CHAPTER II. THE BONDED PRISONER
After such rigorous events, every one comprehended that the game ofbonded prisoner was over, and there was no suggestion that it should ormight be resumed. The fashion of its conclusion had been so consummatelyenjoyed by all parties (with the natural exception of Roddy Bitts) thata renewal would have been tame; hence, the various minds of the companyturned to other matters and became restless. Georgie Bassett withdrewfirst, remembering that if he expected to be as wonderful as usual,to-morrow, in Sunday-school, it was time to prepare himself, thoughthis was not included in the statement he made alleging the cause ofhis departure. Being detained bodily and pressed for explanation, hedesperately said that he had to go home to tease the cook--which hadthe rakehelly air he thought would insure his release, but was notconsidered plausible. However, he was finally allowed to go, and, asfirst hints of evening were already cooling and darkening the air,the party broke up, its members setting forth, whistling, toward theirseveral homes, though Penrod lingered with Sam. Herman was the last togo from them.
"Well, I got git 'at stove-wood f' suppuh," he said, rising andstretching himself. "I got git 'at lil' soap-box wagon, an' go on ovuhwheres 'at new house buil'in' on Secon' Street; pick up few shingles an'blocks layin' roun'."
He went through the yard toward the alley, and, at the alley gate,remembering something, he paused and called to them. The lot was adeep one, and they were too far away to catch his meaning. Sam shouted,"Can't HEAR you!" and Herman replied, but still unintelligibly; then,upon Sam's repetition of "Can't HEAR you!" Herman waved his arm infarewell, implying that the matter was of little significance, andvanished. But if they had understood him, Penrod and Sam might haveconsidered his inquiry of instant importance, for Herman's last shoutwas to ask if either of them had noticed "where Verman went."
Verman and Verman's whereabouts were, at this hour, of no more concernto Sam and Penrod than was the other side of the moon. That unfortunatebonded prisoner had been long since utterly effaced from their fieldsof consciousness, and the dark secret of their Bastille troubled themnot--for the main and simple reason that they had forgotten it.
They drifted indoors, and found Sam's mother's white cat drowsing ona desk in the library, the which coincidence obviously inspired theexperiment of ascertaining how successfully ink could be used in makinga clean white cat look like a coach-dog. There was neither malicenor mischief in their idea; simply, a problem presented itself to thebiological and artistic questionings beginning to stir within them.They did not mean to do the cat the slightest injury or to cause her anypain. They were above teasing cats, and they merely detained this oneand made her feel a little wet--at considerable cost to themselves fromboth the ink and the cat. However, at the conclusion of their efforts,it was thought safer to drop the cat out of the window before anybodycame, and, after some hasty work with blotters, the desk was moved tocover certain sections of the rug, and the two boys repaired to thebathroom for hot water and soap. They knew they had done nothing wrong;but they felt easier when the only traces remaining upon them were theless prominent ones upon their garments.
These precautions taken, it was time for them to make their appearanceat Penrod's house for dinner, for it had been arranged, upon petitionearlier in the day, that Sam should be his friend's guest for theevening meal. Clean to the elbows and with light hearts, they set forth.They marched, whistling--though not producing a distinctly musicaleffect, since neither had any particular air in mind--and they foundnothing wrong with the world; they had not a care. Arrived at theiradjacent destination, they found Miss Margaret Schofield just enteringthe front door.
"Hurry, boys!" she said. "Mamma came home long before I did, and I'msure dinner is waiting. Run on out to the dining-room and tell them I'llbe right down."
And, as they obeyed, she mounted the stairs, humming a little tune andunfastening the clasp of the long, light-blue military cape she wore.She went to her own quiet room, lit the gas, removed her hat and placedit and the cape upon the bed; after which she gave her hair a push,subsequent to her scrutiny of a mirror; then, turning out the light, shewent as far as the door. Being an orderly girl, she returned to the bedand took the cape and the hat to her clothes-closet. She opened thedoor of this sanctuary, and, in the dark, hung her cape upon a hook andplaced her hat upon the shelf. Then she closed the door again, havingnoted nothing unusual, though she had an impression that the placeneeded airing. She descended to the dinner table.
The other members of the family were already occupied with the meal, andthe visitor was replying politely, in his non-masticatory intervals, toinquiries concerning the health of his relatives. So sweet and assuredwas the condition of Sam and Penrod that Margaret's arrival from herroom meant nothing to them. Their memories were not stirred, and theycontinued eating, their expressions brightly placid.
But from out of doors there came the sound of a calling and questingvoice, at first in the distance, then growing louder--coming nearer.
