The Green Turtle Mystery (8 page)

“Yes sir,” Djuna said. “We went back with Mr. Furlong that night but no one came to the door. Then Ben knocked on the door the next morning but no one answered.”

“You
see?
” Mr. Firkins said. “There
ain’t
nobody in that house except strange noises.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I started to go in there once and just as I unlocked the front door I
thought
I saw a little girl goin’ through a doorway, but when I followed her she wasn’t there. I ain’t been back in that place since, and I ain’t a-goin’ back until I can get the ghosts out of there.”

Mr. Firkins blew his nose so hard that he shook all over and his chair rattled.

“But Mr. Firkins, sir,” Djuna said. “I’m
sure
I saw a little girl. I
talked
to her.”

“And when you went back she wasn’t there, eh? If she wasn’t there the second time how can you be sure that she was there the first time?” Mr. Firkins asked.

Djuna was too mixed up to answer him, and besides he didn’t see any use in telling him again he was sure he saw a little girl.

“No sir!” Mr. Firkins went on. “You boys keep away from that house. I can’t have you goin’ in there. Let’s just suppose that one of those ghosts, or two of ’em even, carried one of you boys off with ’em? Who’d be responsible?”

Mr. Firkins spread his hands above his head while he shook it.

“
I
would be!” he stated. “That’s one of the big troubles with renting houses. If they get ghosts in ’em I’m responsible, even if I ain’t got no control over the ghosts.”

“But Mr. Firkins,” Djuna said, “we’re afraid Waterbury will starve to death. Couldn’t we just put a little food in there for him?”

“What good would that do? The ghosts would just eat it,” said Mr. Firkins. “Don’t you worry about the turtle. A turtle can go for days and days without any food or any water. They don’t mind it. Some of ’em even seem to enjoy it.” He turned to Ben. “Didn’t Furlong tell me on the telephone the other night that you live close by 777 Carpenter Street?”

“Yes sir,” Ben said.

“Has your mother got a big wash tub at home?” Mr. Firkins asked.

“Oh, yes,” Ben said. “She’s got a couple of them.”

“Well,” Mr. Firkins said. “You put it out in the middle of your yard and fill it with water and the first thing you know you’ll find your turtle in it.”

“Really, Mr. Firkins?” Ben asked.

“Yes sir,” Mr. Firkins said. “A turtle will always head for the nearest water and there ain’t any other water around there any place.”

“Oh gee! Thank you very much, Mr. Firkins,” Ben said. He was doubly relieved because now, even though Mr. Firkins had refused them permission to go in the house after Waterbury, he wouldn’t have the thought that perhaps he ought to go anyway, gnawing at his conscience.

“Well, boys,” Mr. Firkins said, “I’m pretty busy today so you’d better be runnin’ along. And you keep away from that house! If your turtle don’t come home within a few days drop in and see me again and maybe I can get another one for you.”

Both the boys thanked him again and Ben had a big grin on his face that spread from one ear to the other. But Djuna was very thoughtful as they went out the door to the street. When he got out on the street he turned and peered back into the office until he saw Mr. Firkins standing inside watching him. Then he quickly followed Ben down the street.

“Gee!” Ben said when Djuna caught up to him. “He’s the craziest-sounding man I
ever
heard. But that was very nice of him to offer to get me another turtle if Waterbury doesn’t come home.”

“Yes,” Djuna agreed, “it was nice of him. But I don’t think he’s as
crazy
as he sounds. There’s something very funny about him.”

“Gee! What do you mean?” Ben asked, and he looked worried.

“Well,” Djuna said, and he hesitated. “Gosh, I don’t know what I
do
mean,” he finished. “Let’s go up to your house and put a tub of water in the yard. Or do you have to go back to work?”

“No,” Ben said. “This is my afternoon off. Champ can get drinks of water out of the tub, too.”

“I don’t know,” Djuna said, doubtfully. “His legs are awful short, you know.”

“Maybe I can find a box for him to stand on,” Ben said.

“We can figure it out some way,” Djuna said.

They walked along in the warm sunshine, stopping now and again to inspect a shop window or debate on the merits of the various makes of cars parked along the curb.

As they stopped before a stationery store to look at the gadgets in its window Djuna remembered Ben’s Almanac and asked him if he had written anything in it on the previous day.

