Skippy Bedelle Part 16

THE TENNESSEE SHAD SUSPECTS

THE Tennessee Shad, as has been told, was long, thin and full of bones.

His imagination was chiefly occupied in initiating ideas which would be the cause of exertion in others. In the warmth of the budding season he came out of his winter cage and could be seen for long hours perched on his window sill in the Kennedy, legs pendent; like some dreamy vulture, surveying the horizon for a significant point.

There was little that escaped the Shad. For some time his curiosity had been stirred by the unusual attentions paid to Skippy Bedelle by his old side-partner, Doc Macnooder. Doc was eminently practical and if Doc devoted any part of his time to an inconsequential underformer, in the language of the day, there was something doing.

The early visits of Macnooder to Skippy's room at the time of the Foot Regulator campaign had been noted, likewise the subsequent cooling of the affection. So when after a few weeks' lapse Macnooder was again seen impelling Skippy in the direction of the Jigger Shop with a protecting arm over his shoulders, the Tennessee Shad whistled softly through his teeth and said to himself:

"I wonder what new flim-flam game is on?"

Now Macnooder was distinctly a trespa.s.ser, for Macnooder belonged to the d.i.c.kinson and Skippy was of the Kennedy and, by that token, his lawful prize. The Tennessee Shad's vigilance redoubled. He began to note the air of mystery and solemnity which hung over the two roommates, their frequent whisperings and the moments of intense excitement when, with locked arms and heads close together, they drew surrept.i.tiously away from their fellows for secret conclave. When presently Greaser Tunxton, a solitary youngster who ranked high among the polers and high markers with a curious penchant for chemistry, began to be seen in their company, the Tennessee Shad's vigilance became acute.

One night, when after hours he was returning from a midnight spread in King Lentz's room, his ear detected unmistakable signs of activity behind Skippy's door across the hall. A quarter of an hour later two stocking-clad forms stole past his open door and slowly down the treacherous stairs. The Tennessee Shad followed.

Below, the door of Greaser Tunxton opened cautiously and as cautiously closed again. A moment later the Shad, now at the keyhole, heard the window open and the sounds of a foray into the night. He calculated nicely, pa.s.sed into the room and out the window and took up the trail of the three shadows moving in the general direction of Memorial Hall.

Ten minutes later the Tennessee Shad, having stalked his prey in cla.s.sic Deerslayer manner, reached the farther stretches of the pond and, flat on his stomach among the high gra.s.ses, heard the following mysterious dialogue:

"How's this, Skippy?"

"Fine! Must be millions of them."

"Do you suppose they sleep?"

"We'll wake 'em up."

"Shucks! It's only bullfrogs," thought the Tennessee Shad; but at this moment perceiving the three in clear silhouette against the faint moonlight, he instantly discarded that explanation. The three wanderers into the night were clothed in helmets, from which voluminous folds of cheesecloth descended to the waists, while each had his trousers rolled up well above the knees. The conversation continued, to his growing mystification.

"They're awake, all right. I can hear them coming!"

"You're the boss, Skippy. What's the order?"

"Twenty paces apart. Greaser, you shake the bell, slowly. Snorky, you stand here, and, mind you, no slapping or moving. Everything scientific."

"All right, but get a move on. Ouch, I've got two already."

"Red leg or blue leg?"

"Blue, darn it!"

"Fine! I'll count a hundred slowly. Start up, Greaser."

The low, harsh, grating sounds of a rusty bell slowly agitated began to be heard, punctuating the droning count: "Five, six, seven!"

"For the love of Willie Keeler, what is it!" said the Shad, more and more bewildered, as he rubbed one leg against the other and shook his head to protect himself from the many insects. "It must be a secret society and this is the initiation."

"Skippy?"

"h.e.l.lo!"

"The bell's no good at all."

"Twenty-nine, thirty--remember your oath."

"Say! Count a little faster; I can't hold out much longer."

"Red leg or blue?"

"Both, darn it!"

"Any difference?"

The reply was too blasphemous to be set down here.

The Tennessee Shad, too, was paying dearly the price of his curiosity; so, being convinced that he had stumbled upon a secret initiation, he decided to get some enjoyment out of the situation. Presently, trumpeting his mouth with his hands, he emitted a long, wailing sound:

"Ugh, wugh, guggle, guggle!"

"Good lord! What was that?"

"Did you hear it?"

"It's a night owl that's all; fifty-six, fifty-seven--"

"Oonah, woonah, WOO, HOO!"

"Night owls nothing; it's ghosts!"

"There ain't no ghosts, you chicken-livered--"

But at this moment the Tennessee Shad, smarting from head to foot, let out an ear-splitting screech and the three experimenters in mosquitology disappeared at top speed. The Tennessee Shad, satisfied, emerged, examined with curiosity a discarded helmet smeared with citronella-soaked cheesecloth, and picked up a rusty dinner bell. This last stuck in the crop of his imagination.

"Secret-society stuff," he said to himself as he slapped his way out of the marsh. "But why the bell? Darn mysterious, that bell. . . ."

CHAPTER XVI

EXPERIMENTS IN FRAGRANCE

THE result of the first investigation in the likes and dislikes of the New Jersey mosquito brought a decided difference of opinion. It was admitted (given the swollen condition of Greaser Tunxton's legs) that the insect's sense of hearing was undoubtedly defective. Snorky Green was equally emphatic in expressing his conviction that all colors were alike to it, but Skippy insisted that it was not scientific to jump to a conclusion on the basis of one experiment.

"But golly! I had forty-seven bites on the red stocking and sixty-five on the blue, and if that doesn't prove anything, I'd like to know what!"