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TOTTER ILLINOIS

Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from Kahle/Austin Foundation

https://archive.org/details/jerrytoddrosecolOOedwa

Donated to the Internet Archive by Mark John Graham

https://archive.Org/details/@markjgraham/

mark@archive.org Universal Access to All Knowledge

HE ACCIDENTALLY RAN INTO THE MAN WITH THE BIG

SPECTACLES.

Jerry Todd and the Rose- Colored Cat . Frontispiece— (Page 4)

JERRY TODD

AND THE

ROSE-COLORED CAT

BY

LEO EDWARDS

Author of

THE JERRY TODD BOOKS, ETC.

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1921, by The Sprague Publishing Go. Detroit, Mich.

Copyright, 1924, by

GROSSET & DUNLAP

JERRY TODD SAYS:

The mystery part of this adventure really started the day we got Mrs. Kepple’s letter saying she was shipping us her famous rose-colored cat, Lady Victoria. Professor Stoner declared on the spot there was no such thing as a rose-colored cat — only he called it a feline. But right there in front of our eyes was the letter. And just as plain as day it read: “rose-colored cat.”

So we were all excited and went to the depot in a body the morning the cat arrived. When we squinted into the box we got the surprise of our lives. And I imagine you’ll get something of a surprise when you read about it.

For the most part the people in Tutter re¬ garded our cat troubles as a joke. We didn’t mind that. And you can snicker all you want to as you read down through these pages. If you like the story well enough to wish another like it, suppose you try my first book, JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY. In case you already have enjoyed the “mummy” story, there is still my third book, JERRY TODD

yi JERRY TODD

AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE, and also JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING HEN, book number four. These are all stories about Scoop and me and Red and Peg. Full of mystery and packed with clean fun.

My fifth book, JERRY TODD AND THE PUZZLE ROOM MYSTERY, is about a haunted house. I guess this old house is the only one in the world having a puzzle room. Therein lay the mystery. There is a ghost, and heaps of fun. I imagine you’ll enjoy this book more than some of the others if you particularly like spooky stories.

Your friend,

Jerry Todd.

OUR CHATTER-BOX

HERE again I am provid¬ ing a “ Chatter-Box’ ’ for a book (this is Leo Edwards speaking) that was published several years ago without a “Chatter-Box.” As I ex¬ plained in the new “Chatter- Box” in Jerry Todd and the Whispering Mummy, “Our Chatter-Box,” a department open to all readers of my books, both girls and boys, began with my sixteenth book. Made up mainly of youthful contributions (letters, poems and so on) this department soon gained great popularity. More and still more young readers wrote to me, hoping to see their letters in print; and now my publisher has given to me the very pleasing job of incorporating many of these letters in brief “Chatter- Boxes” for all of my early volumes.

Writers of accepted poems will receive, as a reward, a free autographed copy of the book in which their poem appears. Many fine poems, featuring the characters in my books, are contained in the “Chatter-

• • YU

Boxes” in the new Trigger Berg books and also in Andy Blake and the Pot of Gold and Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief. It will pay you to read these poems. Then, if you wish, send me one of your own orig¬ inal poems.

The many thousands of let¬ ters that I receive yearly from my loyal young readers are a source of great inspiration to me. Boy, some of these letters are hot! And how I enjoy them. I’m glad, too, that readers of my books like long “Chatter-Boxes.” For that will give me a chance to use a lot of letters in the big “Chat¬ ter-Boxes” in my new books. If you haven’t written to me, please do so right away. We’re good buddies, you know. I want to hear from you. And I sure will try and find a place for your letter if it is interest¬ ing.

LETTERS

FIRST on the list is a letter signed by two . boy pals- (now Freckled Goldfish),

OUR CHATTER-BOX

• • •

Till

Frank Johnson and Robert Dansby of Dallas, Texas.

“You sure must be a regular guy to write such swell boys’ books. We’d like them better, though, if Jerry had a dog. Is there such a town as Tutter? Are Jerry, Poppy, Scoop, Peg and Red real boys? In your book, Jerry Todd , Pirate , who opened and closed the door and started and stopped the clock in Al’s grandmother’s room? We certainly hope you’ll keep on writing books of this kind.”

As I’ve said before, I try to be a regular guy. I sure love boys and am with them a great deal, which, I suppose, ex¬ plains why my stories seem so real to young readers. Boys liking dogs will particularly enjoy Jerry Todd, Caveman , in which Jerry’s new dog makes its first appearance. The majority of the characters that I write about are real, including Poppy, Red, Scoop, Peg, Al, Slats and Tail Light. Tutter is the town (it has an¬ other name) in which I was raised. The full explanation of who performed the “ghostly” movements in Jerry Todd, Pirate, is given on page 246.

“I would like to have Jerry and his gang play baseball against the Strieker gang,” writes Freckled Goldfish (No. 5069) George Ott (no relation to Poppy!) of Brooklyn, N. Y. “Also I’d like to have Trigger Berg and his gang play base¬

ball against Tony Crooker’s mob for the town champion¬ ship. I think Trigger is the cat’s whiskers, and almost as good as Jerry Todd. I notice in the Elephant book that you said Jerry collected stamps. I’m glad to see that, for stamp collecting is one of my hob¬ bies.”

