CRABBY
Of course it was a nervy thing to do, we'll admit that, but just thesame, if you'd known old Crabby Jacobs the way we knew him, you reallywouldn't have blamed us. According to our figuring he had it coming tohim ... and, after all--what we did wasn't any worse than sending aperson a terrible comic Valentine. Besides, it had a good moral to itif Crabby could only see it, and since this was the time of year forpeople to turn over new leaves and swear to be better and better inevery way, why shouldn't Crabby be interested in the resolutions we'ddrawn up for him?
I'm not saying whose idea it was since that would be giving me away butI will say this--that all the fellows fell for it at once and Dill, whowas taking a sign painting course up at high school, volunteered to fixup what was written so that old Crabby couldn't miss seeing it.
I suppose now you're wondering who Crabby was and just why we had it infor him. Well, that won't take long to tell. Crabby Jacobs was the oldgeezer who lived by himself in a nice-enough house right close to thebend in the Pierson's Hill road. Where he lived was just outside thelimits of the town and the reason he lived there, we guessed, wasbecause he was a good three blocks away from any neighbors. Of coursethe old fairground property was across the road from him but none ofthe rickety frame buildings had been used for years. And hardly anybodyused the steep Pierson's Hill road except in the winter when it madethe best sliding for miles around. At the top of the hill, a quarter ofa mile above Crabby Jacobs' place, farmer Durgan and his wife and sevenkids lived ... and he was sort of accustomed to boys because he wasalways mighty nice to us when we'd come out with our toboggans to startin coasting. Why, he even got out his horse one time and helped uslevel off the snow in places where it was too deep for our runners totrack. But Crabby? Say ... it was at the bend, halfway down this milelong hill, that we'd be hitting it up at the greatest speed and it wasright here that we'd get stuck. Crabby wasn't going to have any slidingpast his place. No siree! It was a darn nuisance to begin with ... andwe was always shoutin' and carryin' on and he didn't like it a littlebit ... not a little bit!
"But Mr. Jacobs," we'd argue, "you don't own the road and we'll promisenot to make a sound when we're going by and we don't see how we'reinterfering with anything you're doing!"
"I ain't goin' to argue!" he'd reply. "You boys know what's right.Besides, coastin' is dangerous. You might run into somebody comin'around that bend or tip over and hurt yourselves. I'm really doin' youboys a favor by keepin' you from riskin' your necks and this is thethanks I get. Go along now and don't let me catch you slidin' past hereagain!"
Well, what are you going to do with a customer like this? Old CrabbyJacobs has a good-sized temper when it's stirred up and we don't careto get in a fight with anybody. On the other hand we hate like sixty togive up the swellest coasting we'd had in years.
"Ought to be some way to get around Crabby," says Pete Bagley.
"Or else to get even with him," explodes Rod Evans.
And so we get the idea of the New Year's resolutions. And DillSaunders, with his knack for lettering, prints what we've thought up ona big piece of cardboard to which we tie a string like we was going tohang a picture. Then we hike out to Crabby Jacobs' and while thefellows hide down around the bend, me and Pete sneak up to Crabby'sdoor and hang the sign on the door knob and then bang on the door realloud. After that we does a different kind of coasting to get out ofsight.
It isn't ten seconds later when Crabby comes out on the porch in hisshirt sleeves, acting suspicious and excited. He looks all around buthe can't see anything so he starts back into the house and then he seesplenty! He lets out a gasp which, on account of the cold air, turnsinto a puff of white and we can tell from that, he's steaming hot.There's a lot of little white puffs follows as he reads to himselfwhat's printed on the sign.
I, Crabby Jacobs, do hereby resolve--
To get over being cranky
To smile at least once a day
To remember that I used to be young once
To let the boys coast past my house because it's the only real coasting place around and I'm the only one who's MEAN enough to spoil their fun as all the other property owners don't mind!
Sign Here ____________________ Crabby Jacobs
Wow! You should have seen Crabby's face when he gets through readingthis! It's a fiery red and he's jumping about on the front porch,waving his arms as agitated as a kernel of pop corn that's gettingready to pop.
If Crabby could have caught us right then he'd have broken all theresolutions we'd made out for him at once. He's wise enough to know,though, that we must be peeking at him from some place, so he goes toeach end of the porch and shakes his fist at the empty air, hoping he'sshaking it in our direction. Then he stamps back to the door, tears thesign off and takes it inside, slamming the door after him so hard it'sa wonder he don't jerk it off the hinges.
