“It’s this way,” Shadow Loomis was saying. “You know why I left and resigned. Well, things are changed now. That’s why I came to tell you I wanted to join the club again. My brother John came home. Pop stormed for a while, but he told John if he would promise—”
“We have put John’s name on our roll call,” said our captain. “He belongs to our club now, Shadow.”
“Did you?” he asked. “Did you fellows really do that?”
Shadow didn’t say thanks, but he looked it. Yeah, he has a way of saying things with looks—you can read in Shadow’s eyes what he wants you to know. I’ve noticed that many times, but never so much as now, when he was happy because his no-account brother John was admitted to our club.
So we sat there talking about all sorts of things until our captain called out, “Meeting come to order.” So we went up to the clubhouse and held our regular meeting. It was good to see old Shadow and Robby sitting in their regular places, but I wished that the Rolling Stone was present too. I got to like Rolling Stone John, and even if he was a rolling stone, he was a fine fellow to know and be with.
“This,” said our captain, as we started our meeting, “was tacked on to our clubhouse door today when I came down. I was the first one here. I took it off and thought I wouldn’t say anything about it till all of us were here in our meeting room.”
He shoved over to me a piece of cardboard, about three inches square. The other boys got up and leaned over to see it.
“Read it out loud, Hawkins,” said Dick, “so all the fellows knows what it says. Maybe some of you smart guys can tell what it means.”
I stood up and looked at the paper. The writing was very poor; some of the letters were printed, while others were written.
“Here’s what it says,” I began:
The sky was RED, but now it’s GRAY again. Long times need long brains and I got that. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put him together again, but I ain’t no egg. I hope you get me.
I stopped reading this piece of foolishness and looked up at Dick. “What does it mean?” I asked.
“I told you, and I can’t tell no more,” said Dick. “When I come down to unlock the clubhouse, I found that ticket. It was tacked on to the door with a carpet tack. It sounds silly, I know, and it might be that somebody is trying to have some fun with us—maybe Briggen or one of his Pelhams.”
“Or maybe Androfski the Silent,” said Shadow Loomis.
I turned upon him quickly. “You don’t think—”
“I am only guessing,” said Shadow. “It would be like him to do that. Now that his Red Runner pals are gone, he might try something like that—sneak stuff, you know.”
“Here,” I said, handing the card to him. “You know Androfski’s handwriting. Did he write that?”
Shadow looked at it good and long. He looked puzzled, and he shook his head slowly.
“I don’t know,” he said, handing the card back. “That writing’s the worst I ever saw—you can see it was made to look different from the fella’s regular writing—look at the printed letters.”
“That’ll do,” spoke up our captain. “Put that card in a safe place, Seckatary; we will talk about it again after while. Collect the dues and let’s get this meeting over.”
So I collected the dues and marked them down in the book. The meeting was soon over, and most of the boys went out with Jerry Moore to play a game of shinny. Jerry had dug holes in the hollow, and the boys all had cut shinny sticks, so it seemed that springtime was come. Whenever a fellow cuts sassafras roots for a shinny stick, it’s a surer sign than a robin that spring is here. Dick and Shadow and Robby and I stayed in the clubhouse.
“Now,” said Dick. “I’d like to take another good look at that card, Hawkins.”
I handed him the pasteboard.
“What’s it look like to you, Dick?” asked Robby Hood.
He read it over slowly, then he read it again, following each word with the point of his forefinger. Then he shook his head and handed the card back to me. “Some fella wanted to give us a riddle to work out,” he said, smiling.
“Well,” said Shadow. “There ought to be some fella in this crowd who could guess the answer to it.”
“Not me,” said Dick. “I leave that to Hawkins. I can guess common ordinary riddles, like patch on patch and a hole in the middle—anybody would guess that meant a chimney. And round as a biscuit, busy as a bee—who couldn’t figure that out to mean a watch? But the writing on this card is silly. There’s no sense to it.”