“I’m a great reader,” writes Bud Lovett of Cleveland, Ohio, “and in sleuthing May Company’s department store the clerk in the book section suggested that I read one of your books. I did. Since then I’ve invested almost ten bucks in your books. And do I ever love you for writing such peachy books! I think you have made some mistakes in your books. For instance, in the Whispering Cave Jerry dreamt about a cork tree. In the Bob-Tailed Elephant Uncle Jonah tells Jerry and Henny the same story, almost word for word. Some of your books are masterpieces and some seem not so good — more of an effort. That part is funny in the Talking Frog where the frog and the talking machine had a fight. It was funny, too, in another book (I think it was the Stuttering Parrot) where Jerry, with the arm of the law watching him, ate everything in sight, only to suffer later on when the stuff started playing leapfrog inside of him. Though your Trigger Berg books haven’t as much plot and mys¬ tery as your other books, I like

OUR CHATTER-BOX

IX

the Bergs even better. Gee, Leo, I’ve always lived in the city and never was in a gang or owned a boat or had pals or adventures, so you are my only hope. Please don’t stop writing! I wish that Jerry, Poppy, Andy, Trigger, Peg, Red, Scoop, Al, Henny, Bud, Chuck, Friday, Slats, Tail Light, Dynamite and all the rest were my honest-to-gosh pals.”

One time I wrote a short story called “Uncle Jonah’s Cork Tree.” Later I used a small part of this story in the Whispering Cave. But when I came to the Bob-Tailed Ele¬ phant I had a much better chance to use the story, so re¬ peated it, giving all the in¬ teresting little details, figuring that the boys who missed the Cave book would enjoy the story in the Elephant book. Bud isn’t the first reader who has called my attention to this “mistake.”

I wish I had space for more general letters. But I have been told to confine these added “Chatter-Boxes” to about eighteen hundred words. But, as I say, we’re going to have some dandy big “Chat¬ ter-Boxes” in all of my new books. So get your letter in as soon as possible, and make it interesting.

FRECKLED GOLDFISH

UT of my book, Poppy Ott and the Freckled Gold- fishy has grown our great

Freckled Goldfish lodge, mem¬ bership in which is open to aH boys and girls who are in¬ terested in my books. Thou¬ sands of readers have joined the club. We have peachy membership cards (designed by Bert Salg, the popular il¬ lustrator of my books) and fancy buttons. Also for mem¬ bers who want to organize branch clubs (hundreds are in successful operation, providing boys and girls with added fun) we have rituals.

To join (and to be a loyal Jerry Todd fan I think you ought to join), please observe these simple rules:

(1) Write (or print) your name plainly.

(2) Supply your complete printed address.

(3) Give your age.

(4) Enclose two two-cent postage stamps (for card and button).

(5) Address your letter to Leo Edwards,

Cambridge,

Wisconsin.

LOCAL CHAPTERS

TO HELP young organizers we have produced a printed ritual, which any member who wants to start a Freckled Goldfish club in his own neigh¬ borhood can’t afford to be without. This booklet tells how to organize the club, how to conduct meetings, how to transact all club business, and, probably most important of all, how to initiate candidates.

X

OUR CHATTER-BOX

The complete initiation is given word for word. Natu¬ rally, these booklets are more or less secret. So, if you send for one, please do not show it to anyone who isn’t a Freckled Goldfish. Three chief officers will be required to put on the initiation, which can be given in any member’s home, so, unless each officer is provided wfith a booklet, much memoriz¬ ing will have to be done. The best plan is to have three book¬ lets to a chapter. These may be secured (at cost) at six cents each (three two-cent stamps) or three for sixteen cents (eight two-cent stamps). Address all orders to Leo Ed¬ wards, Cambridge, Wisconsin.

CLUB NEWS

IN SENDING for a ritual, 1 for organization purposes, Freckled Goldfish (No. 2098) Franklin C. Massey of Phila¬ delphia, Pa., writes: “I en¬ joyed Trigger Berg and His 700 Mouse Traps very much. I liked the part where Trigger got the dog better than any other part because I have a dog and know what they do.’* “Please enroll me as a mem¬ ber of the Freckled Goldfish lodge,” writes Russell A. Smith of Port Richmond, Staten Island, N. Y. “I am thirteen years old and have read all of your books, of which I like the Trigger Bergs the best. I’ve often wondered what Scoop’s real name was.”

Scoop’s name is Howard. “Your Jerry Todd and Pop- y Ott books are the best ooks I have ever read,” writes George B. Koelle of Philadelphia, Pa. “I wish, though, you would give them names that better fit the book. For instance, I think Jerry Todd, Pirate, should have been named Jerry Todd and the Oak Island Treasure. I particu¬ larly like the way in which Jerry tells the story himself. When I heard about your Freckled Goldfish lodge I im¬ mediately wanted to join, hence this letter.”

“Our club,” writes Wfilliam Hadley of Uxbridge, Mass., “would like to buy a big framed picture of Poppy’s goldfish to put in our club- room. Also we’d like to buy a big picture of you, our favorite author. Everything is fine so far as the club is con¬ cerned, but I’m out of luck myself — I’ve got the chicken pox. Let me know if you can furnish the pictures and how much they will cost.”

Sorry, Bill, but I can’t supply you with an enlarged picture of Poppy’s goldfish. Why don’t you make a cutout of a goldfish, or draw a picture of one? You can do that. My publisher will send you one of my pictures if you send ten cents in stamps to Grosset & Dunlap, 1140 Broadway, New York, N. Y.

“I am sending you the min¬ utes of the tenth meeting of

OUR CHATTER-BOX

xi

our Goldfish club,” reports Norman Wengert of Mil¬ waukee, Wis. “Meeting started at 7 :30 p.m. Dues were collected, giving us a total in the treasury of more than four dollars. Members voted to attend the ‘Sky Hawk’ at a local theater.”

There is a great deal more to Norman’s report. This certainly is an active club. It holds checker and horseshoe tournaments and has its own baseball nine. Recently the club raffled off a book, selling tickets only to club members. Club leaders who sometimes wTonder “what to do” will do well to write for suggestions to Norman Wengert, 1019 Grant Blvd., Milwaukee, Wis.

OUR SCHOOL CLUB

HAVE you heard about our School Club? Here’s the idea: Just as my Jerry Todd, Poppy Ott and Trigger Berg books are written pri¬ marily to fill the fives of boys with clean, natural fun, so also would I like to have my

young readers share this book fun of theirs with others. Which can be done individu¬ ally if you will prevail upon your teacher to read one of my Todd, Ott or Berg books aloud. That will be fun for the whole room. I might mention, too, that these books are written to read aloud.

