Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV. THE FLIGHT OF A WILD GOOSE. Jake was a great laugher, and now that he was happy and comfortable at home, and prospering in his business, the least thing would send him off into a roar of amusement. However, the next morning his peals of laughter were so loud and long that they at last aroused
his father who was dressing, until DeJane was scampering through her toilet upstairs, having overslept herself. When it comes to talking to the stars, when I ought to be sleeping, she murmured, giving a hasty brush to her hair, crouched down in your box little housetop, I can't feed you till after breakfast, but you won't mind as you had a lunch late last night.
The pigeon did not reply to her, and calling out, Oh, you're too sleepy to talk, are you? He sped down the stairway to the kitchen. Hank was usually the first one up and always started the kitchen fire, but this morning he had forgotten his work, and was rolling against the wall, alternately turning his face to it with gasps of amusement, and then gazing at a small piece of paper he held in
his hand. What's the matter, Hank? Hank inquired till to DeJane a little anxiously, for he was not generally taken with these convulsions of mirth so early in the morning. What's wrong with you, Hank? asked Grandpa at the same time, and he too surveyed his
son with some anxiety, for his laughter was becoming alarming. Hank made a mighty effort to control himself. Hear this, he said, with a catching of his breath. This document left on the kitchen table, and he read convulsively, Girls can turn as well as worms.
I run to reach a happy home. Grandpa listened in a mystified silence, but till DeJane, with a flash of intuition, clasped her hands in distress, and looking searchingly round the room exclaimed, Where's Perletta? I'm going to reach a happy home, replied Hank with a burn in his voice. She's run away, cried the little girl.
Oh dear, what shall we do? What shall we do? Concentrated pain and concern in her tones so attracted Hank's attention that he partially sobered himself. Never mind, Sissy, her whole body isn't worth one groan from you.
And I tried to make her happy, ejaculated till DeJane, and I was going to try harder. Oh, if I only hadn't lost my temper last night. Don't worry, don't worry, continued Hank reassuringly. I'll get you another girl. For my part, I'm glad she's gone.
I never could abide her. Are you sure she's gone? interposed Grandpa. Go look in her room. DeJane's face did not light up.
I know she's gone. I feel it. Little thing she's been saying and doing that way. She's not in her room, sir, said Hank, who hadn't in the meantime run upstairs. Let me see the paper, said Grandpa, and propping himself against the doorway, he held out his
hand. What's this in the corner? he asked. This small writing, I can't make it out. Hank went over to him while till DeJane, who had begun to feel faint and miserable, seated
herself in her little rocking chair and swayed dismally to and fro. Hank in no hurry to decipher the small writing at the bottom of the paper was again gloating over the first of it. Girls can turn as well as worms. I run to reach a happy home.
She's hard on the Rs. A regular Robin for them. I say, sissy, isn't home the French for man? Good London, she's after a man. I run to reach a happy home.
He won't be happy long after you reach him. On the contrary, as the French say, I dare say he's running rapidly right from you. It's a home she wants, moaned till DeJane. She has often talked to me about it. And you know how she was in despair and anger last night?
She wants someone to love her and call her their darling. My stars and garters, ejaculated Hank. That lump. She was jealous of me, continued the little girl. She thought you and Grandpa made too much of me.
I never made much of you, said Grandpa stoutly. Well, I did, said Hank with equal decision. And I'll go right on doing it for a better hearted little girl than our sissy never lived. And this goose head is an ungrateful bird to fly away from her. Till DeJane threw him a grateful but a very doleful glance.
She wants to be in a span with me, Hank. The French have talked to her about my running away from the asylum. I'm not proud of it. And I never told Perletta about it. But she thought it was smart.
And now she's gone. So she can equal me. Let her fly, responded Hank. I hope her cruise will be long and hearty. But we ought to bring her back, remonstrated till DeJane.
I'll have no pleasure till you do, Hank. She's like a poor lost lamb. A lamb? An ugly old goat, you mean, grumbled Hank. Will you read that post-grip, asked Grandpa irritably?
She may give us some information in it, hold on, replied Hank. Till I make it out, her writing is as queer as she is herself. The D-O-G-G, the dog and the bird are out of, out of what? Yes, I see, are out of trouble. The bird screamed till DeJane, and she was out of her little chair and
up the staircase like a streak of light. The dog repeated Grandpa slowly. Then his brain began to work. And he wheeled round and hitched himself toward the bed. Hank followed him curiously, but seeing his father convulsively twitching and
pulling the bedclothes, he helped him without a word. The little dog had lost his former habit of waking up early to play, and was now usually sleepy in the morning. They always had a hard time to quiet him down at night, for he was of an excitable and nervous temperament.
And to make up for this, he often slept till breakfast was half over. Grandpa's face was fiery. Where is he? He said desperately, I can't find him. My fingers are stiff.
He must be rolled up somewhere in the blankets. Look well, Hank, he's small. At this instant, Tilda Jane came flying into the room and threw herself down on the bed. My bird, my bird, my darling pigeon is gone.