“Just one line,” Ben said, modestly. “That’s all I’m trying to do at the beginning. I think after I’ve written awhile it will get easier. It’s awful hard to think of things to write.”

“Can I see it?” Djuna asked with due respect.

“Sure,” Ben said, and he snickered as he pulled the notebook out of his hip pocket. “I guess I thought of the thing I wrote yesterday because I was thinking so much about Waterbury wandering around in that house all alone.” He opened the book and held it out for Djuna to read.

On the second page was scrawled: “
Tuesday. Don’t stick out your neck, said the giraffe to the turtle
.”

Djuna studied it for a while in silence. “That’s marvelous,” he said at last. “I don’t see how you think of things like that, before they happen.”

“Oh, it’s easy,” Ben said, casually, not remembering that a few moments before he had said it was awfully hard. Then he looked up startled. “What do you mean, before they happen?” he exclaimed.

“Well, we stuck our necks out today, when we went to see Mr. Firkins, didn’t we?” said Djuna. “But you wrote that yesterday,
before
we knew we were going to see him. See?”

“Oh,” said Ben thoughtfully. They walked on, deep in thought.

When they came to Pewter Platter Alley, Djuna said, “Do you suppose Mr. Furlong is home? If he is, I could give him the four shines I owe him for today. I don’t like to have them pile up on me
too
much, and the man who sold him the shoes said they’d fall apart if he didn’t keep them shined.”

“We could go down and see,” Ben said, “but I bet he’s at the ball park.”

They went around the corner and when they eame to Socker Furlong’s boarding house they looked up and saw the janitor, Mr. Tinker, sitting on the brownstone steps in the sun with his eyes closed. They stood there for a moment looking up at him and wondering whether he was really asleep.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes, stared at them for a moment and mumbled, quickly, “He ain’t in.” Then he closed his eyes again.

They looked at each other and started to giggle, and then moved quickly away as Mr. Tinker opened his eyes and glared at them.

“Gee! What’s the matter with
him?
” Djuna said in a low voice when they had nearly reached the corner again.

“Mr. Furlong said he always acts like a clam,” Ben said and he laughed. “Mr. Furlong says it’s because his wife won’t give him anything to eat but clams. I guess Mr. Furlong was just fooling.”

“You know, I just remembered,” Djuna said. “It doesn’t make any difference if I don’t give Mr. Furlong any shines today because I gave him today’s yesterday. I gave him eight yesterday.”

“Jeepers!” said Ben. “Let’s stay on this side of the street when we go by that empty house.”

“Nothing could hurt us when we’re ’way out on the sidewalk,” Djuna scoffed. “Anyway, I don’t believe in ghosts. Do you?”

“Gee!” Ben said and he shook his head. “I don’t know,
now
, whether I believe in them or not!”

The old house yawned at them like a frowsy old woman as they went by, and no one would have noticed that they quickened their stride unless it was someone who was watching them from behind the boarded windows of 777 Carpenter Street.

When they arrived at the blue-shuttered, white house where Ben lived, Ben went back into the kitchen to ask his mother if they could borrow one of her wash tubs. In a couple of minutes he came whooping around a corner of the house and said they could.

They got the tub out of the shed in the back where Champ was going to sleep and put it in the middle of the backyard. After hunting around for some time they found some bricks and stones with which they made what would be an island, in the center of the tub, after it was filled with water. At the top of the island they placed a flat stone so that Waterbury would have a nice comfortable place to sun himself when he got back. Then they filled the tub with water.

“Do you suppose this will
really
bring Waterbury back?” Ben asked when they were all finished.

“I don’t know. Mr. Firkins said it would,” said Djuna. “I wish we could ask Mr. Furlong. We could
depend
on what he said.”

“What will we do if Waterbury
doesn’t
come back?” Ben asked.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Djuna said in a lowered voice after he had looked all around him. “We’ll go up in that old house tonight and get him, if he doesn’t come back before dark!”

“
O-o-h!
” Ben said. “Would it be all right, after Mr. Firkins told us not to?”

“Yes,” Djuna said. “We wouldn’t do any harm We’ll take Champ with us and he’ll find Waterbury in no time.”

“Jeepers!” Ben whispered and he stared right straight in front of himself as though he didn’t like the idea.

“Say! What time is it?” Djuna asked. “Mr. Boots said he would get here with Champ about the middle of the afternoon.”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “I’ll look in the kitchen. It’s an awful nuisance not having Waterbury to tell time by.”