If your teacher, through your personal efforts, reads one of my books to the school, you automatically become a member of our “School Club,” and should so notify me. Your name will be published in a later “Chatter-Box.” At the end of each year names of all members (who haven’t al¬ ready drawn prizes) are put “into the hat.” Not less than ten names (sometimes twenty or thirty) are drawn at ran¬ dom. And each of these ten (or more) boys or girls will receive an autographed copy of my latest book.

A more complete announce¬ ment of the club was given in the “Chatter-Box” in Jerry Todd , Editor-in-Grief.

	CONTENTS
chapter					PAGE
I	The Feline Rest Farm -	«			I
II	Cats, and More Cats* .	•			21
III	The Rose-Colored Cat .	•			44
IV	Lady Victoria Disappears	•			55
V	An Unsuccessful Operation			63
VI	A Mysterious Visitor	«			76
VII	Wanted: One Hundred Cats			97
VIII	Our Barrel Trap .	•			109
IX	The Fire in the Brickyard	•			133
X	Six Pink Pearls	•			150
XI	Two Mrs. Kepples .	•			160
XII	The Copper Collar .	•			172
XIII	At the Infirmary .	o			191
XIV	Indians! ....	•			215
XV	We Solve the Mystery .	• l	e.		234

LEO EDWARDS’ BOOKS

Here is a list of Leo Edwards* published books:

THE JERRY TODD SERIES

Jerry Todd and the Whispering Mummy Jerry Todd and the Rose-Colored Cat Jerry Todd and the Oak Island Treasure Jerry Todd and the Waltzing Hen Jerry Todd and the Talking Frog Jerry Todd and the Purring Egg Jerry Todd in the Whispering Cave Jerry Todd, Pirate

Jerry Todd and the Bob-Tailed Elephant

Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief

Jerry Todd, Caveman

Jerry Todd and the Flying Flapdoodle

Jerry Todd and the Buffalo Bill Bathtub

Jerry Todd’s Up-the-Ladder Club

THE POPPY OTT SEEIES

Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot Poppy Ott’s Seven-League Stilts Poppy Ott and the Galloping Snail Poppy Ott’s Pedigreed Pickles Poppy Ott and the Freckled Goldfish Poppy Ott and the Tittering Totem Poppy Ott and the Prancing Pancake Poppy Ott Hits the Trail Poppy Ott & Co., Inferior Decorators

JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

CHAPTER I

THE FELINE REST FARM

Did you ever hear of a feline rest farm? We never did till the day we came across Professor Ellsworth Stoner at the Rock Island depot. Till that time we had always thought a cat was a cat, but the professor, after telling us that he was an authority on cats, having studied them all his life along what he termed scientific lines, told us that a cat was a “feline.”

I guess Peg Shaw and I would have particu¬ larly noticed the professor even if Scoop Ellery hadn’t pointed him out to us. He was a notice¬ able man. I don’t mean he was distinguished- looking, like some of the professors and doctors in our college on the hill. What made him no-

i

2 JERRY TODD AND

ticeable was his odd appearance and queer ac¬ tions.

I am a great hand to study people’s faces. When I see a man with a kindly face I am nat¬ urally attracted to him. Where a man has a mean face I make it a point to keep out of his way. The tall, thin stranger, I noticed, had an unusually kindly face. I knew right off that here was a man who wouldn’t harm a flea. But even in my respect for him I had to smile as I regarded him closely, taking in the big-rimmed spectacles that rested loosely on his big nose, and the old-fash¬ ioned collar and necktie. He had on a black suit and a black soft hat. From his general appear¬ ance I took him to be a minister. He was mixed up in the crowd of Chicago people who were leav¬ ing the train, headed for the Walkers Lake Sani¬ tarium.

Spider Phelps, who drives a summer bus be¬ tween Tutter and the sanitarium, had his outfit backed up against the depot platform. His homely face screwed all out of shape, he was yell¬ ing into the crowd:

“Right over here, ladies and gents. Here’s the I bus for the sanitarium. Goin’ right out.”

Walkers Lake is about three miles south of Tutter and the sanitarium built on its shore is a

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

3

pretty swell joint. It is a cluster of buildings, the largest of which contains fully two hundred rooms. I guess it costs a lot of money to stay there and that is why the guests are mostly rich people from Chicago and Peoria — Tutter being situated about half way between these two cities. The visitors come and stay for two or three weeks at a time, not so much because they are sick but because they are tired and want to rest up in a fashionable way. It’s something of a fad, I guess, for rich people to patronize places like the Walk¬ ers Lake Sanitarium.

“Gee, fellows, lamp the deacon,” Scoop cried, pointing to where the man with the funny spec¬ tacles had paused on the platform, glancing about him uncertainly. He had no suit-case or travel¬ ing bag like the other passengers — just a covered basket, which he carried on his right arm. Scoop laughed and jabbed Peg in the ribs with his elbow. “Why don’t you go over,” he suggested, “and carry the basket? You’ll get a tip — may¬ be.”

Peg had a reflective lcok on his face.

“Queer,” said he out of his thoughts.

“What’s queer?” Scoop wanted to know.

“That he should be going to the sanitarium,, It’s a pretty lively place for a minister.”

4 JERRY TODD AND

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Scoop laughed.

“Maybe he’ll get the shock of his life when he sees the way they dance and carry on. I guess they play cards, too.”

I didn’t say anything. But X had the feeling that the stranger wasn’t heading for the sani¬ tarium as Peg and Scoop imagined. I don’t know what gave me that thought unless it was the un¬ certainty and bewilderment pictured in the man’s thin face.