That cruel girl has taken him. She'll never be able to feed him with those big fingers. He can't eat yet himself. He'll starve to death. My dear birdie, my little darling.
I loved him so. And she stared blankly before her. Grandpa, for a minute, forgot his own impending trouble in reminiscence. Months and months ago, he had in a rage lifted one of his crutches and
had struck Poacher to the ground. When Tilda Jane saw her pet lying apparently dead, she had turned on him the same terrible, unforgiving, hateful look. With which he now gazed into space. The loss of her petted bird had stirred the young girl's nature
to the same dreadful depths of long ago. But this time, her unnatural wrath did not last. She suddenly burst into tears and held out her hands. Oh, Lord, I am a wicked girl. But I want my Pidgey.
Grandpa, Hank, get me my bird. All right, girlie, said Hank soothingly. Just a minute. I'll go after him. But now let us find the pup.
The pup she echoed dismally. Then with the same understanding of the perverted perletta's nature that she had shown before and that the two men did not possess, she said, don't bother looking for him. He's gone too.
Poor Grandpa, poor dear Grandpa. It was now Grandpa's turn to become excited. His face dripping with perspiration, his hair bristling with indignation. He dropped into the big chair by his bed, almost incoherent from wrath. That girl, that, that, has she, could she steal that pup?
Never mind, Dad, said Hank in the same soothing tone in which he had addressed Tilda Jane. I'll harness right up and kite after her. You shall have your pup and pigeon back again. That pup, almost screamed Grandpa, that pup, as you call him, is a thousand dollar dog.
Hank opened his mouth wide and stared speechlessly at him. He's a thoroughbred, stammered Grandpa. Belongs to Mr. Waysmith. He's dead stuck on him. He's in my care.
Oh, Lord, what have I done to let that viper rifle me? A thousand dollar dog, repeated Hank, stupidly staring about him. Then what is he doing in this fifty cent house? He's delicate, roared Grandpa. Mr. Waysmith was afraid he'd die like most of his family.
He brought him here cause Tilda's such a master hand with dogs. I thought I'd keep him nights to let her have her sleep. I didn't dare to tell you what he was worth cause you'd all be anxious. I've sweated alone and now that girl's stole in and took him away. I've been false to my trust.
I've been false to my trust. And his white head sank on his breast in the speechless, hopeless grief of old age. Only he and Tilda Jane understood the real bitterness of his cry. Hank had never suspected his father's defolcation, but even without this knowledge, he was so deeply stirred that he clenched his hands and sudden tears came to his eyes.
Cheer up, Dad, he said stoutly. I'll catch that minx if she's above ground. Now let us quit wailing and get to business and taking on a decided air, and with no further thought either of laughter or tears, he seated himself on the edge of the bed. Grandpa sat beating his stiff old hands on his knees.
Get the police, my son. Telephone Mr. Wey Smith. Hank laid a quieting arm on his shoulder. Father, he said seriously, stop right now. Remember, you're a man, not an old baby. Let me check things off.
This dog does not belong to you. No, no, I told you he's Mr. Wey Smith's dog. He's one of a famous new breed they're starting. And he's worth a thousand dollars? Yes, yes, maybe more, I don't know.
Don't tell anyone that, Father. We want to go easy and not shout his value around town. Once the bad boys know that, they'd make your life miserable trying to steal him. I ain't told anyone yet but you and Tilda, said Grandpa indignantly. And I don't plan to tell any further but hurry, son, hurry and get him back.
Easy now, Dad, easy. I'll have him before night. Now, have you any conviction about the way that wild goose would fly? No, no, I don't know anything about her except that she's all the different kinds of fool a woman can be. I never talk to her.
Oh, get off. Set out, my son, go tell Mr. Wey Smith. Sissy, said Hank, turning to the woebegone, but very quiet little figure standing by the door. Sit down in that chair. Tilda Jane did as he bat her.
And he put some rapid questions to her. How long do you think Perletta has had this idea of running away? For some time, Hank. You know, she told us when she came here that she would run away if she did not like us. Have you any thought about which way she would go?
Tilda Jane hesitated. I think she would go to the woods, she said at last. She has heard what a time I had in the woods when I ran away and how I got Poacher there. You say you never talk to her about your adventures. Said Hank keenly.
Who did talk to her? I guess Mrs. Melequon mostly. I only told a few about my travels. She was one. She told me the other day.
Perletta had twisted it all out of her. She didn't want to tell, but she is so pliable. Hank dropped his head on his breast thoughtfully. The woods are all some distance from Sisgasset, he said. The question is which of them would she make for?
Go to the police, go to the police, urged Grandpa. Tell Mr. Waysmith it's his dog. He ought to know. Sure, sir, replied Hank, but we don't want the police yet. As I said before, we don't want to advertise his value.
I guessed your pup was a present from Mr. Waysmith and a relative of his own dog. But I did not know these other circumstances. Now I want to start this ball rolling myself. For Mr. Waysmith does not know Perletta as we do. I want a plan of action before we tell him.
Gloriana, I've got it. And he suddenly sprang into the air, almost startling Grandpa and Tilda Jane out of the small amount of composure remaining to them.