“Let me see it, please,” said Robby Hood. He studied the card for a few minutes. “Well, he writes about the sky changing color, and I can’t figure that out. And he brings in that stuff about the King’s horses and all the King’s men—Hawkins, what do you think he meant by that?”
I smiled at Robby. “Well, what about King’s horses and King’s men?” I said. “That’s in the little old story about Humpty Dumpty. It’s Mother Goose stuff—for little bitty kids.”
“Humpty Dumpty,” repeated Robby. “Let’s see—I used to know that: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall—”
He paused and looked down. Then he snapped his fingers and said:
“Of course, that’s it: Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Now, tell me if you can remember anybody in your town who took a tumble—come on, can’t you think of somebody who fell off a roof or something?”
“The sexton fell outa the church steeple once,” said Dick.
“Did it hurt him much?” asked Robby.
“Not much,” said Dick. “Only, he died.”
“It wasn’t him, then,” said Robby. “Notice this—the card says ‘I ain’t no egg.’ Bum grammar, sure. But you see he means Humpty Dumpty was an egg, we all know that, and the great fall busted the egg and that settled Humpty Dumpty. But this guy writes ‘I ain’t no egg.’ That means that he didn’t have such bad luck as Humpty Dumpty.”
Even while Robby was speaking, I seemed to get the idea. It came to me like a flash—and although I could hardly believe I was right myself, I reached out my hand for the card.
“Give me that pasteboard,” I said to Robby, and I was all excited. “Let me read it to you. I think I know what it means now.”
They all looked surprised. I took the scribbled card and the boys crowded round me.
“Listen,” I said. “Here’s the meaning of this writing. It has come to me now as plain as day. Here’s the first line: ‘The sky was red, but now it’s gray again.’ That means that the Red Runners are gone, but now we will have to look out for something in gray. ‘Long times need long brains.’ That means that this fellow has not seen us for a long time, but he has not forgotten. And then we come to ‘All the King’s horses and all the King’s’ men.’ That means what Robby said it did. He had a great fall like Humpty Dumpty. And then the last part: ‘but I ain’t no egg.’ That means that he was not broken to pieces like Humpty was.”
Robby Hood was staring at me as if I had told him of a ghost. “Do you really mean, Hawkins,” he said, “that—”
“Well, what’s the answer,” asked Dick as Robby paused.
“Golly Moses,” I said. “You mean to tell me you can’t guess the answer now that I told you all that?” Dick shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I can’t get it.”
I slapped the card down on the table and turned away. Robby Hood leaned over the table and pounded his fist down in front of our captain.
“Who wore gray?” he demanded. “Who had a great fall—the worst fall you ever saw? Think.”
Slowly Dick rose from his chair; there was a strange look in his eyes.
“You don’t mean—” he began; then he coughed and started over again: “You can’t mean that the Gray Ghost—”
“Sure,” said Robby. “Hawkins figured it out from that writing—and I saw it as soon as he read the answer. Stoner’s Boy has come back.”
For a few minutes there was no more said. Shadow sat back in his
chair with his hands in his pockets, listening. He knew nothing of Stoner because he was not with us those days.
“No,” said Dick at last. “That can’t be, Robby. Stoner’s Boy is dead—we saw him fall, and we know how deep the pit in the cave is.”
“Yeah,” said Robby. “But he wasn’t an egg. He didn’t break. It says so on this card. The sky is gray again—take it from me, Dick.”
I took up the card and shoved it over to Dick.
“Look here, Dick,” I said. “If you will take another good look at that old handwriting you will see. It took me a long time to recognize that scratching, being so long since I saw it last, but now I know it. Stoner wrote this note. Stoner has come back.”
I know that Dick too recognized that scrawling handwriting now. But he couldn’t forget that he had seen Stoner fall that day long ago into the pit in Cave River, and he couldn’t believe that Stoner was still alive.
“I saw him fall,” said Dick. “That was enough for me. Maybe his ghost has come back, but don’t you fellas think it is Stoner’s Boy himself. Stoner is dead.”