"Well," says Pete, when the eruption is over, "I guess we've fixedthings now."
"Yes," says Dill, mournfully, "and just think what's going to happen tothat sign I took so much pains lettering. All my beautiful art workruined!"
"On top of that," adds Rod, "he's probably making up a resolution allhis own.... 'I hereby resolve to shoot every member of the gang onsight'!"
"Maybe so," I admits, "just the same I'm not sorry we did what we did.Crabby at least knows right where we stand."
"And meanwhile," moans Pete, "we've got to sit through this swellsliding weather...."
"Which we'd have had to do anyhow," I reminds. "You guys wait a littlewhile. Don't jump on this idea too quick. Give those resolutions timeto bump around inside Crabby's head. You can't tell ... he might all ofa sudden get _magnanimous_."
"If he gets anything like that word sounds," says Rod, doubtfully,"there's no hope for us."
"Go on!" I laughs. "I had to define that word and I know what itmeans--to raise yourself above what is low, mean and ungenerous'!"
Rod shakes his head.
"Less hope than ever," he comes back. "Fellows, we might as well put upour toboggan and go in for ice skating. As long as Crabby's on thishill, we're sunk!"
* * * * *
It's a wise army that knows when it's defeated because then it doesn'twaste time fighting for lost causes or suffering any needlesscasualties ... and, in our case, we don't have to do any more scoutingto know that our one-man enemy will be on the warpath with doublevengeance from now on. So, though we outnumber him nine to one, wedecide to follow the words of the bird who said, "discretion's thebetter part of valor" and to steer clear of Crabby altogether.
"Only thing I wish for now," says Dill, "is a thaw!... If this goodsliding weather keeps up it's going to be a heartbreaker."
But you might know the weather man would want to rub it in. Seems likesomebody must have told him we couldn't use Pierson's Hill for coastingbecause he hands out a perfect assortment of cold, clear days andmoonlight nights with just enough snow sprinkled in to make us cry formercy.
"If that hill was only inside the city limits I'd be for taking thematter up with the town council," says Pete, "and getting them to passan ordinance ordering the road to be closed for our use. Then oldCrabby could holler his head off and it wouldn't do him any good."
But though we exercised our brains every way we knew how, we couldn'tseem to hit on a plan of getting old Crabby to be a sport. He justdidn't give a care what other folks did so long as they didn't irritatehim. And the moment they did, he let them hear about it. After thatfolks would usually leave Crabby alone like we were doing ... whichmeant that he'd come off victorious, whether he was right or wrong.
About a week later, when we're all feeling something like Washington'ssoldiers that winter at Valley Forge, Rod comes running up with a pieceof real news.
"What do you know, guys?" he shouts. "I just came by the depot andCrabby's leaving town!"
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"Get off!"
"He never left town in his life!"
"Quit your kidding!"
"Absolute fact!" replies Rod. "I can't believe my eyes but I sneak upand speak to the ticket agent and he tells me Crabby's been called toNorthport on account of the serious illness of his sister."
"Gee, that's too bad," says Pete. "I mean, in another way, it's prettygood!"
"How long do you suppose he'll be gone?" I asks.
"No idea," answers Rod, "but figure it out for yourself--if she's goodand sick she won't be over it in a day. Say, if this weather only holdsout...!"
"Now's when it'll probably thaw," puts in Dill, with his usualpessimism, "but let's go out and see what the slide looks like."
* * * * *
It's about a mile across town to Pierson's Hill from where we are butthat mile disappears in a little over five minutes. Just goes to showhow crazy we were about coasting.
"Say, guys, the hill's in great shape!" calls Pete, who's beaten us byhalf a block. "She's iced!"
Sure enough! There's walls of snow on both sides the road but thetracks in the center are worn down and frozen where farmer Durgan hasdriven his heavy sled into town and back. We start climbing the hill,smoothing out a few rough places as we go. It isn't long before we comein sight of Crabby's house, setting up there on the bend.
"See," points out Rod, "he's gone all right. The blinds are all down."
"Boy, oh boy!" chuckled Dill. "I'm not wishing his sister any bad luckbut...!"
And then we come close to the bend and all the fellows let out a hollerat once as they caught a glimpse of the hill.
"Well, what do you know about this?"
"The old skinflint!"
"Sand!"
Sand is right. Bright, yellow sand sprinkled thick all across the roadup above, around and below the bend. Sand by the wheelbarrow load and alittle path dug in the snow from a window in his basement to the edgeof the bluff where it had been dumped off on the road. All thistestifying to the fact that Crabby Jacobs had worked hard and long tokeep us from having any fun while he was gone.
