XXVI—TO THE RESCUE
All of a sudden the plot grew thicker. I thought we’d have to thin it with gasoline, it grew so thick. For a few minutes Pee-wee and I just stood there wondering what had become of Brent and laughing at the constable who was holding his axe in one hand and our can opener in the other, and all the people stood around staring at us as if they didn’t know what to make of us.
The constable said, “I daon’t like the looks uv this here, I don’t. You allowed there was somebody in that van. Now whar is he?”
I said, “I didn’t allow anything, I just didn’t deny anything. What’s the use of blaming us because you half chopped the van to pieces? All you’ve got is a can opener—we should worry. You seem to trust the dog; if you want to ask any questions you’d better ask him. The only person he knows how to track is Eliza, because that’s his business.“
“He’s on the stage,” Pee-wee piped up.
“You mean he’s in the van,” I said.
The constable said, “Wall, I reckon you youngsters’d better tell yer story ter Justice Cummins. It’s mighty funny two young boys travelin’ by theirselves in a big van.”
“I’ll recount our adventures to him,” Pee-wee piped up. “Where is he?”
For about half a minute the constable just stood there staring at us. I guess he didn’t know what he’d better do. All the rest of the people stood around, staring. I guess it was the biggest thing that ever happened in Barrow’s Homestead. Inside the van a couple of men were holding the bloodhound by the collar. Some excitement.
All of a sudden, zip goes the fillum, along the road came an auto, pell-mell! It came through the village from the direction we were going in.
“Look!” Pee-wee said. “Look who’s in it; it’s Harry; who’s that with him?”
Before I had a chance to say anything, the car was close up to us and Harry and another person were stepping out. Harry was laughing all over his face, but he was in a terrible hurry, I could see that. I gave one look at the person who was with him and began to roar.
“It’s—it’s Brent—Gaylong,” Pee-wee whispered.
I said, “Don’t make me laugh any harder or I’ll die of shock.”
Honest, even now when I think of it I have to laugh. He looked like Charlie Chaplin only more so. And he had such a funny way about him too—kind of dignified. He had on a great big straw hat like a farmer and a black coat like a minister, only it was all in shreds. It was his trousers that made him look like Charlie Chaplin. Laugh! They were about a hundred times too big and a mile too long, and every time he took a step he stumbled all over himself and had to hoist them up. His big hat was pulled way down over his ears and—oh, I just can’t tell you about it. He was a scream. And all the while he had a very dignified, severe look on his face, even when he tripped all over himself.
Honest, I just howled. I didn’t hear Pee-wee laugh; I guess he must have fainted. Harry came along behind Brent, trying not to laugh but every time Brent’s feet caught in his trousers I could see Harry’s face all twisted up just as if he was trying as hard as he could not to scream. Every step Brent took I thought he’d go kerflop on the ground. The people were all giggling, but he didn’t notice them at all, only kept on looking very sober and stern—oh, boy, it was a scream.
He said, “What is all this?” And then he fell all over himself and gave his trousers a hitch. “Who is interfering with these boys in the performance of their duty? Stand back, everybody!” And he went staggering against a tree and gave his trousers a good hitch up. “Who is the leader of this motley throng?” That’s what he said, and, gee whiz, I thought he’d skid and land on his head. You couldn’t see his hands, his sleeves were so long. “Who dares to stand—” he said, and, good night, he went kerflop on the ground and got right up again. I had a headache from laughing.
Harry Donnelle just sat down on the step of the van and shook and shook.
Brent pointed at the sheriff with the floppy end of his sleeve and said, “You and your minions are charged with trespassing upon the property of Jolly & Kidder, Inc., New York. Wait till I roll up my sleeves so I can point better. Who dares to stand in the way of the Boy Scouts of America?”
“Thar’s a convict missin’ from araound these parts,” the constable said; “who are you, anyway, and your friend thar?”
Brent said, “We represent the Archibald Abbington Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company who are touring the country, drawing laughter and tears with their excruciating and heart-rending drama, and I am in search of one of our ferocious bloodhounds. We are in partnership with the Boy Scouts of America and any one attempting to interfere with our noble effort to put an end to slavery will be punished to the full extent of the law. When we have an opportunity we will endeavor to find your convict for you. Please stand aside, everybody, and allow the procession to pass.”