Chapter 6 WE ARE OFFERED LODGINGS

The man with the pitchfork bent down and squinted in at the window, still holding me tight by the arm.

"Any more on ye comin' out?" he inquired.

"No, there aren't any more of us," said Mr. Daddles, "you've got the whole gang now."

"Better wait a second, Eb," said one of the men who was holding Mr. Daddles. He was a fat man, with ears that stuck out the way an elephant's do, when he waves them. "Better wait a second,-yer can't tell."

"You'll waste your time," said Mr. Daddles, "there's no one left in there but the policemen,-and you can't wake them up from here."

"P'licemen?" queried the fat man.

"Whatcher talkin' about?" asked the man with the pitchfork.

"I'm talking about the two policemen who are getting their eight hours in the library," Mr. Daddles replied, "Poor things! I hope we didn't disturb them."

"Don't yer believe him, Eb," said another man, "it's some gum game."

"Look here," I said, "this is all a mistake. We're not burglars.

This house-"

"Yes, we know all about that," said a man, "we've heard this feller tell all about his Uncle Alfred Peabody's house. It's a fust-rate story,-only Uncle Alfred's is next door. This is T. Parker Littlefield's, an' you know it, too."

"I'm afraid we did strike the wrong house, Sam," said Mr. Daddles, "you see-"

"You betcher struck the wrong house,-you're right there, fast enough," said a little man, who was hopping up and down in his excitement. He was the only one of them who was not holding one of us. He had short, paint-brush whiskers, and I remembered him as the man in the shanty,-the one whom Mr. Daddles called "black- hearted Gregory the Gauger."

"You ought to be ashamed of yerself," said he, "leadin' boys into crime!"

"Do you mean me?" asked Mr. Daddles.

"Yas-I mean you,-in the white pants," he replied, looking with great scorn at Mr. Daddles's duck trousers, "I've heard how you perfessional crooks git boys to climb up on water spouts an' let yer in. I seen yer jest after yer passed my place, an' I knowed what yer was up to."

"Well, you are quite wrong,-you're way off," said Mr. Daddles, very seriously. "I don't suppose it will do any good, but it will save you people from making yourselves ridiculous. It's all true, -what I told you. I thought we were getting into Mr. Peabody's house, and he IS my uncle. See here,-do you think we LOOK like burglars?"

"Can't tell what yer look like," said a man, "'we caught yer in-"

"In partiseps criminy," said Gregory the Gauger, "that's what it was. An' whatever you look like, you'll look different tomorrer mornin'. I don't cal'late you know anything about breakin' an' enterin' Dr. Bigelow's last night?"

"No, we don't. We weren't here last night."

"Course not, course not. Nor about bustin' into the Ellis place last Sat'day night?"

"No, nor about that either."

"Course not!"

The men who were holding Ed Mason had been seized with the idea of searching him. So they made Ed turn out his pockets in the hope of finding some stolen goods. They examined the jack-knife, cork- stopper with three fish-hooks in it, and lead sinker which they found, and argued whether this was plunder from the house or not. Then they started to search the rest of us, and we all had to empty our pockets. Not until they came to the pound-cake, in Jimmy Toppan's pocket, did they find anything of consequence, and as he admitted that he had taken that from the house, they felt that they had made a real discovery. They handed it over to the pitchfork man.

"Here, Eb," said Gregory the Gauger, "yer want to keep this-it's everdence."

At this moment one of the policemen put his head out the window, and Eb promptly dropped the cake, and grabbed the policeman by the shoulder, remarking: "I thought there was another one on ye!"

Then he tried to drag the policeman out of the window by force. The policeman planted his feet firmly, and, as he weighed about three hundred pounds, he successfully resisted all efforts to drag him.

"What in thunder you tryin' to do?" he asked in a high, squeaky voice.

"TRYIN' TO DO? I'll show ye,-resistin' a officer! Here, Justin, give us a hand here, won't ye?"

In the meantime the policeman was blowing a whistle to summon his mate. Eb stooped down again, and he and the policeman looked in each other's faces,-their noses only half an inch apart. Eb had seen the brass buttons.

"Be you a officer?"

"You'll find out whether I am or not!" said the furious policeman, standing up and blowing his whistle again.

"Then watcher doin' here?"

"I'm here mindin' my own business,-I was sent here to look after this house-orders of the Chief. Who in thunder are you?"

"This here's the Kunsterble," said Gregory the Gauger, nodding his head toward Eb, "an' we've ketched the burglars. Here they be!"

The policeman blinked at us, and once more blew his whistle. At last the other policeman came, looking about half awake. He was the one who had been snoring so loud.

