”
“Why shouldn’t it?” I countered.
“If it does,” he laughed, “this is going to be a badly mixed-up town. For half of the husbands won’t be able to pick out their own wives.” ”

“ We couldn’t see his eyes—they were buried in fat—but I had a hunch that they were a sort of grayish-green, like a hungry cat’s.
The human elephant, or whatever you want to call it, had gotten out of the buggy, after a lot of twisting and grunting, and leaving the fagged-out, drooping-eared horse to sort of regale itself on the leaves of a lilac bush, was now waddling toward the house. Watching him, all I could think of was a dressed-up duck. No, I won’t say that he reminded me of a goose, for I don’t want to disgrace the Admiral by putting that hunk of human lard in the goose class. ”

“ Pickles is pickles for the most part, but you’ll always get preferred pickles when you deal with us. Even your wife, excellent cook as she no doubt is, will be unable to make better pickles than ours. And to serve with those tasty party sandwiches, which mean so much to an experienced hostess, who would want to use any pickle except the perfect pickles that are the fame of Poppy’s Pickle Parlor? ”

“ She took the letter and read it through.
“As you know,” I said, getting in my selling talk, “Miss Prindle was not a very beautiful woman before she used our beauty soap. But in just one night Bubbles of Beauty, the wonder soap, has transformed her into a dream of beauty. Of course,” I added, in good tact, “I realize that you have no use for the soap yourself. It is only for women who are not beautiful. But you may know of some woman who is homely and who wants to become beautiful. ”

“ Jonah! Every kid knows the story of Jonah and the whale. Adam! The fellow who ate the green-apple pie, of course. Moses! I wasn’t quite sure about him. Goliath! Oh, yes—David and Goliath! David was the little wart with the sling-shot and Goliath was the giant. Zing went the sling-shot and down went old blunderbuss. Hip-hip-hurray for David!
“Well, Jerry,” Poppy spoke up, and at the sound of his voice I sort of cut short my cheering to listen to him, “what are we going to do?” ”