The Moffats (3 page)

At one end of New Dollar Street were the railroad tracks. At the other end, where the trolley ran, was the house of Chief Mulligan, Chief of Police. The yellow house where the Moffats lived was sandwiched between these two exciting points. The lawn in front of Chief Mulligan's house was always the best tended on the street and the two small mulberry trees on each side of the stoop were always well trimmed. They were two soldiers, chests thrust out sternly, on guard day and night for the Chief of Police.

When Jane went past this house, she was careful not to step off the sidewalk onto the lawn even one little inch. She tried to remember always to walk, never to run, lest the Chief of Police take her for a thief running from the scene of her latest crime. But she never walked
too
slowly lest she be arrested for loitering. If Joe and Rufus were with her she made them do the same. She warned Joe not to ride his bicycle on the sidewalk at that end of the street and not to ring his bell within several feet of the Mulligans' house. The Chief of Police might not like it.

Rufus had made a scooter out of an old roller skate and a soapbox. Jane told him not to ride it on Chief Mulligan's sidewalk on warm days when the tar was soft and he might leave tracks. Once when Chief Mulligan's new sidewalk had just been laid, she had been horrified to see Rufus just swirling around and around on his heel, making a deep hole in it. Chief Mulligan's new sidewalk! She had packed it down the best she could. Then she had run home for a little flour to sprinkle on it in order to hide all traces. Yes—and she had tried to show Rufus what a great risk he was running, doing such a thing.

If she saw Chief Mulligan himself come striding up the street, shoulders back, stomach out, stick swinging to the rhythm of his firm steps, she trembled and wondered what she should do. Should she walk past him in silence, stepping politely aside for him? Or should she just nod her head in a casual, friendly way? Or perhaps it would be better still to give him a polite "How-do, Chief Mulligan."

To tell the truth, Jane was rather reluctant to speak to him out and out. For although
she
knew very well who
he

was, it was not at all likely that
he
knew who
she
was, and he might arrest her for being bold. If she did not speak at all, however, might he not think she was pretending she did not know him? That she was attempting to slip past him unseen because of a guilty conscience for some past crime?

At last, however, she had decided that the best and safest course to pursue was the casual, friendly little nod of the head. She'd seen Mama do this occasionally to people she did not know very well. But this little nod did not come naturally to Jane and required some practice before the mirror. Unfortunately, one day when she had experimented on Chief Mulligan with the pleasant little nod, Rufus, coming up the street from the other direction, had asked her why for goodness' sakes she was bobbing her head around in that foolish fashion and making faces at the Chief of Police? Happily Chief Mulligan had seemed not to notice her at all.

But one day, a few weeks after the For Sale sign was nailed on the yellow house, something happened that brought this whole business about the policeman to a head. Janey was trying to balance herself on Joey's stilts. She was leaning against the house, eating a handful of sunflower seeds. She spat the shells as far as she could, trying to better her distance with each shell. At the same time she experienced a slight feeling of satisfaction in realizing that on Joey's stilts she was tall enough to blot out the For Sale sign. So far two people had already come to look at the yellow house. But they were very strange people. One had objected to living next door to a Brick Lot! The other had said that the whole place was too run-down.

Now, as Janey put the last sunflower seed into her mouth, her attention was attracted by a new and totally unfamiliar figure walking up New Dollar Street. Obviously he was a person of great dignity. The gentleman held his head, which seemed extremely small in comparison with his stomach, tipped very far back. He wore a derby hat and he carried a cane. Never had such a person been seen on New Dollar Street. Unquestionably he was a person of the highest importance. Who knows? A mayor perhaps? A millionaire? He must have a lot of money in his pocket. He must be coming to buy the yellow house.

Jane spat out the last sunflower seed shell viciously. She spread her arms straight out across the For Sale sign. She was sure not one bit of the lettering still showed. But she held her breath as this elegant person came marching along the picket fence.

"How do you do, little girl?" he said. He tipped his derby hat and nodded his head with much courtesy. Janey was too amazed to return his greeting. He must know her and he must be coming to the yellow house. But no. He reached the gate and marched right past it. And Janey noticed that he spoke in the same way to Mrs. Squire, who was weeding her garden, and to Chet Pudge, who was spinning his top on the Pudges' white sidewalk.

