The Red Chipmunk Mystery (27 page)

“Okay, Tommy,” Captain Ben said when Tommy came back with the net. “Just slip the net under the surface of the water, and Djuna, you lead the fish over the net. Don’t jab at her with the net, Tommy, or hit her tail or you’ll lose her. That’s it, bring the net up under her with a gentle sweep. And there she is!” Captain Ben said as Tommy lifted the exhausted bass into the boat.

“Well, for mercy’s sake, Djuna,” said Miss Annie. “A real bass! Weren’t you excited?”

“Excited!” Djuna said as he wiped his glistening forehead. “I’m glad I didn’t have anything in my mouth. I’d have swallowed it. I nearly swallowed my tongue.”

“You both did a nice job, boys,” said Captain Ben, and then he pointed to show them that the bass had only been hooked by a thin piece of skin on it slip. “That’s why you need a landing net,” he said. “If you’d tried to lift her over the side o’ the boat you’d a lost her.”

“I see what you mean, Captain,” Djuna said, and then asked eagerly, “Would it be all right if we fished some more?”

“No, sirree!” said Captain Ben. “You want I should have all my ice melt, and have all the milk I have aboard go sour? No, sirree! I got to get about my business. We’ll just put this bass in a bucket of water to keep it fresh an’ be on our way.”

“Golly, I didn’t think about that, Captain Ben,” Djuna said. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Ain’t no cause to be sorry,” said Captain Ben with a chuckle. “Jest scoop me up a bucket of water; you’ll find a bucket in the wheelhouse.” When Djuna brought back a bucket of water Captain Ben dropped the bass in it and said to Clarabelle, “Okay, mate, put in at the McKelvey dock.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” said Clarabelle, and she threw the engine in gear, swung the wheel hard to starboard and bore away on the proper course.

There were three children, a tiny kitten and a Dalmatian dog waiting on the McKelvey dock to greet them. The largest boy was about the age of Djuna and Tommy, his brother was about two years younger, and the little girl, who had black hair and eyes and a turn-up nose, was about seven. The Dalmatian and Champ greeted each other when they were still thirty or forty feet apart, but the children waited to say, “Hi!” until Tommy and Djuna dropped the mooring loops over the cleats on the McKelveys’ dock.

“Good morning, Captain Ben,” the little girl called. “Did you remember my chocolate cookies?”

“You betch’r bottom sinker I did!” said Captain Ben as he reached up and chucked the little girl under the chin. “They’re right in with your groceries.”

“Thank you very much, Captain,” she said sweetly.

“Now, let’s see,” said Captain Ben and raised his blue cap and scratched his head. “Long as you’re all neighbors you oughta be acquainted. Miss Annie, and Djuna and Tommy, these are the McKelvey children—according to size—Andy, and Don and Betsy.” Captain Ben chuckled and added, “The cat’s Betsy’s, and the dog is Andy’s.”

“Do you like cookies, Betsy?” Miss Annie asked the little girl.

“Almost better than
anything
,” said Betsy very seriously, “but there’s no bakery in Lakeville, an’ my mother doesn’t know how to bake cookies. Captain Ben brings me ones that come in a box.”

“Glitterin’ glories of Golconda!” Miss Annie said. “I thought
everyone
knew how to bake cookies.” Miss Annie’s eyes were bright as she smiled at Betsy. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll bake you some brownies and bring them over to you.”

“Oh, would you really and truly?” Betsy asked with wide eyes. And then as Champ barked at her to say they really and truly would she said, “Could I hug your dog?”

“Well, he’s not my dog,” said Miss Annie doubtfully. “What do you think, Djuna?”

“Sure,” Djuna said, and he picked Champ up and put him in Betsy’s outstretched arms. Champ wriggled for a moment and then he licked Betsy’s cheek with his red tongue to show that they were friends.

“You want to come over and go fishing with us sometime?” Andy said to Djuna.

“Jeepers! That would be swell,” said Djuna. “I bet you know all the best places to fish.”

“Well, I know a few good ones,” Andy said. “Especially for yellow perch.”

