The Red Chipmunk Mystery (7 page)

“Oh, Granpa!” Joan called just then. “Please bring the milk and four peaches and the butter while you’re there.” Mr. Scissors took four peaches and a jug of milk and a little glass dish with a cover on it from the ice-box and handed them to the boys to take to Joan.

“Just put them on the table there,” Joan said to them. Her face was very red from bending over the hot stove and from moving so fast. The boys stood and stared at her for a moment because she seemed to be everywhere at once as she worked with swift, sure movements.

“Gee! I think we’re going to eat in a minute,” Buddy whispered as he peered at the two frying pans on the stove.

“All right, Granpa,” Joan called. “Bring some paper napkins.” She poured four cups of cold milk from the thermos jug and said to Djuna, “Just put a camp-stool on each side of the table, please, and we’re ready.”

“Food queue forms on the right,” Mr. Scissors said, as he picked up a plate from the table and took it over to the stove where Joan was waiting to dish out the bacon and scrambled eggs. Buddy and Djuna lined up behind Mr. Scissors and Joan dished them out some beautifully fried pieces of bacon and scrambled eggs that were light and fluffy and looked like spoonfuls of gold.

Mr. Scissors was standing beside his camp-stool when the boys brought their plates back to the table, and he said, “I always wait until Joan has served herself, too, before I sit down.” So they put their plates on the table and waited until Joan had served herself and had put a dishpan full of water on the fire, to heat for the dish-washing. And although it was very, very painful they waited with Mr. Scissors until Joan had taken her seat and picked up her fork before
they
sat down.

“
Food!
” Buddy moaned, and rolled his eyes as he took the first bite.

Djuna was too busy eating to say anything, but after he had taken a half-dozen bites he happened to catch a glimpse of Champ, lying in the cool shade beyond them with his head on his paws, sound asleep. He put down his fork and started to get up as he said, “Gee whitakers! Champ must be sick or he’d be pestering us for food. He hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday either.”

“Oh, he’s full,” Joan said, and she giggled. “I fed
him
a long time ago!”

“MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG”

“Y
OU
know,” Djuna said solemnly, after the boys had eaten the last bit of food in front of them and had each had three cups of milk, “I think that was the best breakfast I ever had in my life.”

“Well, now, it’s nice you liked it,” Mr. Scissors said. “We always try to eat well in the morning. Joan usually makes us a few sandwiches while I’m washin’ the breakfast dishes. We just eat them sittin’ in the wagon. Then, in the evenin’, ‘specially if it’s cool, we build a camp-fire and cook our supper over that. Makes it more cheery.”

Djuna and Buddy were both listening to Mr. Scissors very carefully and they both had the same question written on their faces. It was Djuna who finally mustered enough courage to give voice to his thoughts.

“Say, Mr. Scissors,” he said slowly. “I have ten dollars in my wallet I saved while I was shining shoes this summer. If I give it to you, could we go as far as Farmholme with you? We could sleep under the wagon, or something.”

“
Gee!
We could sleep
any
place!” Buddy put in eagerly.

“Are you sure your folks wouldn’t be worried about you?” Mr. Scissors asked, and he acted as though he had been rather expecting the question.

“Oh, no, sir!” Djuna said. “Miss Annie Ellery wasn’t even expecting me for another ten days or so.” Buddy didn’t say anything.

“If that’s the case, Joan and me would be glad to have you,” Mr. Scissors said.

Both of the boys let out a whoop of joy and Joan looked very pleased, too. Champ leaped to his feet and began to jump up and down and up and down, and Old Blade looked around inquiringly and wiggled his ears a couple of times.

“But you keep your ten dollars,” Mr. Scissors said as he chuckled at Champ. “You’ll both have to do your share of the work an’ we can get some straw some place to-day and make beds for you under our bunks in the wagon.”

“What shall we do first, Mr. Scissors?” Djuna asked, jumping to his feet.

“Joan’ll tell you,” Mr. Scissors chuckled. “She’ll have you busier than a one-armed paper-hanger in no time.”

Both of the boys looked at Joan and saw that she was blushing and giggling at the same time. When they looked at her she rose primly and said, “First, fold up the camp-stools and put them under the front seat of the wagon. While you’re there, get out the little spade under the seat and bring it back with you so we can dig a little hole and bury the rubbish.”