"Oh, Ver-er-man! O-o-o-oh, Ver-er-ma-a-an!"
It was the voice of Herman.
"OO-O-O-O-OH, VER-ER-ER-MA-A-A-AN!"
And then two boys sat stricken at that cheerful table and ceased to eat.Recollection awoke with a bang!
"Oh, my!" Sam gasped.
"What's the matter?" Mr. Schofield said. "Swallow something the wrongway, Sam?"
"Ye-es, sir."
"OO-O-O-O-OH, VER-ER-ER-MA-A-A-AN!"
And now the voice was near the windows of the dining-room.
Penrod, very pale, pushed back his chair and jumped up.
"What's the matter with YOU?" his father demanded. "Sit down!"
"It's Herman--that coloured boy lives in the alley," Penrod saidhoarsely. "I expect--I think--"
"Well, what's the matter?"
"I think his little brother's maybe got lost, and Sam and I better gohelp look--"
"You'll do nothing of the kind," Mr. Schofield said sharply. "Sit downand eat your dinner."
In a palsy, the miserable boy resumed his seat. He and Sam exchanged asingle dumb glance; then the eyes of both swung fearfully to Margaret.Her appearance was one of sprightly content, and, from a certain pointof view, nothing could have been more alarming. If she had opened hercloset door without discovering Verman, that must have been becauseVerman was dead and Margaret had failed to notice the body. (Such werethe thoughts of Penrod and Sam.) But she might not have opened thecloset door. And whether she had or not, Verman must still be there,alive or dead, for if he had escaped he would have gone home, and theirears would not be ringing with the sinister and melancholy cry that nowcame from the distance, "Oo-o-oh, Ver-er-ma-an!"
Verman, in his seclusion, did not hear that appeal from his brother;there were too many walls between them. But he was becoming impatientfor release, though, all in all, he had not found the confinementintolerable or even very irksome. His character was philosophic, hisimagination calm; no bugaboos came to trouble him. When the boys closedthe door upon him, he made himself comfortable upon the floor and, fora time, thoughtfully chewed a patent-leather slipper that had come underhis hand. He found the patent leather not unpleasant to his palate,though he swallowed only a portion of what he detached, not being hungryat that time. The soul-fabric of Verman was of a fortunate weave; he wasnot a seeker and questioner. When it happened to him that he was atrest in a shady corner, he did not even think about a place in the sun.Verman took life as it came.
Naturally, he fell asleep. And toward the conclusion of his slumbers, hehad this singular adventure: a lady set her foot down within less thanhalf an inch of his nose--and neither of them knew it. Verman slept on,without being wakened by either the closing or the opening of thedoor. What did rouse him was something ample and soft falling uponhim--Margaret's cape, which slid from the hook after she had gone.
Enveloped in its folds, Verman sat up, corkscrewing his knucklesinto the corners of his eyes. Slowly he became aware of two importantvacuums--one in time and one in his stomach. Hour
s had vanishedstrangely into nowhere; the game of bonded prisoner was something cloudyand remote of the long, long ago, and, although Verman knew wherehe was, he had partially forgotten how he came there. He perceived,however, that something had gone wrong, for he was certain that he oughtnot to be where he found himself.
WHITE-FOLKS' HOUSE! The fact that Verman could not have pronounced thesewords rendered them no less clear in his mind; they began to stirhis apprehension, and nothing becomes more rapidly tumultuous thanapprehension once it is stirred. That he might possibly obtain releaseby making a noise was too daring a thought and not even conceived,much less entertained, by the little and humble Verman. For, with thebewildering gap of his slumber between him and previous events, he didnot place the responsibility for his being in White-Folks' House uponthe white folks who had put him there. His state of mind was that of thestable-puppy who knows he MUST not be found in the parlour. Not thricein his life had Verman been within the doors of White-Folks' House, and,above all things, he felt that it was in some undefined way vital to himto get out of White-Folks' House unobserved and unknown. It was in hisvery blood to be sure of that.
Further than this point, the processes of Verman's mind becomemysterious to the observer. It appears, however, that he had a definite(though somewhat primitive) conception of the usefulness of disguise;and he must have begun his preparations before he heard footsteps in theroom outside his closed door.
These footsteps were Margaret's. Just as Mr. Schofield's coffee wasbrought, and just after Penrod had been baffled in another attempt toleave the table, Margaret rose and patted her father impertinently uponthe head.
"You can't bully ME that way!" she said. "I got home too late to dress,and I'm going to a dance. 'Scuse!"
And she began her dancing on the spot, pirouetting herself swiftly outof the room, and was immediately heard running up the stairs.
