Читать книгу Spiffy Henshaw - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 8

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He had not gone more than two blocks when the world seemed suddenly in the grip of a portentous calm. The black storm clouds had merged into one vast heavenly pall that threatened the silent earth.

Spiffy shrunk inwardly from the fearful scene and wished that he had stayed at home until the storm was over. A little nervous quiver ran down his spine whenever he thought of the freshly chopped wood that his uncle would have to carry “down cellar.” He dreaded the scene that such a procedure would bring about when he got back.

He did not have much time to linger on such terrifying thoughts, however. A great gust of wind whirled him roughly against a tree but luckily did no more than scare him out of his wits. Ear-splitting thunder crashed right above his head and in its wake flashed a blinding streak of lightning.

Spiffy had been endowed with a good deal of moral courage by his Creator but never before had it been put to such a test. He was stunned by the suddenness of his impact with the tree and it was some few seconds before he was able to think clearly.

The vast pall was swiftly moving toward upper North Bridgeboro, he judged. It seemed to be gathering itself into a great ball almost the shape of a huge balloon. He had never seen anything like it before and when another onslaught of wind accompanied by a slash of rain struck him full in the face he decided that the bravest thing to do was to run.

With difficulty he managed to keep himself balanced in the driving wind and rain and took to the middle of the street for safety. Heavy branches were blowing down onto the sidewalks like wisps of moss. Just after he passed the huge elm in front of the Stanton mansion it bent under the fury of the wind and was borne to the street like a piece of cardboard. Spiffy heard a sputter and noticed that it had taken the high tension wires in its downward course.

He looked cautiously after that to left and right and sped along as fast as it was possible. No living being could he see in the length or breadth of Main Street. Everyone but himself seemed safely sheltered from that wanton wind and rain.

He reached the beautiful Temple Mansion, dripping with water, and as he ran up the long, flower-bordered foot-path the storm ceased as quickly as it had begun. Spiffy smiled ironically. “That’s just my luck,” he said half-aloud. “As if my clothes didn’t look bad enough dry, comin’ into this swell dump!”

But he made up his mind that he wouldn’t turn back then. He had plans and he meant to carry them out despite his forlorn appearance. And what he had learned of Mr. Temple’s “charity toward all” attitude was sufficient to give him the courage to carry on in the face of everything.

Quite bravely then did he stuff his drenched knicker cuffs more securely in under his hose.

Better to let them drip down his legs and into his shoes than to spoil the high polish on Mr. Temple’s floor. He slicked back his tightly waved hair with two sweeps of his thin, calloused hands and strode up to the high, imposing door. Then he rang the bell with a long, determined ring.

A little thin Japanese butler opened the door and seemed not at all surprised at the unusual appearance of the caller. Instead he smiled suavely and bowed quite low. Spiffy felt encouraged.

“Mr. Temple in?” he asked timidly.

The butler smiled more brightly than ever. “I tink not—but maybe so,” he said. “Come in. I shall see very soon.”

Spiffy hesitated. “Gee, I’m pretty wet, mister,” he said lingering on the threshold. “I might get the place all mussed up.”

The butler smiled amusedly. “It is not-ting, young man. Come in!”

Spiffy stepped in and the door closed behind him. The butler left him and soon disappeared through a swinging door at the end of a long hall. There was a distant medley of voices and presently the door swung open again admitting a large, round-faced woman.

It was Mrs. Pearson, Mr. Temple’s trusted housekeeper, and Spiffy had long known her through his aunt. Mrs. Riker had occasionally done sewing for the genial soul and she had often visited the humble cottage that the boy called home.

Mrs. Pearson threw up her chubby arms above her head in a gesture of surprise when she saw him. “Land sakes alive, Arnold Henshaw!” she exclaimed in her soft, kindly way. “What in all creation are you doing out in such weather?”

Spiffy smiled to cover his embarrassment. “I started out when it wasn’t such weather,” he answered frankly. “Gee, I never thought it was going to be so bad.”

Mrs. Pearson smiled sympathetically. “It’s good you weren’t hurt, anyway,” she said. “You’re lucky because they called Mr. Temple from up near your way I guess it was, and they told him to come right up and see what damage the storm did to his property. So that’s where he’s gone, Arnold. I ’spect he won’t be back for a while.”