When they finished with that, they helped Mr. Scissors dry the dishes while Joan made sandwiches and closed up the mess boxes. The boys put the boxes away and Mr. Scissors put Old Blade’s bridle back on. In less than a half-hour all four of them were sitting side by side on the front seat, with Joan driving and Champ trotting along happily underneath the wagon.

“What towns will we go through on the way to Farmholme?” Djuna asked Mr. Scissors, as Joan turned Old Blade into the side road that went down to Dean’s Mills.

“Well,” Mr. Scissors said, “after Dean’s Mills comes Frenchtown. We’ll probably finish our work there late this afternoon and make camp at a little spot where we usually stay just west of there. To-morrow we’ll cover Cliffton Valley. That’s a sizable place. About a hundred people. After that comes Ferry Crossing, Rocky Hill, Jefferson and New Canterbury, and then Farmholme. The roads are pretty level until we get beyond Ferry Crossing. When we get there we’ll all have to walk but Joan, because we would be too much of a load for Old Blade to pull.”

“It will take us four or five days to get to Farmholme, I guess, won’t it?” Djuna asked and he looked very pleased at the prospect.

“Round about there,” Mr. Scissors said.

“Would you play a little music, Mr. Scissors?” Buddy asked eagerly.

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Mr. Scissors said quickly, but his eyes were twinkling. “No music till we have our work done at Dean’s Mills. Business before pleasure, but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“Oh! I see,” Buddy said and for a moment he looked both puzzled and dejected. Then his face brightened as he said, “You’ll probably have to open your workshop when we get to Dean’s Mills, won’t you?”

“I certainly hope so!” Mr. Scissors said. “A body has to make a dollar now and then or go to the poorhouse.”

When they reached the centre of the little hamlet Mr. Scissors told Joan to drive over into the shade of a spreading horse-chestnut tree. Joan pulled Old Blade over into the shade and when she said, “Ho! Blade!” the old grey horse stopped immediately. Mr. Scissors climbed down from the wagon and said, “I’ll just see if there is any work around.”

He was only half-way across the dusty road to the nearest house when a little girl came out on a porch down the street, and when she saw him she began to dance up and down and shout as loud as she could, “
Mr. Scissors! Mr. Scissors! Mr. Scissors!
”

Mr. Scissors waved at her and before any one could say “Joe Crumpet” a dozen or more kids had poured out of houses, and their mothers stuck their heads out of doors and windows to call and wave to Mr. Scissors.

“
Jiminy crimps!
” Buddy said. “Everybody seems to know your grandfather!”

“I guess almost every one does,” Joan said, and then she lowered her voice so that the children who were crowding around the wagon wouldn’t hear her. “That’s why he has his workshop on top of the wagon,” she whispered. “So many
little
kids come around he’s afraid some of them will cut themselves on the things he’s sharpening.”

After a bit Mr. Scissors came back with some knives and some chisels and a couple of hatchets to sharpen. “All right, boys,” he said to Buddy and Djuna. “Get the ladder out from under the wagon and unhook the tarpaulin so we can get to work. Just fold the tarpaulin up and put it in the back of the wagon.”

In no time at all the boys had unfastened the tarpaulin from the six hooks that held it in place and had stowed it away in the wagon and put the ladder against the wagon where Mr. Scissors told them to put it.

“I’ll go up first with these tools,” Mr. Scissors said. “Then you boys come up. It won’t be any time at all till you’ll have earned that breakfast you had this morning.”

“Gee, what do you suppose we’re going to do?” Buddy asked, as they waited impatiently for Mr. Scissors to get on top of the wagon so they could follow him.

When they got up there they could hardly believe their eyes. There were so many interesting things to see they didn’t know which to look at first. But after Mr. Scissors had put the things he was going to sharpen down on the tiny work-bench that was bolted to the roof he explained some of the things to them.

“The first thing you want to watch when you’re up here,” Mr. Scissors said very seriously, “is that you don’t fall off. That low railing around the edge will keep you from takin’ a sudden step back’ard where there ain’t no roof, but it won’t keep you from falling off, so be careful.” Both of the boys nodded solemnly and gave a wordless promise that they would be careful.