“Listen here, Dick,” said Robby. “What proof did you have that Stoner was dead? None at all. There was running water at the bottom of that pit where Stoner fell. Why couldn’t he have been lucky enough to strike deep water—and swim out and get away?”
But Dick shook his head, although he didn’t say anything. I could see that he didn’t believe I had figured out the writing on the card. He thought, I suppose, that somebody was just putting one over on us, trying to make us believe that Stoner was back when it was impossible for him to be.
All of a sudden, there came to us an old familiar sound; how often had it rung around that old river bank—the sound of the old brass horn—
“Good night!” I yelled. “Somebody has swiped the horn.”
We all ran into my little writing office beyond the meeting room. One glance at the wall where the old horn had hung told us that we were right. The horn had disappeared. My heart thumped. It had been there only a short while ago, before the meeting started, before I had gone down to Jerry’s campfire. Now it was gone.
“Maybe one of our boys took it,” suggested Dick.
But no. None of our boys had taken it. For while Dick was speaking, my eye had caught sight of something else. My ink bottle had been upset; whoever took the horn had to get up on my desk to reach it and had tipped over the inkwell. The green blotter on which I used to do my writing was soaked in one big shapeless blot, and right beside it was the print of a hand, a hand that had touched that ink spot and left its print beside it. Together we leaned over and looked at the mark.
“Look!” said Shadow Loomis. “This is a strange handprint, fellas.”
It was a strange handprint. For the print was of the right hand, a right hand that had the thumb and forefinger missing.
“That settles it,” I said. “Maybe you will believe me now, Dick Ferris. Look at this handprint on my blotter. What’s it show?”
“A hand, with only three fingers.”
“Right. And you remember who it was—”
“Three-Finger Fred!”
“Good boy! Sure, Three-Finger Fred—Stoner’s old side partner—”
We were interrupted by the sound of running feet upon the porch. The next minute Jerry Moore and the other boys came rushing in.
“Did you hear it, Hawkins?” said Jerry, excitedly. “The horn, I mean. How come it to be blowed down by the river? We couldn’t see anybody—”
Before he could say another word, the sound of the old brass horn came again from the river, followed by the chug-chug-chug of a motorboat. We all flew out of the door and down the river path. As we neared the water, the sound of the motorboat was dying out. When we came in sight of the river, we saw a gray launch just turning the bend toward Watertown. Two figures were in it, one stooping down at the engine and another standing, looking back at us. They were too far away for us to make out their faces, but while we watched, we heard a mocking laugh come riding on the wind to us. But that was enough for me. Only one fellow I ever knew could laugh like that, and once you heard it, you could never forget it.
“Boys,” I said. “Stoner’s Boy has come back. Don’t ask me how. But he is here. You can all bet your life we will see some hot times around here from now on.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 4
Stoner’s Boy Comes Back
THE next day after school, I went down to the clubhouse, and not one of the boys had come yet. I unlocked the door and went in. It was stuffy inside, so I opened a window to let in some fresh air. Then I looked out, down through the hollow and toward the riverbank. Not a soul in sight. Yet I felt strange. The lonesome look of the place, I guess. Anyway I had some writing to do, and so I thought I would get it done before the boys came to hold the meeting. But first I went to the cupboard where we kept all our baseball things, which we had not used since last summer. I picked out a good-size bat, and took it into my writing room and stood it alongside my desk where I could reach it quick. “Now,” I said to myself, “let Stoner’s Boy come, if he wants to.” Then I started writing.
So Stoner’s Boy had come back! Yes, there was no doubt of it in my mind. The old Gray Ghost was back. By what strange stroke of good luck had he escaped unharmed from that awful plunge into the pit in the cliff cave, I did not know, but I would learn that too, later. What worried me most now was that he was back and that he had left us a sign on the door telling us that he had not forgotten the old grudge, that sooner or later he would come to try to settle up with us. It is true we had never done anything to him that he should be picking on us; we had never intended doing anything to him, at least. It all grew out of his imagination. And he had begun his attacks. Then when we tried to take our own part, he always figured that it was us who did the starting. What would come—
Suddenly, there was a quick step on the porch, and I grabbed the baseball bat.