"Penrod!" Mr. Schofield shouted. "Sit down! How many times am I going totell you? What IS the matter with you to-night?"
"I GOT to go," Penrod gasped. "I got to tell Margaret sumpthing."
"What have you 'got' to tell her?"
"It's--it's sumpthing I forgot to tell her."
"Well, it will keep till she comes downstairs," Mr. Schofield saidgrimly. "You sit down till this meal is finished."
Penrod was becoming frantic.
"I got to tell her--it's sumpthing Sam's mother told me to tell her,"he babbled. "Didn't she, Sam? You heard her tell me to tell her; didn'tyou, Sam?"
Sam offered prompt corroboration.
"Yes, sir; she did. She said for us both to tell her. I better go, too,I guess, because she said--"
He was interrupted. Startlingly upon their ears rang shriek on shriek.Mrs. Schofield, recognizing Margaret's voice, likewise shrieked, and Mr.Schofield uttered various sounds; but Penrod and Sam were incapable ofdoing anything vocally. All rushed from the table.
Margaret continued to shriek, and it is not to be denied that therewas some cause for her agitation. When she opened the closet door, herlight-blue military cape, instead of hanging on the hook where she hadleft it, came out into the room in a manner that she afterward describedas "a kind of horrible creep, but faster than a creep." Nothing was tobe seen except the creeping cape, she said, but, of course, she couldtell there was some awful thing inside of it. It was too large to be acat, and too small to be a boy; it was too large to be Duke, Penrod'slittle old dog, and, besides, Duke wouldn't act like that. It creptrapidly out into the upper hall, and then, as she recovered the use ofher voice and began to scream, the animated cape abandoned its creepingfor a quicker gait--"a weird, heaving flop," she defined it.
The Thing then decided upon a third style of locomotion, evidently, forwhen Sam and Penrod reached the front hall, a few steps in advance ofMr. and Mrs. Schofield, it was rolling grandly down the stairs.
Mr. Schofield had only a hurried glimpse of it as it reached the bottom,close by the front door.
"Grab that thing!" he shouted, dashing forward. "Stop it! Hit it!"
It was at this moment that Sam Williams displayed the presence of mindthat was his most eminent characteristic. Sam's wonderful instinct forthe right action almost never failed him in a crisis, and it did notfail him now. Leaping to the door, at the very instant when the rollingcape touched it, Sam flung the door open--and the cape rolled on. Withincredible rapidity and intelligence, it rolled, indeed, out into thenight.
Penrod jumped after it, and the next second reappeared in the doorwayholding the cape. He shook out its folds, breathing hard but acquiringconfidence. In fact, he was able to look up in his father's face andsay, with bright ingenuousness:
"It was just laying there. Do you know what I think? Well, it couldn'thave acted that way itself. I think there must have been sumpthing kindof inside of it!"
Mr. Schofield shook his head slowly, in marvelling admiration.
"Brilliant--oh, brilliant!" he murmured, while Mrs. Schofield ran tosupport the enfeebled form of Margaret at the top of the stairs.
... In the library, after Margaret's departure to her dance, Mr. andMrs. Schofield were still discussing the visitation, Penrod havingaccompanied his homeward-bound guest as far as the front gate.
"No; you're wrong," Mrs. Schofield said, upholding a theory, earlierdeveloped by Margaret, that the animated behaviour of the cape could besatisfactorily explained on no other ground than the supernatural. "Yousee, the boys saying they couldn't remember what Mrs. Williams wantedthem to tell Margaret, and that probably she hadn't told them anythingto tell her, because most likely they'd misunderstood something shesaid--well, of course, all that does sound mixed-up and peculiar;but they sound that way about half the time, anyhow. No; it couldn'tpossibly have had a thing to do with it. They were right there at thetable with us all the time, and they came straight to the table theminute they entered the house. Before that, they'd been over at Sam'sall afternoon. So, it COULDN'T have been the boys." Mrs. Schofieldpaused to ruminate with a little air of pride; then added: "Margaret hasoften thought--oh, long before this!--that she was a medium. I mean--ifshe would let her self. So it wasn't anything the boys did."
Mr. Schofield grunted.
"I'll admit this much," he said. "I'll admit it wasn't anything we'llever get out of 'em."
And the remarks of Sam and Penrod, taking leave of each other, one oneach side of the gate, appeared to corroborate Mr. Schofield's opinion.
"Well, g'-night, Penrod," Sam said. "It was a pretty good Saturday,wasn't it?"
"Fine!" said Penrod casually. "G'-night, Sam."
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