Читать книгу The Story of Terrible Terry - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 5

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“Is that you, Terry Dunn?” asked Mr. Ellsworth, after a pause.

“Y-y-yes, sir!” answered Terry, stifling his mirth and getting quickly to his feet.

“I suppose you’ve enjoyed this little affair immensely, eh?” the scoutmaster queried, rather sternly.

“Yes—yes, sir!”

“Oh, I see. And of course you’re not going to deny that you planned it, eh?”

“No, sir. I don’t lie about things, no matter what! Sure, I thought it all up and I did it, too!”

The tears were subsiding considerably. Mr. Ellsworth eyed the ragged urchin, thoughtfully. “Well, you’ve certainly earned the name of Terrible Terry tonight,” he said, gravely. “You might have been the means of hurting someone.”

“But I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?” Terry asked, alarmed.

“Fortunately, no. But those tear bombs have an uncomfortable effect on people. Where did you get them?”

Terry told the scoutmaster, truthfully.

“I suppose I really ought to take you to the station house, Terry,” Mr. Ellsworth said at length. “You not only stole the bombs, which is a crime, but you threw them into a hall full of innocent people and rendered them temporarily sightless. And in turning off the lights you made their predicament twice as unfortunate. It was only the good will of Providence that prevented everyone from falling and having an accident. It was rather a far-fetched Hallowe’en prank, don’t you think?”

“Man, I did it for fun!” Terry protested. Then as a khaki clad scout about his own age came up to them, smiling critically, he added: “Everything I do is for fun—what else do you expect a fella to do, huh?”

Mr. Ellsworth looked at the newcomer and nodded. “Hmph! This is Roland Terhune, Terry. Perhaps you know him?”

“Not so’s you’d notice it,” answered Terry, tersely. “I’ve seen him on Main Street dozens of times and he’s seen me too and that’s enough. Those guys up on the hill don’t want to be bothered with us poor guys down on Henry Street and maybe we feel the same about them.”

Mr. Ellsworth smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong, Terry,” he said, kindly. “The boys uptown all want to get acquainted with you Henry Street boys if you’ll only let them. And remember that when you boys put on scout uniforms you’re all scouts together and no one cares where you come from. The same with Roland here—he’s just lately joined and worked himself up to a first class scout but he hasn’t any patrol. He has to form one of his own and his grandfather has suggested that we ought to round up some of you fellows downtown for it.”

Terry sniffed audibly and wrinkled his nose at Roland. “I got my own gang,” he said, boastfully.

“Yes,” smiled Mr. Ellsworth, “I know that. It’s for that very reason that I’d like you to join Roland’s patrol. Then you could learn from him—from any of the scouts, in fact—just what their idea of fun is. I’m sure that they can prove to you that they have all the fun they want without stealing tear bombs out of the police station and throwing them into the midst of a happy gathering such as we had in there tonight.”

Terry slyly glanced Roland’s way and again caught him smiling. He wondered for a moment whether the rich boy was smiling with him or at him. “Anyway, he’s a highbrow, that’s what he is,” he said quite fiercely to himself. “He’s only standing there and laughing up his sleeve at me ’cause I got caught. But I’ll show him I’m not afraid to go to jail even if I have to go!” And to Mr. Ellsworth, he said aloud: “I’m ready to go to the station house with you now. I even would have gotten away only a thorn got stuck in my foot where the sole was ripped off.”

Mr. Ellsworth smiled, a patient, kindly smile. “You haven’t any mother, have you, Terry?” he asked.

“Nope,” said Terry, indifferently, and solely for Roland’s benefit. “There ain’t anybody but Andy—he’s my uncle and he’s getting kind of old. He says my mother died when I was two years old. But I should worry! I have lots of fun even if I haven’t any mother.”

“I gathered as much, Terry,” said Mr. Ellsworth, in the same kindly manner. “You have as much fun, but not as much care. And in the end, these practical jokes of yours may lead you into real, serious troubles. Have you ever thought of that?”

“Nope. I never think about what’s going to happen. I only think what happens now or whenever I’m doing a thing. Man, I should worry about tomorrow, next year or a hundred years!” Terry was breathless but secretly hoped that his outburst would impress Roland.

Mr. Ellsworth nodded. “That’s optimism on a large scale,” he said. “Well, Terry, you have terrible ideas and plans sometimes it seems to me, but I don’t really believe that there’s anything at work in you but sheer mischief.”