Red Meyers, who is the fourth member of our gang, was helping a big fat lady with black ear¬ rings carry a couple of fuzzy-haired dogs and a big traveling bag from the train to the bus. She looked as though she might be worth a lot of money. Anyway Red had picked her out as likely to give him a good tip.

While we were watching, the baggage man came down the platform with a truck piled high with trunks and boxes. He accidentally ran into the man with the big spectacles, causing the latter to drop his basket. The basket roiled along the platform and bumped against Red, who was hav¬ ing an awful time trying to carry the two dogs and the big traveling bag at the same time. When the basket struck his legs the cover flopped back and out popped a frightened coal-black cat.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

5

Gee-miny crickets ! It was as good as a circus to see the way those two dogs got into action when they spied the cat. Red tried to hang onto them but they clawed and scratched till he had to drop them. When they landed on the platform they gave a wild yelp and started pell-mell for the cat. Around and around the platform they went, making a fearful racket and commotion. Women screamed and ran for the bus. Peg and I and Scoop pretty nearly yipped our heads off we were so tickled.

The fat lady with the black earrings got ex¬ cited when she saw her dogs hotfooting it after the black cat. She danced around and scolded Red who dropped the traveling bag and tried to grab the dogs. He yelled for us to help him. By this time everybody on the platform was yelling except the stranger with the big spectacles.

“Dear me ! Dear me !” the tall man said slowly, looking on in a bewildered way. Picking up his hat, which had been jostled from his head, he dusted it carefully with his handkerchief and then reached for the basket. When he noticed that the basket was empty he gave a startled cry and stared helplessly into the faces about him.

Red was skidding around the platform grab¬ bing at the dogs. They were small dogs, but for

6 JERRY TODD AND

their size they made a lot of noise. He managed to get hold of one by the tail. It turned and snapped at his fingers, which made him mad. It doesn’t take much to make Red mad. His temper is as fiery as his hair. When the fat lady began scolding him for pulling her dog’s tail he told her she could catch her own dogs for all he cared.

Then some one yelled to forget about the dogs and rescue the cat. Scoop saw it heading his way and grabbed it just in time to save its tail from being snapped off by one of the dogs. After that the fat lady had no difficulty rounding up her pets. She cuddled them in her arms and I thought for a moment she was going to kiss them. The last we saw of her she was indignantly climbing into the bus, a dog under each fat arm, Spider Phelps following with the traveling bag.

Scoop ran up to the man with the big spec¬ tacles.

“Here’s your cat, mister/’ he said, offering the pet to its owner. The stranger looked the cat over with a great deal of concern. A sigh of re¬ lief escaped from his lips when he found the cat’s tail and everything else in proper shape.

“Dear me!” he murmured, stroking the cat with the tips of his long thin fingers. “How un¬ fortunate that my little companion should be sub-

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

7

jected to such rude and savage treatment.” He beamed at Scoop over the top of his spectacles. “I am deeply grateful to you, my boy, for inter¬ posing and saving my little pet from those ver* vicious and ill-bred canines.”

Scoop turned to me and grinned. Calling dogs canines was something new to us. No one in Tutter had ever called dogs by such a fancy name*

I figured that the man must be a college profes¬ sor instead of a minister.

Then, when the crowd had melted away and we were seated on the platform, the stranger told us that he was a professor — though he had no connection with the Tutter College. His name was Professor Ellsworth Stoner and he told us in a modest way that he knew more about cats than any other man in the whole world. He further explained that he had come to Tutter to start a feline rest farm.

Well, I wanted to laugh. A feline rest farm! It struck me as being a crazy idea. I thought at first he was joking. The others thought so, too.

I could tell from their actions. But he wasn’t

i.

joking. No, sir-e ! It was his idea to fix up a place where the cats could be taken care of, then advertise it as an exclusive feline rest farm. He told us he would soon be swamped with business.

8 JERRY TODD AND

In telling us about his scheme he used a lot of big words. He said among other things that the cat was one of the most glorious creatures in the world — that years and years and years ago the Egyptians used to embalm their cats just like hu¬ man beings. That was the “golden age of her Feline Majesty,” is the way he put it. He told us about the big cat cemeteries along the River Nile. It was interesting. I could see he knew a great deal about cats.

“The many years of exhaustive study that I have given to the subject will excellently fit me for the work that I am about to take up,” he went on. “My first step will be to establish a suitable feline domicile and then - ”

“Establish a which?” Scoop interrupted, letting his forehead go puckered.

“A feline domicile.”

“What’s a feline domicile?” inquired Scoop.

“I am referring, of course, to the home I shall establish for my feline guests,” explained the pro¬ fessor.

Scoop grunted.

“If you go talking that dictionary stuff around town you’ll establish something, all right, but it won’t be a home for sick cats.”

The professor looked bewildered.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

9

“I — er — fail to comprehend,” he murmured.

“You’ll establish a reputation for being a nut,” Scoop said bluntly.

“A nut?”

“Yes, a nut.”

“How extraordinary!”

Scoop saw that it was no use talking slang to the professor.

“Never mind,” he grinned. “Go ahead with your yarn. You left off where you were establish¬ ing a dormitory, or something.”

“A feline domicile,” the professor corrected. “When this has been provided I shall advertise in the Chicago newspapers. I am sure the wealthy people who have occasion to depart from their homes during the sultry summer months will be extremely glad to learn that their pet felines can be accommodated at my rest farm and cared for along strictly scientific lines.”

I could see doubt in Scoop’s face.

“You say the rich people will pay you real money for taking care of their cats?” he ques¬ tioned, regarding the other with narrowed eyes.

The professor frowned in mild disapproval.