“Did whoever call say where the damage was?” Spiffy asked, startled. “Do you think it could o’ been Aunt Kate’s or anything?”

“Shucks, don’t get excited!” Mrs. Pearson answered. “I don’t think anything of the kind. Whoever called was one of that kind that loses their head, I guess. Ten chances to one Mr. Temple had his trouble for nothing already. The storm was terrible bad, I guess, but not enough to take him on a fool’s errand up there. Anyway, what did you want of him, Arnold?”

Spiffy rested his right foot over his left. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. “I—I—came on account of I wanted to speak to him about the rent,” he stammered. “On account of Uncle Bill.”

“Is that good-for-nothing loafer still out of work?” she asked incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve had to come to plead for him?”

“Well, I—I thought maybe for Aunt Kate’s sake he could let me work or something,” Spiffy answered. “I thought that would make it all right.”

A maternally anxious look came into Mrs. Pearson’s misty eyes. “You poor boy,” she said soothingly. “Come on into the kitchen and dry your wet feet and clothes!” Then: “I’d just like the chance to tell Bill Riker what I think of him now! It’s little enough that he’s done for you and your poor aunt but he’s made you work and now he’d see you do more!”

The good woman led the boy down the long, dim hall and through the swinging door. A rush of sweet, warm air greeted him as he stepped into the big kitchen. From the gas range emanated that delicious smell of baking cake. Spiffy sniffed the air hungrily.

“Smell good, Arnold?” Mrs. Pearson smiled. “Take a chair and get up close to the oven. Put your shoes on the warming shelf—they’ll dry without burning.”

Spiffy did as he was told and was grateful for Mrs. Pearson’s motherly attentions. She busied herself with odd tasks that were concerned with Saturday baking and the butler passed noiselessly to and from the kitchen through another swinging door on the other side of the house.

Once when he was carrying a tray full of silverware from the kitchen he braced himself against the door long enough to give Spiffy a peek into the Temple dining-room. An austere looking buffet gleaming with a gold and silver service gave the orphaned boy a delicious insight into the lives of those whom he had always read and heard about. He determined to keep his eye on that door in order to get another look at such a royal display of wealth.

Mrs. Pearson turned to him from her tasks. “What are you thinking about, Arnold?” she asked, aware of his thoughtfulness.

“I was thinking about that silver and gold stuff in that room, there,” he answered pointing toward the door. “I was thinking how nice it must be to have things like that and not have to worry about rent or anything. Gee, you’d think Mr. Temple would be afraid to leave it around on account of burglars.”

Mrs. Pearson laughed. “Mr. Temple ain’t afraid of burglars, Arnold,” she said. “He always says that he’s been charitable to all the burglars in Bridgeboro and now they don’t have to steal any more. No one would think of stealing from Mr. Temple—he’s too kind!”

Spiffy kept his eyes on the door. “Gee, I bet that stuff’s worth a lot of money. I bet if a feller was hard up so that he was starving or something I bet he’d forget how kind Mr. Temple was,” he said musingly.

“They’d have to be mighty ungrateful if they did,” Mrs. Pearson said loyally. “I can’t imagine anybody doing a mean thing to that man, no, I can’t.”

The butler came out once more and Spiffy got a longer, better look. He was captivated. “Ain’t no one home here but you and him?” he asked her.

“You mean the butler?” she asked.

Spiffy nodded.

“Mrs. Temple and Mary are gone for the summer and the cook’s away on her vacation,” explained Mrs. Pearson. “There’s just the butler and me looking out for Mr. Temple and he’s away half the time too. Why did you want to know, Arnold?”

“Aw, I don’t know,” Spiffy answered. “It’s such a big house with only a few people and I never been inside a place like this before so I guess I get to thinking about burglars all the time just because Mr. Temple’s so rich.”

Mrs. Pearson laughed. “You always were a queer little duck. I’ve told your Aunt Kate that many’s the time.”

The fire siren screeched boldly into their conversation and cut it short. Mrs. Pearson stopped her work and audibly counted the shrieks one by one. “It’s forty-two,” she said at the first pause. “That’s right up at the limits. S’pose we got the storm to thank for that.”

“Lightning, I bet,” said Spiffy, feeling the comfort of his drying clothes.

“Maybe,” Mrs. Pearson said.

The siren kept up its horrible din and presently the agile little butler came running into the kitchen, waving his hands excitedly.