Читать книгу The Story of Terrible Terry - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 4

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Terry sneaked impishly across the lawn and up close to one of the long, iron grilled windows. Standing on tiptoe, he looked in at the festive scene and, as Dinky and Pip came up behind, put out a warning hand for silence.

Presently he dug the worn toes of his brogans into a small niche in the stone foundation and with the aid of his thin, muscular arms, grasped the grilled bars and hoisted himself to a more advantageous position upon the cool, stone sill.

A bit of cheerful light from the vast hall, like some wondrous halo, encircled his bushy, red hair and gave his fair, freckled face a shining, almost angelic, expression. That did not make Terry a saint, however, for never before had he crowded so much mischief into few hours as he did on that memorable night.

His legs dangled in an attitude that bespoke his keen enjoyment of the scene he was witnessing, while his followers stood attentively at his feet, wondering what next he was going to do. Presently, he turned his head and leaned over toward Pip.

“Some show,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Honest, they got everything from sandwiches to peanuts and ice-cream. Some of the scouts are duckin’ for apples and some are trippin’ around and dancing with a lot of stuck-up looking girls.”

“Are they eating, too?” asked Pip, in a loud voice.

“Sh! Cut it out, Pip!” Terry warned, imperiously. “Do you want a cop or someone to hear us! If you want any of those refreshments you and Dink have got to do as I tell you. Now listen: your job is to turn out the lights when I whistle twice. Dinky’s got to drop the tear bombs while I grab the eats. The switches are at the end of the hall—I found out about that long ago, and the refreshment stand is right as you go in the door. Understand?”

Pip nodded delightedly and Terry, being a true strategist, studied the scene of his prospective battlefield thoroughly before he alighted from the window sill. He affected a yawn and stretched his skinny arms and legs as if he were already master of the situation while poor little Dinky looked on, more than apprehensive, yet none the less admiringly.

“It’s a cinch, kids,” chuckled Terry, as he straightened to his full height of four feet and eleven and a half inches.

“It’s a pip!” murmured Pip, who came by his name in exactly that manner.

“It’ll be easier than staying away from school, and that ain’t hard at all,” said Terry.

Evidently Dinky didn’t share in their elation, for he coughed nervously. “G’night,” he said, in a squeaky, frightened voice, “we never swiped tear bombs out of the station house before though, did we? And won’t it be worse to throw them at people, huh?”

“We’re not going to throw them at people, Dink,” Terry assured him, “we’re going to throw them at boy scouts and they ain’t people exactly, are they? I don’t know, but I just got a feeling I want to break up their party. Nobody’s going to get hurt or nothing like that—man, I’m not that kind of a guy to hurt people. Anyway, those bombs make people cry like everything and I want to see some of those stuck-up scouts crying—honest, it’ll be a joke.”

“How can we see them crying if we have to beat it?” asked Pip, in his usual matter-of-fact manner.

Terry looked thoughtful. “Man, I never thought of that—hmph! Maybe we better beat it right home with the refreshments, huh? Anyway, you needn’t start getting cold feet, Dink. I wouldn’t see you get into trouble on account of me—never!”

After Dinky was thoroughly assured, they started back across the lawn with Terry in the lead. Cautiously he approached the lantern-lighted walk and vainly tried to step noiselessly over the rough stones with a loose sole on his right shoe flip-flapping at every step. Impatiently, he stopped and backing up against the armory wall, tore the offending piece of leather off, leaving his bare foot quite exposed to the ground.

“I ought to have worn my Sunday socks,” he explained to Pip and Dinky. “They got feet in ’em most always and it’s hard to run without feet in your socks—maybe we’ll have to run.”

The next moment Terry had forgotten about the condition of his shoes and plunged into the armory hall, fearlessly. His companions stepped more cautiously and kept their eyes on the door ahead, for just inside of it were the coveted refreshments.

Music trailed out to them gently and laughing voices gave them added courage. Pip stood alongside of the switches and Dinky went on past to Terry’s side, holding fast to the bulky bombs. So far, everything had gone along without a hitch—indeed, it seemed the perfect plan.

Then came the signal—Terry’s shrill whistle, once, twice. Pip’s hand pulled down the switches in a flashing second and as he ran stumblingly through the dark hall for the street door, he heard hoarse shouts and cries. Hysterical laughter followed and above the din he heard Dinky’s voice.

“Wait for me, Pip,” the little fellow was calling, breathlessly. “I threw ’em all right—Terry’s told me to tell you something—wait for me!”

Pip crossed the lawn and waited for Dinky behind a huge lilac bush. His heart beat frantically as he heard the pandemonium from within the building and wondered, fearfully, if it concerned Terry in any way.

Dinky ran out of the building and across the lawn, breathlessly. “We should beat it right home, Pip,” he said, hoarsely. “That’s what Terry says. He’ll come too—he’s grabbing the eats. Hurry, we got to run!”

And run they did. One would almost be tempted to wager that they had reached their humble neighborhood in Henry Street before Terry, flushed of face and pleasantly excited, had reached the armory door, unnoticed.

The refreshments that he held in either hand seemed to weight him down as he ran across the lawn and he realized that free hands do help considerably in increasing one’s speed. At that juncture he stumbled, then tripped, and something sharp and painful pricked the exposed sole of his foot.

The lights suddenly went on in the armory. The sound of footsteps and excited voices coming toward the door brought cold perspiration out on his forehead for he could not stand on his right foot, so painful was it. Just then he espied the lilac bush.

He hopped on his left foot with great effort and after what seemed an eternity reached the large bush and dropped gratefully behind it. The voices were outside the building now, he knew—they seemed to be all around him.

He huddled close and to still the beating of his heart ran his hand along the offending foot and pulled out a thorn. He was free to run now—free to escape from these voices that were hunting him, he thought. Impulsively, he got to his knees, listened, then dropped to the ground again.

A twig crackled noisily under a heavy footstep. Terry could see the feet and watched them, fascinated, long before he could gather courage enough to look at the rest of the man.

When he did it was only because the man’s steady gaze forced him to look.

His heart leaped, thankfully. The lantern light from the walk revealed, not a policeman as he feared, but a man in khaki uniform, whom he knew by sight as “that scout boss, Mr. Ellsworth.” And Mr. Ellsworth, scoutmaster of First Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. A., knew every boy in his community, by sight and otherwise.

It was a little difficult at first for this kindly man to recognize that small, upturned face behind the lilac bush, as the result of the so recent tear bomb episode. In point of fact, he was still trying to determine the identity of this young marauder through a blur of tears, furiously mopping his glistening cheeks the while. Indeed he looked quite ridiculous and the most serious minded person would have been aroused to laughter.

One could hardly blame Terry for chuckling. In truth, his chuckles soon gave way to loud peals of uncontrollable mirth.