“I much prefer the term ‘feline’ to ‘cat,’ ” he said. “To my cultured ear the term ‘cat’ sounds very vulgar. Yes,” he went on, “I shall make a

IO JERRY TODD AND

charge of one dollar per feline per week. At first I shall arrange to accommodate one hundred felines — a matter of one hundred dollars per week.” He paused and cleaned his spectacles with a handkerchief. When they were polished to his satisfaction he returned them to his nose and added: “You seem to be nice, bright boys. I am wondering if I can engage you to assist me in the undertaking.”

Scoop backed off. I knew why. Right away I got suspicious, too. One time a shyster came to town and told us what smart boys we were and skinned us out of five dollars for memberships in his fake detective agency. I told about that in my book about the whispering mummy. Now another stranger was giving us the same line of soft-soap. It wouldn’t do him any good. We were wise. What little money we had would stay right in our pockets.

“There will be a suitable remuneration,” the man continued. “Suppose we say five dollars each per week.”

I saw now that we had been overly suspicious.

“You mean you want us to work for you; and that you will pay each of us five dollars a week?” Scoop questioned shortly.

The professor nodded.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT it

“I rather feel that five dollars a week will be' a just stipend,” he said gravely.

Peg threw up his arms and pretended he was going to faint.

“Help!” he cried. “Some one fan me with a dictionary.”

Scoop turned and scowled.

“Cut it out,” he ordered. Then he said to the professor: “What do we do to earn the five dol¬ lars?”

“I shall train you in the scientific care of my feline guests. There will be regular feeding hours; and, of course, systematic recreation, I cannot possibly manage the business and attend to all the details of operation. If you feel you would like to assist me in the work - ”

“You can consider us hired,” Scoop cut in. “This is vacation time and we’ll work for you as long as there’s a regular pay-day. What do we do first?”

The professor seemed pleased at Scoop’s de¬ cision. But he wasn’t half as tickled as I was. Here was an easy way to earn five dollars a week was my contented thought. Lots easier than hoe¬ ing corn in the river bottoms, which I did one summer for fifty cents a day and almost chopped my big toe off. I knew Dad and Mother would

12 JERRY TODD AND

be pleased when they heard about my swell new job. Dad says a boy should always keep his eyes and ears open and learn useful things. I figured that in associating with the professor I would learn a lot of useful things about cats. When you come to think about it there aren’t very many people who know very much about cats. A cat is born and lives and dies and that is the end of it. We know a lot about horses and cows. Maga¬ zines print stories about dogs, showing that dogs are well understood. But I never saw a story about a cat. I like cats, too. It would be nice to learn all about them. Every day I would learn something new. I was anxious to get started on my new job.

In answer to Scoop’s question the professor ex¬ plained that the first thing to do was to find a suitable location for establishing the rest farm.

“We shall require a somewhat sizable build¬ ing,” he outlined. “It should be rather apart from the community so that we shall not be dis¬ turbed.”

Scoop’s thoughts carried him away. Then he came back to earth and gripped my arm.

“Say, Jerry, how about the old cement mill back of your pa’s brickyard?”

“Just the place,” I said, sharing his excitement.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 13

The old mill wasn’t good for anything. Years ago the machinery was junked for old iron. There are holes in the wooden walls and roof, but I figured this wouldn’t interfere very much. In talking it over Peg suggested that we see Dad before going any further with our plans, so we took the professor along with us to find out would it be all right to turn the old mill into a cat farm.

It took us ten minutes to reach the brickyard, which is near the canal on the west side of town. Dad was in his office. He looked kind of sur¬ prised when we entered with the professor. I guess he thought, like we did at first, that our new friend was a minister.

“Howdy, gang,” he greeted, grinning down at us as he shook hands. Dad’s always friendly and full of fun. “Some one getting married to-day? — or are we taking up a missionary collection for the Hottentots?” he added.

“This is Professor Ellsworth Stoner,” I intro¬ duced. “He knows all about cats and - ”

“You mean catalogs?” interrupted Dad, look¬ ing from me to the professor.

“No; just plain cats,” I said.

The professor came forward. He looked comi¬ cal with the big-rimmed spectacles jiggling on the end of his big nose and the basket on his arm.

i4 JERRY TODD AND

He had a funny way, too, of peering solemnly over the top of his spectacles.

A grin crept into Dad’s face.

‘‘Might I — er — suggest,” the professor inter¬ rupted in a mild voice, “that hereafter in our ref¬ erence to the felts domestica we use the term ‘feline’ instead of ‘cat.’ To me the term ‘cat’ seems common and does not do justice to the gorgeous creature that in the days of Egypt’s splendor held the awe and admiration of even the mighty Pharaohs.”

Dad’s stenographer went, “Tee, hee, hee!” and stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth. But Dad didn’t giggle. He has better manners than Miss Tubbs. Maybe he wanted to laugh, but if he did he choked it down, like I do in church when something funny happens. Dad has a lot of consideration for other people’s feelings.

“I’m mighty glad to meet you, professor,” he said, again pumping the thin arm up and down. This jiggled the basket and started the black cat to yowling. “All my life,” added Dad, running off into his nonsense, “I’ve been wanting to meet some one who was an authority on cats. Yes, sir, I’m tickled pink to make your acquaintance.”

The professor beamed.

“And I, sir, am ^-lighted to meet you. This

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

15

is an htmor I long shall remember! If, as you say, you are scientifically interested in felines, we shall, in the days to come, enjoy many happy mo¬ ments drscussing their anatomy, their physiology and magnificent personality.”

“Absolutely,” said Dad. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Anatomy is what I’m most interested in. We’ll discuss that first if you

have no objection. Now I wonder - ” and he

ran his fingers through his hair, letting his fore¬ head go puckered.

There was a brief reflective silence.

“I am wondering,” continued Dad, “if it will be best for us to start in on the anatomy at the ears and work down, or start in at the tail and work up.”

I didn’t know how far he would carry his joke, so I decided to butt in. Very quickly I told about the professor’s cat farm scheme and asked would it be all right for us to use the old mill. I ex¬ plained that I was to work for the professor and earn five dollars a week.