“Now, let me see,” Mr. Scissors went on, “as long as you’re going to work with me up here, I’d better explain things a little.” He reached underneath his work-bench and pulled out a small kettle, and also an iron rod with a handle. “This,” he said, “is a soldering pot to repair pots and pans or anything else that leaks, and this is my soldering iron.”

Djuna studied for a moment, frowning, and then he asked, “But don’t you have to heat the solder, Mr. Scissors?”

“Oh, yes!” Mr. Scissors said. “You see this little stove underneath? It’s really a blow-lamp and gives a very hot flame. I just put a tiny mite of petrol in this little cup here and light it. It heats up the gases so that they ignite and heat up the solder. Then I take this soldering iron and smooth some of the solder over the leak and when it hardens it doesn’t leak any more. But I don’t do much soldering. I guess we’d better start over here at the emery wheel.”

He peered down over the glasses he had put on at the dozen or more children who were grouped around the wagon and Old Blade, and were clamouring for him to play his accordion. Old Blade was looking very sorrowful and as though he wished they would all keep still. Champ was hiding behind the horse-chestnut tree with his ears flat and his tail between his legs, looking very unhappy too. He was watching carefully and was all ready to run into the tall grass behind him to hide again, if three or four children tried to pick him up at one time.

“There’s no use in your pesterin’ me,” Mr. Scissors called down to them, but he did it very gently. “No music till we finish our work.”

“Gee! Can I ride on this thing, Mr. Scissors?” Buddy asked as Mr. Scissors led them over to an emery wheel.

“In just a few minutes you can, Buddy,” Mr. Scissors said.

The emery wheel was mounted on a shaft to be turned by someone sitting on a saddle that looked just like a bicycle seat, pushing the two pedals around and around as fast as he could. “I’ve had some mighty pleasant rides on this machine,” Mr. Scissors went on, and he chuckled. “You boys ever been in Venice?”

“
Venice?
Where’s that?” Buddy and Djuna asked together.

“It’s a city in Italy,” Mr. Scissors said. And both of the boys wondered what in the world it had to do with the machine in front of them.

“
Jiminy crimps!
I’ve never been there!” Buddy said.

“Neither have I,” Djuna admitted.

“Well,” Mr. Scissors said, and he took off his glasses and looked down across the valley for a minute as though he were looking for something before he went on, “I never have either. But I’ve read about it. It’s a city that was built on a hundred little islands. So they don’t have any streets. They just have canals and everybody goes everywhere in boats. They have long, heavy oars on the backs of the boats that they oil sweeps. The man who makes the boat go sweeps it back and forth and back and forth. But now, somebody told me, they have machines like this emery wheel here. The man who makes the boat go sits in the seat and pedals and turns a propeller to make it go.” Mr. Scissors stopped for a moment to wipe his glasses and his forehead.

“Every once in a while,” Mr. Scissors said, and he chuckled to himself, “when it’s a hot day an’ I’m sittin’ here in the saddle peddlin’ away to sharpen things, I kind of forget where I am and the first thing I know I’m peddlin’ one of them boats down a nice, cool canal in Venice.

“All the gondoliers—that’s what they call the men who row the boats—are singin’ away at the tops of their voices and playin’ guitars, and the children are dancin’ along the edges of the canals, an’ pretty girls are lookin’ out of the windows of the funny-lookin’ houses and throwin’ roses at me. It’s a sight, let me tell you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything prettier in my life before. Why—–”

Suddenly Mr. Scissors stopped and he began to laugh and at the same time he said, “Say! What
am
I talkin’ about? We got a lot of work to do!”

After Mr. Scissors had stopped laughing and had wiped his glasses again he went back to the work-bench and got the knives and chisels and two hatchets he had left there and brought them over to the emery wheel. “I guess the best way to teach you about things is to start working, and then you’ll see just how I do it as we go along. Now, Buddy, you climb up on the saddle of the emery wheel. It’s bolted down, so it won’t turn over. Can you reach the pedals all right?”

“Yes, sir. They’re just right,” Buddy said, grinning.

“They’re adjusted for Joan,” Mr. Scissors said. “Sometimes she helps me. When
I
pedal I turn the wheel towards myself. With
you
peddlin’ I’ll stand around on the other side so that the wheel turns towards me. You can’t use an emery wheel except for the beginning or rough work, because it heats the steel in the tool too much. If the steel gets too hot it will take the hardness out of it and then it ain’t worth a drat.”