The Moffats (4 page)

"Thank you, Mr. Brooney. I guess we'll just have to buy your potato salad if we want any of it."

"Yes, yes," he beamed.

Jane peeled the paper off her lollipop with keen anticipation. She stepped out of the store as she took the first lick. Butterscotch! But—oh, my goodness—sakes alive—who was that? Not...? Yes, walking right toward her, not two doors away, was Chief Mulligan himself. He was walking very briskly. No doubt he would snatch her up in a second! So far he had not seen her. His attention was temporarily distracted by Mr. Brooney's little yellow dog, Jup, who kept nipping at his heels.

Jane looked around swiftly. In front of Mr. Brooney's delicatessen store was a large square box. This was where the baker left his bread early in the morning. Quick as a flash, Jane lifted the lid, jumped in, and crouched in a dark corner. She let the lid down gently and listened.

Tramp, tramp, tramp!

Here he comes
, thought Jane, heart in throat.

Closer the steps came and closer.
Tramp, tramp, tramp!

Did he see me jump into the bread box?
So near now that particles of sand kicked up by his feet spattered the bread box.
Tramp, tramp
, and they stopped.

"Hello, Brooney," said Chief Mulligan.

"Hello, Chief. Rounding up all the criminals?" Mr. Brooney called out cheerfully from the store.

"That's right," boomed Chief Mulligan. "I'm after one of 'em that disappeared down by the railroad tracks."

"Oh-h-h," gasped Jane. "I suppose that's me."

"Well, good luck to you," said Mr. Brooney.

"So long," said the Chief of Police.

Tramp, tramp, tramp!
The heavy steps went on up the street. Jane gave a great sigh of relief. Fainter the steps sounded and fainter. At last she heard nothing but a stillness that hurt. Phew! But it was some time before she could get the echo of those feet out of her mind. When she was convinced that he must be several blocks away, probably at least as far as the railroad station, she cautiously raised the lid of the box a crack and surveyed the scene. How good the sunshine felt! She blinked for a second or two.

Now the coast is clear
, she thought, and raised the lid higher.

Unfortunately just at this moment Mr. Brooney came out of the store with his broom and started to sweep the sidewalk. Jane lowered the lid and thought. Should she come out or should she stay in? She liked Mr. Brooney. He was jolly and always gave her a lollipop or a caramel, but the question was how would he like someone hiding in his bread box? Probably not at all. She stayed in.

Mr. Brooney hummed a little song as he swept. It was one he had learned in the old country. He sang the same lines over and over, stopping only to speak a greeting to all who passed.

Jane began to feel annoyed. Her muscles were cramped. How nice and sunny it was outside! Oh, if she could only get out. Get out and go home. Mama probably needed the sugar. She would say, "Jane, whatever has kept you so long? You dawdle too much."

But
swish, swish
went the broom and Mr. Brooney went on humming his little song. He was certainly very thorough. Jane pushed the lid up a crack and watched him balefully. There now, thank goodness! He had nearly finished. If he only didn't feel he had to sweep the street, too. Jane was sure she had been shut up in that old bread box for hours. She was hungry.

"I'll count to fifty and then I'll come out," she said to herself with determination.

She counted, "...forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty," she breathed, pushing the lid up again a crack. Sure enough, Mr. Brooney had finished. He turned toward the store, whacking his broom on the bread box as he passed.

A second more and Jane could jump out. But what was this?

"Hello there, Mr. Brooney."

"Why, Mrs. Shoemaker, how's yourself?" Mrs. Shoemaker! What could be worse! There was no one, no one on New Dollar Street, who could outtalk Mrs. Shoemaker. And for goodness' sakes! Here she was sitting right down on top of the bread box.

Oh
, thought Jane.
Now when'll I ever get out of here? I must think of some plan. I wish I were a ventriloquist.

Mrs. Shoemaker swung her short legs and occasionally kicked a heel against the side of the box. Mr. Brooney whacked his broom on the side of the store. Then he leaned against the fence, happy at the thought of passing a dull hour in a bit of gossip.