Dad had a puzzled look when I finished.

“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “As I understand it you are going to start a — er — feline rest farm in the old mill, advertise in the Chicago newspapers for ca — I mean felines, and

1 6 JERRY TODD AND

have a bunch shipped in here with the idea of col¬ lecting a dollar a week per feline from the own¬ ers. Am I right?”

The professor beamed at Dad and nodded.

“Sir,” he said, “you have given in brief a very comprehensive outline of my contemplated proj¬ ect.”

“And you are going to start with one hundred ca — I mean felines?”

“Exactly, sir; exactly.”

Dad’s eyes twinkled like he was all bubbly in¬ side.

“What’s the use of being pikers?” said he. “Let’s make it two hundred cats. Shucks ! Let’s make it a thousand. That will be a thousand dollars every week. This is a wonderful scheme,” he added, letting on like he was terribly excited over the proposition. “You’re to be congratu¬ lated, professor. Any common dub can see money in bricks but it takes a genius to see money in cats. Yes, sir, I’m with you till Niagara falls. Absolutely. Use the old mill by all means. Do anything with it that you want to.” i We thanked Dad and passed on through the brickyard. The old mill is located on the side of a hill. There is a door in front that opens into the lower floor, but we decided to use the second

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 17

floor, which was reached by climbing the hill and entering a wide door at the back. The second floor was in every way the cleanest and there was 1 better light here.

The professor teetered about the room on his long, willowy legs, as tickled as a small kid with an all-day sucker.

“How does it strike you?” said Scoop, acting like he wanted to be handed a little praise for being smart and suggesting the old mill as a good place to establish the cat farm.

“Excellent,” murmured the professor. “I can, in fact, imagine no place better adapted to our

immediate needs. Roomy, airy, dry. Um -

We shall require a goodly supply of boxes of suitable proportions in which to house our feline guests. Doubtless we can acquire them at the mercantile shops in the village.”

“You won’t get ’em for nothing,” Scoop said quickly. “1 know, because my father runs a gro¬ cery store.”

“I venture to say the charge will not be exor¬ bitant,” returned the professor. “I have some money with me. Suppose we see how many suit¬ able boxes we can purchase for five dollars,” and producing a pocketbook he handed Scoop a crisp greenback.

1 8 JERRY TODD AND

We had a lot of fun that day helping the pro¬ fessor arrange things in the old mill. And as we worked with him we absorbed much of his confi¬ dence in the scheme. Like Peg said, in the big cities they have hospitals for dogs and other pets. He read about it in a magazine. And he told us about a doll hospital in New York City. All they do in this hospital is put new arms and legs on old dolls. If people could make a success of a doll hospital I saw no reason why we couldn’t make a success of the feline rest farm. Take the rich people who patronize the Walkers Lake Sanitarium. They cheerfully pay two prices for everything. What would a dollar a week mean to them in considering the welfare of their pet cats? Not a drop in the bucket, hardly. Yes, sir, we were every bit as excited over the proposi¬ tion as the professor and fully as confident that it was going to be a money-making scheme.

There is a little room to one side on the second floor of the old mill and here we brought in a cot that Red found in his pa’s barn. The professor seemed to have plenty of money. He bought a small gasoline stove for cooking purposes and a lot of truck to eat. Mostly canned things like beans and cooked meat. When we were ready to go home to supper Scoop said it didn’t seem

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

19

right to leave the old gentleman all alone in the mill, so we got two more cots and prepared to stay with him nights, two of us at a time.

At the supper table that evening Dad was full of nonsense. He talked persistently of “felines,” reminding us of the swell time he was going to have visiting with the professor. After a bit Mother told him to quit acting the dunce. She pinched my knee under the table and said the feline rest farm was a dandy scheme and she hoped everything would turn out all right. That’s Mother for you ! She knows how to stand by a fellow and believe in him.

“Of course,” she added, looking into my face, “you will want to be careful and not let the cats - ”

“Felines,” Dad corrected with a grin. “My dear lady, must I again remind you that the term ‘cat’ sounds very common and fails to do justice to the gorgeous creature that put Egypt on the map?”

Mother reached for the salt.

“I said cats and I mean cats,” she sputtered, jiggling the salt shaker.

Dad sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

“All right,” he said, “have it your own way.”

“As I was going to say, Jerry,” she went on,

20

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

“I hope you will be careful and not let the cats bite you and give you hydrophobia.”

I slowed up on my potatoes and looked into her face.

“You are thinking of dogs,” I said. “Cats don’t give people hydrophobia.”

“The cats may give you something worse than hydrophobia,” she persisted. “I want you to promise me you will be careful.”

I told her there was nothing to worry about. I said it was going to be fun.

CHAPTER II

CATS, AND MORE CATS I

Tutter is a small town and it wasn’t very long before everybody thereabouts knew of the feline rest farm. On the few occasions when the pro- fessor went down town he attracted a great deal of amused attention. People meeting him in the streets looked at him and smiled. It is always that way with men who have the courage to start something new. I read one time that the man who invented the umbrella was arrested when he appeared in a London street on a rainy day with his new contrivance raised above his head. And when bathtubs first came out some of our big American cities passed laws against them, the doctors contending that people who took baths in the winter time would catch cold and die. So it wasn’t surprising that a lot of Tutter people saw fit to laugh at the professor’s scheme. They didn’t know any better.

21

22 JERRY TODD AND

Once when we were down town getting a load of boxes we met the Strieker gang. We hate them like they hate us. Bid and Jimmy Strieker are cousins and one is just as mean as the other, only Bid is the ringleader, kind of. He went “meow!” at us. He didn’t do any more “meowing” though when Peg lit into him. Peg’s a scrapper, I’ll tell the world. We chased the whole gang into Zulu- town. That part of town beyond the brickyard where the Strieker cousins live is called Zulu- town. The kids who live there and pal around with Bid and Jimmy are a tough lot. All they want to do is fight and destroy things. The only time they ever go to Sunday-school is just before Christmas. That’s a pretty cheap way of getting a present.