"What's all this ruction about?" he asked in a very cross tone. The big policeman said something to him in a low voice, and they both stepped out on the veranda. The first thing that the sleepy policeman started to do was to cuff all of us boys. But Mr. Daddles spoke up sharply, threatening to get him into trouble for it, and even Eb protected us.

"No call to do that, Mister," he said, "we'll see to gettin' these young fellers put where they belong for tonight. Tomorrer we'll hold Court, an' find out what's what."

Everyone began to talk at once. It came out that the policemen had been sent there from the town on the mainland, at the request of Mr. Littlefield, who owned the house. He had gone away the day before, and as there had been two burglaries in Bailey's Harbor, or its vicinity, he did not like to leave his place unprotected. Eb and Gregory the Gauger wished to enter the house, "an' go over it to see if it's all right." The policemen refused to allow them to enter,-probably because they did not wish it to be seen how they had been keeping watch.

This made Eb very angry. He seemed to feel that the dignity of his office, "Kunsterble of this here island," was not getting its proper respect. But I think that the uniforms and brass buttons of the policemen rather frightened him. The only sign of his high station was a badge, pinned to his suspenders. The two policemen ended the discussion by going inside the house once more,-"to make up their lost sleep" suggested Mr. Daddles. They retired within and shut the window.

Then Eb and the rest of them started to march us back to the village. The news of our capture had spread and there must have been twenty or thirty men and boys waiting for us at the front gate. Some of them had lanterns, and two or three had shot-guns or rifles.

"We left Bailey's Harbor very modestly," Mr. Daddles remarked, "but our return is certainly impressive."

"You better keep your mouth shut, young feller," said one of the men, "committin' burglary aint no joke."

"That's right, that's right," said Gregory the Gauger, who was flitting about from one to the other of us, "an' whatever may be said against yer, may be used in yer favor, too,-better remember that."

The constable was still more indignant because the crowd nocked around us.

"Clear outer here! Clear outer here!" he shouted two or three times. But they only laughed at him. Then we set out over the dusty road. First came Eb, with two other men leading Mr. Daddles, then Jimmy and Ed Mason, each securely held, while I was at the end of the procession, gripped by the arm and collar by a tall man, who never uttered a word. At our heels and doing their best to step on MY heels whenever they could, came a mob of boys and men.

When we got back to the Harbor, it had quite changed its appearance. From being a dark and deserted place it was now rather lively. There were lights in most of the houses and people waiting in the street.

On our way out of the village, an hour or two before, we had noticed a tent at the edge of the inlet, just above Gregory's hut. The people in the tent had turned out now,-they were three young men, who seemed to have been camping there. They had hung a lighted Japanese lantern over the door of the tent, and one of the campers was playing on a banjo.

The constable halted the whole procession, and ordered one of his assistants to put the banjo-player under arrest.

"I won't have it!" he shouted, "he's disturbin' the peace!"

Everyone laughed at this,-there was so much noise in the street that the banjo could hardly be heard. But a man went across the road, took the player by the arm, and told him that he must come along. The banjo-player seemed to be perfectly dumb-founded; his friends gathered round, argued, threatened, and finally laughed, and tried to treat the whole thing as a joke. Eb was stubborn, and the man joined our parade, with his banjo under his arm.

The police-station and jail were both in a new building half way up the hill. Into this we were hurried, and the doors were shut.

"Keep 'em all out!" shouted the constable, "keep 'em all out, except members of the possy!"

The "possy" seemed to consist of Eb himself, the men who were guarding us,-five or six of them-and Gregory the Gauger. I never found out just what office he held, but he was clearly the most important man of the lot,-except Eb. The constable leaned his pitchfork against the wall, lighted one or two lamps, sat down behind a desk and put on a pair of spectacles. Then he jerked his head, as if to beckon, toward the banjo-player.

"Name?" said he, picking up a pen.

"My name is Warren Sprague," said the man.

"Occupation?"

"I suppose you would call me a student."

"Don't yer know that yer was disturbin' the peace-"

"Contrary to statoot," put in Gregory the Gauger.

"Shut up, Mose!" said the constable.

"I thought that the peace was pretty well disturbed already," said the banjo-player,-"there was so much noise in the street that it woke us all up. I couldn't sleep,-none of us could sleep, and I didn't see any harm in playing a tune. Whose peace could I disturb?"

"Looky here, young feller, it won't do yer any good to get flip!"

"I'm not going to get flip."

"Don't yer know that it's agin the law to play on a moosical instrument after eleven P. M.?"

"No, sir, I didn't know it. Are you going to have me executed for it? Because if you are, I hope that you'll let me consult a spiritual adviser, first."

"You're too fresh, young feller. I might have let yer off-"

"With a reppermand," put in Gregory.

"Mose, you shut your head!" said the constable.

Then he turned again to the prisoner.