"Gee, looks like he'd almost undermined his house to get the sand to dothis!" observes Dill, glumly. "But leave it to Crabby to put a crimp inus. It'll take us two nights to get this hill in shape for sliding...."
"And by that time he may be back," groans Pete.
"Besides," says Rod, "there's no water near here to put on the roadafter we clear off the sand. We'll have to carry it clear from Mr.Durgan's!"
"Just the same," I puts in, "let's show Crabby he can't stump us. We'regoing to coast on this hill while he's away no matter how much work ittakes to fix things."
"You bet we are!" echoes Pete, and the gang chimes in.
It turns out to be some job! Even worse than we expect. We set to workwith shovels to clear away the sand and then pack in some new snow andpour water over it from pails we've loaded on our toboggan and carriedfrom Durgan's.
"Old Mr. Jacobs is mighty sore, boys," warns Mr. Durgan. "Better besure you're not around when he comes back. I think you're taking achance trying to slide on this hill again."
"Well, he can't do any more than chase us off," answers Dill, but Mr.Durgan shakes his head.
"You can't tell," he says. "Mr. Jacobs is a mighty queer man."
All of which doesn't help us feel any better. But the second nightwe've got the hill in wonderful shape and we're having such a good timethat we forget all about Crabby even existing. Talk about coasting!Say, the first time down the hill we broke all long distance records.You know, Pierson's creek is at the bottom and the farthest we'd evergone before was just to the bridge but this trip we're still travelinglike the wind and go about half a block beyond ... a good mile and aquarter's slide.
"Wow!" yells Pete. "If we never take another coast, this was worth allthe trouble we've been to...!"
"Yeah," kids Dill, "but remember this ... the farther we slide, thefarther we've got to walk back!"
"In the snow for that wisecrack!" say Rod, and pushes Dill head firstinto a big drift.
You can see from this how good we're feeling. The old moon is out, alittle lopsided but almost full. There's quite a stiff breeze blowing,though, which races big hunks of clouds across the sky. The kind ofweather Pete says is nice enough now but which has all the earmarks ofa change.
Well, we're on our way up the hill again, talking and joshing, when thewind brings us the three long toots of the night train as it's cominginto town and somehow it makes us all think of a certain party.
"I wonder how Crabby's sister is?" Rod asks, kind of casual like.
"Aw, he's only been gone a little over two days," scoffs Pete. "Youneedn't be expecting him back yet!"
"I know ... but maybe that's all the longer his sister could standhim," Rod comes back, with a grin. "Anyhow, I don't breathe easy tillhalf an hour after every train comes in!"
"Especially when we've all got a sneaking hunch that Crabby, aftergoing to all that work, isn't going to stay away any longer'n he canhelp!" sums up Dill.
I couldn't tell you now, as I think back, who it was that saw what wesaw, right then, first. But I'm here to state that the first glimpse weall got of it sure made our blood tingle.
"Look!" we all seemed to holler at once. "The old fairgrounds!"
On fire! Yes, sir ... and all of a sudden crackling noise followed by apuff and one of the rickety frame buildings across the road from CrabbyJacobs' house bulges at the sides so that fire and smoke comes roaringthrough. And in no time there's a bright red reflection in the skygrowing lighter all the while until the moon's not in it forillumination.
"Gee!" cries Pete. "Looks like the whole fairgrounds is going! Yousuppose we'll be blamed for it?"
"Why should we?" I asks, as we're running up the hill to the bend.
"Well, it had to start somehow and we seem to be the only guys around!"
"It's tramps that's done it!" hollers Rod. "I saw two dirty looking menhanging around over there about half an hour ago!"
"Sure, but how you going to prove it?" Pete wants to know. "We'd betterdig out of here!"
"No use," says I. "If we're going to be blamed, we can't help it now.Our folks know where we are and...."
"Look at that fire travel!" yells Dill. "There goes the building nextthe road. If it wasn't for this wind!..."
"No fire protection out this far, either," says Pete. "That's why thefairgrounds was moved."
We're up close to the blaze now and it's easily the biggest fire I'veever seen. All the old barns and sheds and display buildings that havebeen falling to pieces on account of being out of repair make theswellest kind of kindling wood and the flames, helped out by the wind,are leaping high in the air, sucking out for new things to burn. It's agreat sight.
"Some hot!" shouts Rod, backing up. "Say, it's melting the ice on ourslide!"