While we were working in the old mill, getting the cat boxes fixed up with slats up and down the front and each box numbered, the professor wrote the advertisement about the feline rest farm and sent it to the Chicago Tribune. It was a dandy advertisement, we thought, with a lot of big words that made it sound important. When the adver¬ tisement appeared in the newspaper it attracted a great deal of attention. We came to realize this more fully in the days that immediately followed. Here is the advertisement:

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 23

Professor Ellsworth Stoner’s FELINE REST FARM

Give your pet feline the same thoughtful car# and scientific attention that you bestow upon your children.

I will help you. Having made a life study of the felis domestica I have arranged to give th# public elect the benefit of my years of research and have established at Tutter, Illinois, the first Feline Rest Farm in the world.

For the small sum of one dollar per week you can have your pet feline domiciled in my Feline Rest Home. For this insignificant sum your feline will be given scientific care and attention. Should you be leaving your city home for the summer, arrange to have your feline placed un¬ der my care.

Only a limited number of felines will be accom¬ modated, so act at once and avoid possible dis¬ appointment.

Professor Ellsworth Stoner s Feline Rest Farm,

Tutter, Illinois .

The advertisement appeared in the newspaper Monday morning and on Tuesday the cats be¬ gan to arrive. A box containing two cats came first, followed by two crates, one containing seven cats and the other nine. On the noon train from

24 JERRY TODD AND

Chicago a third crate arrived, packed so full of cats it was a wonder some of them weren’t squashed. We thought there must be fully thirty cats in the crate, but when we came to count them there were only eighteen.

We were kept so busy unpacking cats that we never once thought of going home to dinner. The professor was very much excited over the way things were turning out. We were excited, too. It was plain to us that the cat farm was going to be a humdinger of a success. A feeling of satis¬ faction grew up within us in the thought that we had taken hold of this new idea of the professor’s and were helping to make it work. Any one can copy another person’s idea. We weren’t copying. We were doing something that never had been done before. That is what filled us with quiet pride when success came crowding in. I bet Mr. Edison has the same happy feeling when he finally gets the kinks ironed out of his great mechanical inventions and the wheels and cogs spin around just as he wants them to.

We had placed the black cat in box number one. When the other cats were distributed thirty- seven boxes were occupied. And such a collection of cats! None of them looked like what you’d call high-toned cats. Rich people’s cats, I mean.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 25

Scoop said they looked to him like alley cats. We were disappointed in this, having figured that cats coming from wealthy homes would be differ¬ ent than the cats we had been used to seeing in Tutter — something a little nicer, as it were, with long, silky hair, or something like that.

There were white cats and black cats; yellow cats and maltese cats; tiger cats and calico cats. There were cats with short tails and cats with long tails. One had lost a foot. Two had dam¬ aged ears-. Another was blind in its left eye. Some of them had no pep at all; others wanted to be spitting and clawing all the time.

And could they yowl? I’ll tell the world! They were considerably frightened from their trip to Tutter in the baggage car and every time we walked past their boxes they set up a fearful racket. Each one seemed determined to yowl louder and longer than its neighbors.

According to the professor’s figures thirty-seven cats meant thirty-seven dollars a week, only one of the cats was Blacky, the cat he brought to Tut¬ ter in the covered basket, which made thirty-six dollars a week. That was a corking good start. The feline rest farm was going to be a big money maker all right.

Shortly after the one o’clock whistles blew Peg

2 6 JERRY TODD AND

came back from town with a letter addressed to Professor Stoner’s Feline Rest Farm. It was mailed from Chicago and we hoped it would con¬ tain money. It did. When Scoop, at the pro¬ fessor’s request, opened the envelope out dropped a ten-dollar bill. The letter was signed by a Chicago lady named Mrs. Peter Kepple. She stated that she was shipping us her prize rose- colored cat, Lady Victoria, valued at five hundred dollars. She mentioned in the letter that later on she planned to spend a few days at the Walk¬ ers Lake Sanitarium and would then call at our rest farm and get her cat.

Scoop dropped the letter and flourished the ten- dollar bill.

“Hot dog!” he cried, getting in a few fancy dance steps with his big feet.

Peg picked up the letter and squinted at it.

“A five-hundred-dollar cat,” he said in a reflective voice. “What do you know about that!”

The professor was plainly bewildered.

“Dear me!” he murmured. “How very ex¬ traordinary. I am at a loss to comprehend what the dear lady means in her reference to a rose- colored feline. Are you sure it says rose-col¬ ored?”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

27

Peg handed him the letter and he squinted at it over the top of his spectacles.

“Whoever heard of a rose-colored cat?” Scoop put in. “Why, rose color is a sort of pink and red mixed. I know, because one time we sold colored tissue paper in pa’s store. Whoever^ heard of a red cat?”

*

“Well,” I spoke up, “it would have to be red or green or some fancy color to be worth five hun¬ dred dollars.”

“Astounding!” came weakly from the profes¬ sor. “Really, there must be some mistake. I quite assure you there is no such thing as a rose-colored feline.”

Scoop laughed and rustled the ten-dollar bill.

“There isn’t any mistake about the money,” he- said. “We should worry what color cats the rich people send us as long as they send the necessary jack.”

The professor continued to frown in a bewild¬ ered way and teetered back and forth across the room, his hands working nervously behind his back. I guess it was an awful shock to him to learn that there was a certain kind of cat in the world he didn’t know about. After a few minutes he drew a small book from his coat pocket and seating himself to one side began checking up cer-

28 JERRY TODD AND

tain items and references on various pages. He was mumbling to himself but we didn’t catch the , words. Presently he glanced up at us and slowly shook his head.