"I mighta let yer off, but now I'm goin' to keep yer right here in the lockup, an' consider the case tomorrer mornin'. Take him below, Justin." Justin was the fat man, with the fan-like ears. He stepped forward.

"Number six?" he asked the constable.

"Yup. Put him in number six."

Justin took the prisoner by the arm, took the banjo in his other hand, and together they started down stairs. They passed in front of us to reach the stairs, and as they did so, the young man turned to Mr. Daddles with a smile:

"If you ever get out alive, remember me to my friends, out there.

Tell 'em I passed away, thinking of them."

"Silence in the Court!" cried Gregory.

The constable was now in a fury.

"If he locks up a man for banjo-playing-" murmured Mr. Daddles,-

"He'll have us burned at the stake," suggested Jimmy Toppan.

I had been feeling very unhappy ever since we arrived in the police-station. It looked to me as if we were in a pretty bad fix. The constable was so savage toward everybody it didn't seem possible that he would believe that we had broken into the house by mistake. Also, I was so tired that I was ready to drop. We had been up since four o'clock that morning, and it was now after midnight. It seemed to be years since we had left the "Hoppergrass," and during the last few hours we had walked over a dozen miles.

"Now," said the constable, "we'll make short work of you. Names?"

He really seemed to be less indignant with us, than with the banjo-player. Burglary was a smaller offence in his eyes than "disturbin' the peace,"-with a banjo.

He soon had the names of Edward Mason, James Rogers Toppan, and

Samuel Edwards added to his list.

"Name?" he snapped to Mr. Daddles.

"Richard Hendricks."

"Why!" exclaimed Ed Mason, "I thought your name was Daddles!"

"Hear that? hear that?" put in Gregory the Gauger, "that's his

Elias!"

"No, it's not an alias,-in the sense that you mean. It's a nickname. There is no use in going through this again. What I told you in the first place is all true,-and we'll prove it to you in the morning. I know, or used to know, a number of people here. I know Mr. Littlefield, my uncle's neighbor, but if he's gone away, that won't do any good. But I know an old lady down the street here, who lets rooms, and sells sweet-peas, and painted shells, and things. Isn't there such a woman?"

"What's her name? S'pose there is,-what of it?"

"I can't recall her name now. She could tell you who I am. But if you're determined to lock us up until the morning you might as well do it. We're all tired out, and we've got to sleep somewhere. I warn you that you're making a mistake and that we're not the burglars you are looking for. We came in here this afternoon in a boat, as I told you."

"I told you they come in a boat," said a man.

"What was the name of the boat?" asked the constable.

"The Hoppergrass."

"The-what's-that-you-say?"

"Hoppergrass."

"I never heard of no such boat."

Mr. Daddles was silent.

"Where's the boat, now?"

"I don't know,-she sailed away."

The constable laughed.

"You needn't think you can play it over me, with any such story as that, young feller."

Justin had now returned from down stairs, and the constable ordered him and another man to conduct us all below.

"Put 'em in number four an' five."

"Number four an' five it is!"

So we descended the stairs. Below, there was a brick-lined corridor, with three cells on each side. At the end a kerosene lamp hung in a bracket on the wall. This was the only light.

"Hullo!" said a cheerful voice, "how long did you get? Life- sentence?"

It was the man who called himself Sprague. His banjo stood against the wall just outside his cell, and under the lamp.

"No," said Mr. Daddles, "we're awaiting our trial in the morning, the same as you."

"What was your crime, anyway? Whistling?"

Justin shook his head at the man in the cell.

"You fellers better look out,-all on ye," said he. "Eb's pretty mad. An' he's got a bad temper when he gets riled, I tell you. An' folks are all stirred up about this burglin' business."

He looked at us doubtfully, and shook his head again. The other man-he was the tall, silent one, who had led me along the road- opened the last cell on the right and told Ed Mason and me to go in. Mr. Daddles and Jimmy were put in a cell across the corridor. The tall man vanished upstairs, leaving us all locked in. Justin was turning down the light.

"Look here, old sport," said the banjo-player, "just let me have that, will you?"

He pointed toward the banjo. Justin's jaw dropped, and he raised his hands in horror.

"Let yer have that? Holy Cats! Why, Eb would skin me alive-an' you too-if you was to play on that thing down here!"

"I don't want to play on it," replied the man, "but the strings will get damp, and break, out there. Just let me have it in here, -that's a good fellow. I can let the strings down a bit. No good spoiling 'em. I won't play a note on it. Honest Injun!"

"Sure about it?" asked Justin.

"Sure. Honest, I won't."

"Well, all right, then. Mind what yer promised, now!"

He took a key down from a hook under the lamp, unlocked the cell door, and passed in the banjo. After locking the door with great care, and replacing the key on its hook, he bade us all good night, and went upstairs.