It is for a fact! The banks of snow are disappearing along the road,too, on account of the heat.
"Old Crabby must have cast a spell over this hill!" says Pete as we allfeel a kind of uncanny feeling creep over us.
Then, Dill, who's watching the flames and sparks as the wind's carrying'em high across the road, grabs me by the arm and points towardCrabby's house. Holy smoke! There's a spot on the roof that's took fire!
"Goodbye!" calls Rod. "Now we'll be blamed sure!"
"We might beat that out," figures Pete, "if we could get inside and upon the roof."
"Yeah, but who's going to break into Crabby's house?" replies Dill."Not me!"
The little spot on the roof begins to grow bigger.
"Good night!" yells Pete. "There's another place! In a minute she'll bea goner!"
Honest, I'm standing there, looking on, and no matter how hard I try Ican't help feeling sorry for old Crabby. Somehow, it comes over me justthen how awful alone he must be and how little real joy he must begetting out of life ... and then to come back and find the only placethat's been any comfort to him
in ashes...! Well, after thinking ofthis, if I've had any temptation to rejoice over his misfortune onaccount of the way he's treated us, it's gone in a hurry.
"Fellows!" I says, "We've got to figure some way to save that house!"
The boys look at me as though they think I'm crazy. Not that theywouldn't have been glad to have done what they could but the wholething looks so hopeless. And then the idea comes to me!
"Quick, guys!" I calls. "This melting snow! It's great packing! We'llsoak it up on the roof!"
I don't need to go any further. The fellows are diving into the snow p.d. q. and in less than a minute we've got a firing line in operation.It takes us a few seconds to get the range but pretty soon great gobsof snow are landing on top and all around the blazing spots and itisn't long before the spots send up a hissing noise, grow dim, and thengo black out. But now the old fairgrounds fire is at its height andfirebrands are blowing across the road and dropping on Crabby's houselike hailstones. By this time folks from town have commenced arrivingand some of them join us in the battle. We keep peppering Crabby's rooffrom all sides, aiming at every place where a blazing spark orfirebrand lands and it's a merry fight to keep these places fromgetting beyond our control.
"If we could only get inside!" says Pete, when it looks like all we cando isn't going to be enough.
"Here's Mr. Jacobs now!" cries someone, and the next instant the mostfrenzied individual you ever saw comes running up. He takes in whatwe're doing at a glance.
"Poor old duffer!" someone else says. "He's run all the way out fromtown!"
"Boys!" gasps Mr. Jacobs, sinking down on the front steps, exhausted,"Here's my keys! If you'd like to get to the roof...!"
I'm nearest to old Crabby and I grab the keys and rush up to the doorcalling to the fellows to follow me.
"Hurry!" yells a spectator, "There's quite a blaze on the south side!"
It doesn't take us long, once we get in, to race up the stairs, intothe attic and to climb out onto the roof from there where, joininghands, we lower Pete to where the worst blaze is. Pete, using his heavywoolen jacket, beats out the flames ... and the crowd cheers.
Looking down, I see the white face of old Crabby staring up and hearhim shout, in a high, nervous voice: "That's the way, boys!... That'sthe way!"
We stick on the roof after that till the danger's all over and then,tuckered out, we slide into the attic and crawl down the ladder intothe house.
"Whew!" says Dill, "I'm glad I don't have to fight fires for a living!"
"All I can say is," joshes Pete in a low voice, "it's a lucky thing forCrabby we decided to go coasting no matter how hard he tried to keep usfrom it. Otherwise we wouldn't have been out here and Crabby would havebeen minus...."
Just then, as we reach the first floor landing, we come face to facewith a familiar looking something.
"Our resolutions!" cries Dill. "And look--he ... he's _signed_ 'em!"
Sure enough. There's our cardboard with Dill's fancy lettering, proppedup against the wall. The heading "I, Crabby Jacobs, do herebyresolve--" stands out strong and, in large but shaky handwriting, onthe line we've drawn for his signature, there's the name "_Crabby_Jacobs"....
Say, you'll think we're soft ... but there's something wet comes intoour eyes as we look and Dill expresses how we feel when he says, kindof embarrassed, "Gee, guys, when we wanted water we couldn't get it andnow...."
Crabby?... Naw--no one calls him that any more. Resolutions? Well, theway he's lived up to the ones we made out for him has made us sort ofashamed of the resolutions we've been trying to keep!
Down the Ice, and Other Winter Sports Stories Page 3