He ran into the kitchen and when he came out again he shouted “Half-past three,” at Djuna.

“Oh, gee!” Djuna said. “I’ve got to run. Champ will be awful disappointed if I’m not there when he gets to Mrs. Silvernails’. I’ll bring Champ over right after supper.”

“About seven,” Ben shouted and flipped his hand in farewell. “I’ll have his bed all fixed for him.”

W
HEN
D
JUNA
was half-way home he remembered that he had forgotten to tell Mrs. Silvernails the previous evening that Mr. Boots was going to deliver Champ that afternoon. He remembered, too, what Mrs. Silvernails had said about dogs, and he knew that Miss Annie wouldn’t like it if Champ made Mrs. Silvernails nervous. He started to run so that he could assure Mrs. Silvernails before Champ arrived that Champ was going to stay over at Ben’s house.

But when he ran into Mrs. Silvernails’ driveway and into the backyard he saw Mr. Boots’ truck standing there and he knew that he was too late. He hoped that Mrs. Silvernails wasn’t going to be cross, and then, when he didn’t see or hear Champ, the awful thought struck him that perhaps Mr. Boots hadn’t been able to bring Champ.

He looked all around in the backyard and in the back of the truck, and he was feeling pretty bad because he had decided that Mr. Boots hadn’t brought Champ. He started toward the back door of Mrs. Silvernails’ house when, suddenly, the most awful racket he had ever heard came from the front seat of Mr. Boots’ truck.

Then came a half dozen short, sharp barks that said, “Well? What
are
we waiting for? Let me
out
of here!”

Djuna was across the backyard and up on the running-board of Mr. Boots’ truck in two jumps, to find Champ inside a special box Mr. Boots had made of lathing so that Champ could see the countryside. As Djuna was unfastening the leather thong Mr. Boots had used for a latch, Champ’s red tongue darted through the slats to touch his hand, and Champ jumped up and down and wriggled so hard that Djuna thought the whole box would fall apart.

“For Pete’s sake, stand still!” laughed Djuna, happily. He pulled the shaggy little Scotch terrier out of his box and Champ darted his red tongue at Djuna’s face and wriggled to tell Djuna that he wanted to be put down.

Djuna put him down on the ground and Champ, to show his joy, raced around and around the backyard in circles until he was going so fast he couldn’t make the turns and skidded to roll over twice. He landed on his stomach and forelegs and lay there for a moment with his red tongue hanging out, panting, and with his hind legs stretched out behind him.

The next instant he jumped up and barked five times to say, “How–did–you–like–that?”

Just then Mrs. Silvernails and Mr. Boots came to the back door and Champ ran over and wagged his stubby tail and peered up at them through a tangle of black hair with his shoe-button eyes. At the same time he gave three short barks that sounded like “Rah! Rah! Rah!” and Mrs. Silvernails said, “Why, he’s the cutest thing I’ve
ever
seen!”

Djuna was very much relieved when he saw that Mrs. Silvernails liked Champ but he wished that she wouldn’t call him cute, because he knew Champ wouldn’t like it. Djuna knew that if she pretended that Champ was the
fiercest
dog she had ever seen Champ would be crazy about her.

“Hello, Djuna!” Mr. Boots said, his bright blue eyes shining with pleasure. Mr. Boots had a very kind face and when he smiled the top of his bald head wrinkled and the white fringe of hair around it seemed to dance, along with the fringe of white hair under his chin. “You’re lookin’ pretty fit for an old fellow.”

“Hello, Mr. Boots,” Djuna said as they shook hands. Djuna wished he could think of something to say that would let Mr. Boots know how very much he appreciated that Mr. Boots had brought Champ. “I’m glad to see you, and I’m awful glad to see Champ,” he said.

“I knew you would be, Djuna,” Mr. Boots said. “He was right good comp’ny. We talked all the way down.”

“For land’s sakes!” Mrs. Silvernails said, and she laughed.

Djuna reached in his hip pocket and pulled out his wallet and said, “I’d like to pay for your gasoline, Mr. Boots. I got some extra shines to do, so I can easily spare the money, if you’ll tell me how much it cost.”

“Well, I declare!” Mr. Boots said, rubbing his chin. “I don’t rightly know how much ’tis, Djuna. I tell you what you do.”

“Yes sir,” Djuna said, respectfully.