“That’s just what we want to catch,” said Tommy, and then he frowned. “But you have to get worms to catch perch. Do you know any place to get worms?”

“I do,” said Don. “I know a dandy place where you can get great big fat ones, night crawlers and red worms both. And I know a place where we can get hel—hellgr—hellgramm—”

“Hellgrammites!” his brother Andy said, helping him out.

“What are
they?
” asked Tommy.

“You get ’em under rocks along the edge of a stream,” Andy said. “They’re sort of like a centipede, only larger, and black. They’re the best kind of live bait for bass.”

“Step lively there, mates,” Captain Ben boomed as he tossed the empty delivery box he had taken up to the McKelvey cottage into the stern of the boat and stepped in after it.

“Don’t forget your dog,” said Betsy who was still holding Champ in her arms.

“Come on, fellah,” Djuna said as he put up his hands to take Champ. Champ wriggled in his arms and barked at Betsy twice to say, “Good-by.”

“I won’t forget your cookies, Betsy,” said Miss Annie as Clarabelle threw the engine in gear to go astern.

Then they all shouted good-by to each other and the Dalmatian ran along the bank of the lake and barked, and Champ stood up with his paws on the gunwale and barked back as Clarabelle maneuvered the tubby motorboat over to the next dock where Tony and Sarah Brewster were waiting to greet them.

There Miss Annie found out that Sarah Brewster loved cookies, too, and that Mrs. Brewster didn’t know how to bake cookies either.

“For mercy’s sake!” said Miss Annie as they went on to the next dock. “I don’t see what’s the matter with all the women around this lake. Can’t any of them bake?”

“About half of ’em can’t,” said Captain Ben. “I can tell you which ones can’t because I know which ones buy store cakes and cookies.”

“I never heard of such a thing,” said Miss Annie indignantly.

“Well, you see,” Captain Ben explained, “lots of the cottages jest have oil stoves with little ovens that just sit on top of a burner, an’ they ain’t so handy f’r bakin’.”

“That’s true,” said Miss Annie emphatically. “Give me a good old-fashioned range, or a gas stove, any time.”

“That’s our last call until we get around on the west side of the lake,” Captain Ben said. “There ain’t no cottages here at the north end. Jest that old icehouse.”

He pointed at an enormous old frame building that was somewhat dilapidated and looked as though it had never been painted, that stood on the edge of the lake. It had a little cupola, about ten feet square, on the top that had ventilator slats instead of windows. There was a rickety ladder from the ground to the ridgepole, and an open doorway that began at the top of the building and extended all the way to the platform at the bottom. The old chute up which they had pulled the ice slanted down from the top of the building to the surface of the water.

“Don’t they use that old icehouse at all, Captain Ben?” asked Djuna. “Where do you get your ice for your deliveries?”

“Not any more,” said Captain Ben. “We got an artificial ice plant in Lakeville now. Ain’t used this one in years. I used to help cut ice for it, years and years ago, afore I went to sea.

“There was an old man, name of Winne, who used to own it and run it. Ain’t been used since he died and they built the new plant in town. There is a cookhouse, back of the icehouse there, that’s hidden by the woods. Old Man Winne used to let us make coffee, and cook stuff back there. I tell you, the wind used to whistle down fr’m the north in the wintertime! Like to take the hide right off you.

“There’s another shed, not so big as the icehouse, where they used to keep sawdust. They used to put it around the edges of the ice as they stored it away in the winter. Them old icehouses is kind of a gone institution nowadays.”

“I don’t think I ever saw one before,” said Djuna. “It’s an awful gloomy looking old place.”

“Yep, ’tis,” Captain Ben agreed, and he chuckled as he waved at a man who was sitting on a shelf of the wooden runway, fishing. The man perched there didn’t wave back. He didn’t even look up. They saw his head nod and realized that he was asleep.

“That,” said Captain Ben, “is the laziest human bein’ that ever drew the breath of life. Lem Brayne his name is. Used to call him Lame-Brain, when we was kids. Lem left town years ago, afore I did, and jest come back this summer. Brought a couple of city fellahs with him, name of Jones and Baldwin. They seem like nice fellahs, but they must be crazy. Know what they’re a doin’? The two of ’em have rented that old icehouse from Winne’s daughter, poor thing, and are packin’ the sawdust we used to use and are shippin’ it somewheres!”

