Whang! Bang!! CRASH!!! BING!
“It’s the cat!” screeched Scoop, leaping to his feet. “Beat it, Jerry. Here comes old blunder-buss.”
We went out of the house like a streak, my daring companion in the lead with the piano leg under his arm and me hot on his flying heels. Behind us we could hear the killer bounding down the stairs. The lock tender, in his bedroom, was roaring at the top of his voice.
Did you ever read the story about Jack, the boy who climbed the beanstalk? If you have you will remember the part where the hero was escaping from the giant’s castle with the singing harp. [[179]]The harp, not wanting to be stolen, had awakened the giant by crying: “Master! Master!”
Well, I had a skidding thought of Jack’s flight with the harp as we made off with the lock tender’s piano leg. For back in the house the piano was yelling for its master as loudly as the black and white cat could make it.
We were now out of sight of the house. And realizing that the moonlight would show us up if we tried to escape down the tow path, we wisely dove into the heavy underbrush. Panting, our hearts pounding in the excitement of our escape, we lay on the ground, sort of tuning in on the shouting voices of our pursuers.
In a moment or two the running lock tender came into sight. He had his shotgun. Dad told me afterwards that I needn’t have been in fear of the gun—he said that the man wouldn’t have dared to have used it on us. But I’m not so sure about that. A man as crazy as the lock tender was is liable, in his excitement, to do anything.
The evil-faced killer came into sight, panting and sort of clawing the air with his working hands.
“It’s them pesky b’ys,” our former jailer roared, having paused near our hiding place. [[180]]“How they got in the house, though, is more ’an I know.”
“We’ve got to capture them, sir,” the other panted hoarsely.