“I like swell fun,” boasted Terry, pleased at the appearance of a half dozen or more scouts. He liked an audience.

“I know you like fun,” smiled Mr. Ellsworth. “And I like your candor. That’s the reason I’m not going to notify the police. I think you’ll be a little more careful in the future, won’t you?”

Terry gasped with surprise. “Man! Honest? Cross your heart?”

Mr. Ellsworth crossed his heart. “I have my reasons, Terry,” he said, seriously. “I think you’ve got the raw material for an A-1 scout.”

Terry frowned. “I don’t like scouts,” he said, emphatically. “None of ’em. They’re sissified most always.” His look was directed at Roland.

Roland took this pointed reference to himself quite gracefully—almost good-naturedly. He even allowed the ghost of a smile to play about his light blue eyes and indifferently whisked back a lock of red hair that had escaped from under the brim of his trim-looking scout hat. Had it not been for the clear, deep blue of Terry’s eyes, the resemblance between the two boys would have been startling.

Mr. Ellsworth noted it and smiling away Terry’s opinion of the scouts, said, “Boys that look as much alike as you and Roland do ought to become friends.”

“I don’t want to look like him,” Terry burst forth. “I bet I’d even look better’n him if I was dressed up like he is!”

The scoutmaster laughed. “Well, there’s something to be said for that, too, Terry,” he said. “But we won’t argue about that now. We’ll wait until the day you put on a scout suit and I’ll be the judge.”

“I’ll never put a scout suit on,” Terry said obstinately.

A small group of young ladies and girls with laughing and tear-stained faces were quickly gathering about the lilac bush. Terry eyed them almost angrily and, pushing them aside, limped away over the lawn in as majestic a manner as he could.

“Remember, Terry,” called Mr. Ellsworth, “I’m going to keep an eye on you in the future.”

Terry kept on going as if he hadn’t heard. Secretly, however, he was congratulating himself that the episode had had such a favorable ending. “I sure almost got into trouble that time,” he said, aloud, as he turned down a dark alley that shortened the route to Henry Street. “Man, no matter what, that Mr. Ellsworth ain’t so had even if he does mix up with those scouts. He could have had me sent away or something—he sure could have!”

It was almost eleven o’clock when he turned into the dim, narrow confines of Henry Street and past the rickety frame building that housed Sam’s Corner Cash Grocery. After he had gone a few feet, he heard a hissing sound and the scraping of feet and, turning quickly, saw Pip and Dinky emerging from under Sam’s brand new awning.

Terry greeted them with a whoop of joy and after a few moments’ consultation retired under the awning to Sam’s doorstep to talk it over. The recital was a trifle lengthy, owing to the leader’s love of embellishment, and when it was at last finished Pip sighed wistfully.

“And you ain’t got even a piece of cake to show for all that trouble?” he asked.

“The stuff all went on the ground when I flopped behind the bush,” answered Terry, regretfully. “And when Mr. Ellsworth caught me I couldn’t pick ’em up and let him get that on me, too, could I? Man, he said it was a crime to steal those tear-bombs even! I don’t call that stealing—if we hadn’t thrown ’em around, the cops would do it, so what’s the difference!”

“Sure, that’s what I say,” said Pip, sympathetically. “Anyhow, you didn’t take those refreshments with you so you didn’t swipe them exactly. But you can’t do nothing about the tear bombs now. They’re all smashed.”

Terry shifted on the doorstep, meditatively, and pushed back a bit of his unruly hair. “Listen, fellas,” he said, seriously: “I tell you what—let’s go around in the back and see if Sam’s got any melons. If he has, we’ll scrape out the insides and fill ’em up with water.”

“Then what?” asked Pip, eagerly.

“Well, just to show Mr. Ellsworth what kind of a guy I am, we’ll take ’em up to the station house and if the window’s still open and no one’s around, I’ll put ’em in the crate where I got the tear bombs out of,” he said, breathlessly. “That’s better than nothing at all, ain’t it? It shows I mean good, don’t it?”

With vigorous shakings of the head, Pip and Dinky agreed that it did. And if they deemed Terry’s logic a bit unique, the thought of the delicious melon pulp awaiting their yearning palates dispelled all doubt in the matter.