Jane felt she had been in captivity forever. She had practically forgotten how under the sun she had ever gotten into this box in the first place. Her eyes grew heavy. The voices of Mrs. Shoemaker and Mr. Brooney became more and more indistinct to her.

I am a princess locked in a gloomy cavern
, she thought, trying to console herself. Then she fell asleep, and the black horse that was hers to ride in all her dreams came prancing to her rescue, and she was off—off—long golden tresses flying in the wind.

A clean getaway. Of course there was pursuit. Mr. Brooney and Mrs. Shoemaker, mounted on sorry nags, soon fell so far behind that in discouragement they abandoned the race. The Chief of Police fared better on a stout red steed belching fire and smoke from his nostrils. But—could he take wing across the lake as could her own black mount?

He could not! Hurray! Snorting and panting, the red steed must fight the brambles around the edge of the lake. So he must if the Chief of Police wished to continue the chase. Apparently he didn't though. For as Jane looked back she saw that Chief Mulligan had dismounted. He stood on the shore of the lake and shook his night club after her as she faded from sight. And the red steed sent sparks from his nostrils that disappeared like shooting stars into the still night air. Jane laughed triumphantly at having outwitted her pursuers. She dismounted in the middle of a beautiful clearing in the heart of the forest. Here she refreshed herself with a deep drink from a sparkling spring and sank down into the moss to await the White Prince.

"Have you seen Jane Moffat? She's been missing two-three hours."

Jane woke up, blinking her eyes, her heart pounding. That voice booming above her head seemed at once both near and far away! The voice of Chief Mulligan, of course! Black horse and White Prince faded away. She was Jane Moffat in a bread box. She heard Mr. Brooney say:

"Jane Moffat? Why, let me see now. Yes, she was here this noon after sugar."

"Well, she never came home with the sugar. Her mother's pretty worried. Now just what time was she here?"

"Let me see now," replied Mr. Brooney, trying to collect his thoughts. "Yes, she was here. When was it? When was it? Eleven o'clock? Twelve o'clock? But just a minute, Chief. Just a minute. Here's the baker and I have a bone to pick with him. He left me only fourteen loaves of bread this morning and he charged me for fifteen. Hey there, what do you mean?" he asked the baker.

The baker insisted Mr. Brooney must have counted incorrectly. The two started to argue. The Chief of Police stood by with an air of disapproval.

"I tell you," said Mr. Brooney, pounding his fist on the bread box, "I tell you that I took only fourteen loaves of bread from this box this morning."

"And I tell you I put fifteen in," said the baker, pounding
his
fist on the box.

"Fourteen!"

"Fifteen!"

"Might be you overlooked one," put in the Chief of Police in a masterly fashion.

"Nonsense," growled Mr. Brooney. "However could I do that in broad daylight and all? Still, look in yourself if you think..."

Chief Mulligan had become very interested in the discussion. He got out his flashlight so they could see into the corners. Mr. Brooney raised the lid with a grand gesture. The three men peered in. There was Jane! She looked up at them, blinking. The three men gasped in astonishment.

"I'll be blowed," said Mr. Brooney.

"I'm dodder-blasted," said the baker.

The Chief of Police said nothing. With admirable composure he switched off his flashlight, put it in his pocket, and lifted Jane out. She felt for an instant the icy coldness of his badge upon her hot cheek. She tried to make herself a featherweight and held her breath. For a moment no one said anything. Chief Mulligan gave Mr. Brooney a look which seemed to say, "This is the dispatch with which I am accustomed to discharging my commissions."

Mr. Brooney looked at the baker and said sarcastically, "Is that your loaf of bread?"

The baker sat down on the bread box and mopped the flour off his eyebrows in great bewilderment.

Then Chief Mulligan started up the street with Jane still in his arms, his nightstick bobbing at his side. Jane stole a look at the Chief's face. He was looking at her. Quickly she lowered her eyes and as quickly raised them again, so he would not think her dishonest and shifty-eyed. She noticed that he was smiling.

"What were you doing in that box?" he asked curiously.

"Hidin'."

"Hidin' from whom?"

A long silence and then very faintly, "You."

"Me!" Even Jane could see he was truly amazed. Could it be he had not been told about Mr. Pennypepper?