Jane jumped off the stilts and ran after the man. She felt a sudden surge of happiness to know that this stranger

had not come to New Dollar Street to buy the yellow house. She thought it very funny the way he nodded to left and to right. She strutted up the street right behind him. She stuck out her stomach and held up her head. She tried to copy his courteous air of friendly interest in all the

houses and people as he glanced blandly from side to side. Janey had sneakers on her feet so she made no noise. The fine gentleman was totally unaware of the abbreviated shadow of himself that followed him up the street. Jane had mastered his step pretty well, she thought. This consisted of a slight rocking motion from heel to toe. How it would delight the rest of the Moffats when she got home! Imagine while they were all waiting for supper that evening! In she would come, Mr. Importance! However, this jolly idea came to an abrupt end. As they were passing Mrs. Shoemaker's house, Peter Frost came along on his bicycle. He stopped beside Jane and hissed in her ear:

"You can be arrested for that."

Horrified, Jane stood still on the heel of her left foot and the toe of her right. She drew in her stomach and removed the expression of bland interest from her face.

"I'm just on my way to Chief Mulligan's now. I'll see that he hears about this," said Peter Frost in a stern voice. "You see, this gentleman happens to be Mr. Pennypepper, the new Superintendent of Schools!"

With these ominous words Peter Frost sounded his siren right in her ear. He rode off making a great noise all the way up the street so that Mr. Pennypepper had to stand still in his tracks and place two plump forefingers in his ears to shut out the noise. Then, shaking his head and rattling the coins in his pocket, he continued on his dignified way. But with no Jane behind him. Heavens no! Jane had returned home in the greatest misery.

Of what use now were all the precautions she had taken to treat the Chief of Police with the right degree of respect? What use keeping Rufus and Joe quiet at that end of New Dollar Street and filling in the holes in the Mulligans' sidewalk? What would her punishment be, she wondered. Jail, obviously. How dreadful that would be, she thought mournfully as she disappeared in the enormous lilac bush on the side of the house. Here at least she felt she would have temporary security. This was no ordinary lilac bush. It was a most unusual one. You can't step inside most lilac bushes. But you could this one because its many trunks grew in a circle around a patch of hard, bare ground. Once inside the lilac bush you were certainly well hidden from the rest of the world. Sitting on one of the curling roots that thrust its elbow above the earth was splendid for thinking.

Jane thought and thought, but every thought led to jail. It certainly would have been nice to go in the yellow house and tell Mama about it. "I'm going to jail, Mama." And Mama would say, "Whatever for, Janey?" "For mimicking Mr. Pennypepper, Mama." And Mama would stroke her hair and perhaps even say that she didn't have to go to jail.

But Mama was working hard, cutting out a dress for Mrs. Shoemaker. When Mama was cutting out they must not disturb her unless it was something terribly important, like Rufus falling out of the cherry tree. This business about Mr. Pennypepper was probably not quite important enough since she was not yet actually in jail. At this moment her gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Joe, who thrust his head through the branches and said:

"Oh, here you are. Mama wants you to go to the store and get some sugar. She says hurry. Here's the quarter."

"Why don't you go? How much sugar?"

"I'm goin' bikin' out Mount Carmel way with Chet Pudge. Five pounds."

He put the quarter on a branch, sprang into his bicycle seat, rang his bell six times, and was off.

Well, of course there was nothing to do but go. Jane put the quarter in her pocket. She left the soft shadows of the lilac bush for the brilliant glare of the midday sun. Her heart pounded. She looked up the street and down the street. She saw no sign of Chief Mulligan, Mr. Pennypepper, or Peter Frost. Safe apparently! She breathed more freely and started for Brooney's delicatessen store. This was at the railroad end of New Dollar Street. It was as far from Mr. Mulligan's house as you could possibly go and still be on New Dollar Street.

Jane became quite carefree. The day was so bright. Impossible to think gloomy thoughts forever. She forgot all about the police, Peter Frost, jail, in fact all unpleasant things. She skipped up the street in the special way she had of flinging one leg across the other. She arrived panting at Mr. Brooney's and sniffed. She recognized the smells of potato salad, baked ham, dill pickles, sauerkraut, cheese, and coffee. It was very pleasant there. Mr. Brooney was just putting the finishing touches on his bowl of fresh potato salad.

"It smells good, Mr. Brooney," said Jane. "Perhaps you would give me the recipe." She said this as politely as she had heard many a grown person do.

"Give you the recipe? Not on your life. My recipes are my secrets. I'll give you a lollipop, yes. But my recipes, no." He cocked his head on one side and looked at her owlishly over his glasses as he handed her the sugar and a lollipop.