"Burglary? Is that what the Czar has run you in for?" This from the stranger with the banjo.

"That is the crime with which we are charged."

"Well, I must say you disappoint me. I had always hoped for something better in the way of burglars. I hope you won't be offended but really, you know, you don't look DESPERATE enough."

"It's our first offence," said Mr. Daddles.

"That's what I thought," said the stranger heartily, "but I didn't like to say so,-for fear of hurting your feelings. Cheer up,- you'll improve as time goes on."

"Have you been here long?" I asked.

"Came in yesterday,-or day before yesterday, rather. We were in that black sloop,-perhaps you noticed her? You were in the white cat-boat, weren't you? We saw you when you came in."

"Did you see her go out?"

We all asked this eagerly.

"No,-has she gone out? We were on board our boat all the afternoon,-down in the cabin, I guess. Wish I'd stayed there. But we had the tent,-one of the fellows likes to sleep on shore, and so we all stayed. Say, this is a little bit of Russia, isn't it? Eb could give the Czar points. This is a new police-station, and he thought it ought not get rusty."

"Find your quarters comfortable over there?" asked Mr. Daddles across the corridor.

"Great!" said Ed Mason. He had already taken off his coat, rolled it up for a pillow, and lain down on one of the wooden benches in our cell. I was preparing to do the same. Upstairs we heard the front door slam, as Justin, and the last of the "possy," left the police-station.

"S-s-s-t!"

This came from the banjo-player's cell.

"Watch this, boys!"

I looked out the barred door of our cell, and so did Mr. Daddles and Jimmy from theirs, on the other side of the corridor. The banjo-player, holding his instrument by the head, was poking the neck of it through his door. Very carefully he managed it, and I soon saw what he was after. The big key, hanging on the wall under the lamp, was just within his reach. With the utmost care he inserted one of the keys of the banjo in the ring of the cell key, and drew it off the hook. Then holding the banjo very delicately he pulled it slowly inside the cell, until he had the key in his hands. Then he grinned out at us.

"Talk about Baron Trenck and Monte Cristo!" he said.

In a second more he had put one hand through the bars of his cell, put the key into the lock and let himself out.

"What's the matter with this,-hey, what? Another chapter in

Celebrated Escapes!"

Then he tip-toed back into his cell, and shut the door again.

"It won't do to go upstairs too soon. I'll give 'em time to get home. Then I'll get the keys to your cells,-never shall it be said of Despard D'Auvigny that he deserted his friends in misfortune! A regular jail-delivery,-what? The destruction of the Bastille was nothing to this! And we'll carry Eb's head on a pike."

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Daddles, "I never thought of that! Do you suppose the keys to our cells are upstairs? I thought you were the only one to get anything by this,-I was resolving always to carry a banjo with me."

"Why, I guess they'll be upstairs,-I can't for the life of me see why this was left down here. But I don't care,-I've no fault to find with the arrangement. Now, we'll have to wait awhile."

We all sat down and waited for about ten minutes. Then the banjo- man, saying "the hour has came!" opened his door again, and stole softly upstairs. Half way up he turned and came back for a match. Mr. Daddles gave him one, and he vanished with it. He was gone a long while, and we began to be in despair, thinking that he couldn't find the keys, or perhaps that he had gone away without troubling himself any more about us.

At last however, we heard him once more on the stairs. He came down, on tip-toe, holding up two keys. He was smiling gleefully.

"They were in Eb's desk and all tagged and numbered."

In a moment or two we were all out in the corridor. Our new friend locked all the cell doors, and hung up his key on its hook.

"It shall be an unsolved mystery to them all. They shall puzzle themselves bald-headed over it," he whispered.

Upstairs we stopped long enough to return the keys to Eb's desk. Our friend still had his precious banjo under his arm. We had to go cautiously in the dark, as we dared to light only one match, and that we kept covered as well as we could. There was a window at the rear of the building, and unlike the window in the corridor below, it was not barred.

Mr. Daddles and I looked out. There were no lights to be seen, and no people about. We raised the window very cautiously, an inch at a time.

"Country police have their disadvantages," whispered Mr. Daddles, "but they have this virtue: they go home at night, and let the jail take care of itself. In the city, we should have had to pick our way through the slumbering forms of innumerable cops."

We listened at the window. Bailey's Harbor, after its great excitement over the captured burglars, had gone home, and gone to sleep. Everything was quiet as a graveyard. We could hear the slapping of the water against the timbers of the wharf, and somewhere, a rooster, disturbed by the moonlight, crowed once. It was a dim and sleepy sound, and it was not repeated. The fog had nearly gone; the moon shone clear.

One by one, and as quiet as mice, we crawled through the window, and dropped to the earth below.