“What do they do with it?” asked Djuna.

“Well, they say they’re shippin’ it someplace to stuff dolls with!” Captain Ben said, and he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Yessir! That’s what they claim. Paid her a cool hundred honest-to-gosh dollars for it, and tain’t wuth nothing’! Lame-Brain is supposed to be workin’ for ’em, but he never does nothin’ but set there on that runway, fishin’ and sleepin’.”

“They
must
be crazy,” said Djuna. “I don’t think they even use sawdust to stuff dolls anymore.”

“Well, I dunno,” Captain Ben said.

“Is the Miss Winne who works in Scatterly’s store the daughter of the man who owned the icehouse?” Miss Annie asked.

“That’s right,” said Captain Ben. “Poor thing, she’d always had everything until her pa died, and then she had to go to work. Everybody thought Old Man Winne had made a lot of money in the years he was runnin’ that icehouse and a coalyard in Lakeville. But he didn’t leave his daughter a cent.”

“That’s a pity,” said Miss Annie. “She seemed very nice.”

“She is,” Captain Ben agreed. “She is.”

“Well, for Pete’s sake!”
said Djuna suddenly. “
What’s
the matter with
him?
”

“What’s the matter with who?” Captain Ben asked as he turned around and peered toward the bushes, along the water’s edge, at which Djuna was staring.

“I saw a man’s face glaring at us out of the bushes, over there!” said Djuna excitedly. “He looked as though he was crouched down and didn’t want to be seen.”

“Sure you wa’n’t seein’ things?” asked Captain Ben.

“No, sir,” said Djuna stoutly. “He had a brown face and his lips were drawn back over his teeth just like a snarling dog!”

“Prob’ly a Injun,” Captain Ben said, and he chuckled. “Lots of ’em around these parts. Did he have a feather in his hair?”

Djuna couldn’t help laughing, too, as all the rest of them began to laugh. Then his face became thoughtful and he said, half to himself, “Golly, but he looked mad!”

“Now, Djuna!” Miss Annie said sharply. “I want you to stop imagining things.”

“All right,” said Djuna, and he grinned. “It
was
an Indian, and he did have a feather in his hair.”

Captain Ben laughed, and struck a match and shielded the flame with his cupped hands in true sailor fashion to light his pipe. When he had his pipe going he said, “What about singin’ ‘I’m Called Little Buttercup’ for us, Clarabelle? You start it an’ we’ll all sing it.”

“Sure!” said Tommy and Djuna, while Miss Annie beamed approval at Clarabelle.

Clarabelle giggled as she watched Captain Ben puffing away on his pipe, and then she began to sing. But she didn’t sing “I’m Called Little Buttercup.” She sang to the tune of “Old King Cole”:

Miss Annie, Djuna and Tommy laughed until their sides ached because when Clarabelle came to the chorus Captain Ben leaped to his feet and did another sailor’s hornpipe while they all clapped their hands to keep time. And then when Clarabelle raised her hand and started to sing the chorus a second time Miss Annie pretended that she was playing a fiddle, and Djuna and Tommy joined her, as they sang, to make “his fid-dlers three.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” gasped Captain Ben as he sat down after his second hornpipe. “I ain’t had so much fun since I swallowed the anchor!” Then, suddenly he sat up, although he was still gasping, and sang:

“Oh, oh, oh!” Captain Ben gasped again when he had finished, and his face was so red that Miss Annie stopped laughing and regarded him anxiously.

“Will you sing that again, Captain?” Tommy asked eagerly.

“N-o-t-t n-o-o-w!” said Captain Ben between gasps. “Get Clarabelle to sing ‘I’m Called Little Buttercup’ while I get my breathin’ apparatus to workin’ ag’in.”

So, Clarabelle cocked her sailor’s hat even farther over on the side of her head and sang. And when she came to the last line, Captain Ben had recovered his breath enough so that all five of them roared:

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1948 by Frederic Dannay and Manfred B. Lee