“Hi, Hawkins,” sang out the voice of Shadow Loomis.
I laughed and let the bat fall to the floor.
“You scared me for a minute,” I said. “Come in.”
He came in with Robby Hood.
“Lord sake,” says Robby. “The fellows are awful late today. I never knew ’em to start a meeting so late in the day. What’s a matter?”
“Some of ’em had to stay after school,” I said. “Our spelling lesson was purty hard today. Seems like every time the teacher pulls the word ‘necessity,’ us boys put too many c’s or s’s or t’s in it. That’s how come they ain’t here yet. Necessity did it. I was the only fella that spelt it right. And it’s because Doc Waters watches my seckatary book all the time and shows me when I spell wrong.”
Shadow laughed. “I guess I would have to stay too, if my teacher asked me such hard ones,” he said. “How many of you fellas can spell astafidity right?”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Astafidity,” repeated Robby Hood. “What’s that?”
“It’s something your maw sews up in a little bag and hangs it around your neck so you won’t catch sickness. My maw hung one around my neck once, and I didn’t catch sick—nor anything else. I couldn’t catch anything. I went fishing one day when I had it on, and I couldn’t even catch a fish. It smells so bad that even a pole cat won’t come near you.”
“Ah, I know that stuff,” said Robby. “I had some on one day when I went to the picture show, and the manager come and asked me would I mind to step outside a minute. When I got out to the front he gave me my money back and asked me to do him a favor and never come back no more.”
“I wonder why mothers put that stuff on their kids,” said Shadow.
“They don’t know no better,” said Robby. “Some doctor once told a mother that astafidity would cure a cold. This lady told it to another lady and so the thing got started, and they been passing it around ever since. The first time I had a piece tied around my neck, I couldn’t eat my meals. I lost my appetite and couldn’t
think about anything but astafidity. I dreamed about it even. Then one day I snuck behind the woodshed and slipped the dern thing off my neck. The neighbor’s dog was snooping round, and he saw me throw the astafidity bag away and he went for it. He got one smell of it and turned his nose up to heaven and let out one long howl. He never was the same dog after that.”
I laughed at their funny jokes, and then I asked, “How’s the Rolling Stone?”
Shadow turned a sad look upon me. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that, Hawkins,” he said. “John ain’t a rolling stone no more; he’s turned over a new leaf. Pop’s making him work hard now. We brought him with us today, but he wouldn’t come up here till we asked if he was welcome. He’s down in the launch now on the river.”
“Go down and get him,” I said. “Bring him right up here, Shadow. He belongs to our club now. You heard our captain say so himself.”
They both sprang away toward the river. While they were gone, in came Jerry Moore.
“Hawkins,” he said. “How long you been here?”
“Oh, about fifteen minutes or so,” I said. “Why?”
Jerry didn’t answer me for a few minutes. He walked out of my writing room, and I could hear him pacing the floor in the meeting room. Then he came to the curtains of my door.
“Hawkins,” he said. “We ain’t gon’a have no peace from now on. It’s dern funny we can’t be let alone some time. We had enough trouble with the Red Runners. Now when they are gone, here comes that Stoner fella to bother us again. I wish the Skinny Guy would come back.”
I let him walk around my desk for a little while, till he cooled off. Then I said:
“What makes you so afraid of Stoner’s Boy? Why do you think it would be better to have the Skinny Guy back here?”
“Huh!” exclaimed Jerry. “As if you don’t know. You know well as I do that Stoner can play his tricks on any fella in our crowd and get away with it. He’s too slick for us. When did we ever catch him? Tell me that.”
“Harold caught him once,” I reminded him.
“Sure, the twin,” retorted Jerry. “But which one of us has got enough sense to think we can do what that twin boy did? He is the only one that ever held him, and he didn’t hold him long. Even when he had him tied hand and foot, Stoner got away—”
The Gray Ghost Page 3