“Impossible,” he murmured. “Quite impossi* ble. The dear lady must be trying to spoof us.”

Scoop grinned.

“She can spoof us all she wants to at ten dol¬ lars a spoof,” said he.

I guess you can imagine how tickled we were. The letter and ten-dollar bill was evidence of our success. We had felt pretty enthusiastic when the cats arrived; but now that the money was com¬ ing in we were in a mood to bubble over.

While we were talking about the rose-colored cat we heard heavy footsteps without the door and two men in blue uniforms came into the mill. They were strangers to us and looked like street car conductors in the city, sort of. When the professor saw them he gave a screech and I thought for a moment that he was going to throw a fit.

One of the men quickly stepped forward and patted him on the arm.

“There, there, purfessor! Nothin’ to git ex¬ cited about. Take it cool, old dear; take it cool. We just thought we’d drop in and see if you

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

29

aren’t through with your little vacation. Now, purfessor, don’t lose your head. Be calm; be calm. If you only knew how much we’ve missed you, you would want to hurry back with us.”

For a moment we were too astonished to say a word. We just stood there and stared, our lower jaws sagging like we didn’t know very much. It came to me in a vague way that the men were policemen or some kind of guards. The professor was whimpering like a baby. I realized from his actions that something was wrong.

Scoop recovered his voice.

“Wha-at’s the rip?” he wanted to know, look¬ ing first at the professor, then at the guards.

“He’s just a little off up here,” one of the men explained, tapping the side of his head. “Belongs over at the county infirmary. Harmless and all that, but a bug on cats. Thinks he’s the great know-it-all when it comes to cats. Plumb non¬ sense, of course.” Here the guard paused and glanced around the room at the cat boxes. A grin spread over his big red face. “I see he’s been working his hobby overtime.”

Scoop made a gurgling sound in his throat.

“But you — you aren’t going to take him away!” he cried.

3o JERRY TODD AND

“Sure thing,” replied the guard.

“You can’t do that,” Scoop argued, “because this is his feline rest farm. He started it, and all these cats have been sent to him to be taken care of. What are we going to do with the cats if you take him away?”

The guard ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Sorry, boys, but we’ve got to take him back with us. We came for him. If we were to go back without him the superintendent would fire us.”

In his actions Scoop made me think of a drown¬ ing man grabbing at straws.

“Maybe there’s some mistake,” he cried. “You say he belongs at the county infirmary, but he came from Chicago. We were at the depot the day he got here. He was right with the Chicago crowd.”

“Probably got on the train at Ashton,” said the guard, naming a neighboring town. Then he turned from Scoop and instructed his companion: “Look around, Taylor, and pick up his things. That’s his basket over there. Are you ready, purfessor? Fine! Well, good-by, boys. Thanks for taking care of our friend till we managed to locate him.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 31

The professor didn’t want to leave. He tried to hold back, but the guards were big men and he was helpless in their hands. They took a firm grip on his arms and hurried him out of the mill and into an automobile standing in front.

Well, I can’t describe our feelings as the pro¬ fessor and the guards disappeared through the doorway of the old mill, leaving us alone with the cats. For several moments we stood there staring at one another. Sort of stunned and horrified- like. No one said a word. Then the guard named Taylor returned to the door.

“The purfessor seems kinda worried about somethin’ and asked me to come back and tell you there hain’t no sech animal as a rose-colored cat. A rose-colored cat! Wouldn’t that put a grin on Sober Sue! Haw! haw! haw! That’s all, boys. Good-by and good luck.”

We heard his footsteps die away. An automo¬ bile motor churned into motion. There was a clashing of gears. Then silence.

Scoop acted as though his knees were giving out.

“Good night!” he screeched, dropping onto the nearest cat box. “Just think, fellows: The professor loony and no one to take care of this gang of cats but us.” Then he let out another

32 JERRY TODD AND

yip as the cat beneath him yowled and slapped at his dangling legs with its claws.

Peg gave a sickly grin.

“I don’t know,” said he, “are we lucky or not.”

“Lucky I” snorted Scoop. “With this gang of hungry cats on our hands ! How do you get like that?”

“Well,” said Peg in his deliberate way, “we’ll be lucky, won’t we, if we can run this cat farm and make a lot of money?”

“You’re crazy as a loon,” declared Scoop, which is the kind of bouquets he usually hands out when he gets excited. “The cat farm is a pipe-dream. I thought so when the professor told us about it at the depot. Like a boob, though, I let him kid me into thinking there was some¬ thing to it.”

“There is something to it,” Peg defended. “Look how the cats are coming in. Thirty-seven the first two days. I don’t see why the feline rest farm has to be a failure just because they took the professor away. Why can’t we run it? No one has a better right.”

Like Peg, I was thinking to myself it would be fine if we could keep on running the cat farm and make it pay. He thought we could do it. I thought so, too. There was Lady Victoria, the

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 33

five-hundred-dollar, rose-colored cat. The fact that the woman who owned the cat had sent us ten dollars was a pretty good indication that the feline rest farm was a success, I told Scoop my thoughts and he looked more cheerful. We talked it over and decided to stick and see the thing through. We hoped, though, that no more cats would arrive for a week or two. Thirty-seven was all we could manage to care for at the pres¬ ent time. We hoped, too, that the people who had shipped us the cats would begin sending in their money. Having only the ten-dollar bill as working capital gave us an uncertain feeling. To run a business right a fellow needs plenty of capi¬ tal. I’ve heard Dad say so. I realized now how necessary capital is.

Red happened to be down town when the guards took the professor away. Presently he tumbled into the mill all out of breath. He was so ex¬ cited he could hardly talk.

“The baggage man — wants us to bring a truck — to the depot,” he panted.

“What for?” I inquired.

“To take away the cats that came in on the two-thirty. He says there’s five crates.”

Scoop gave a gasp.

“Five crates?” he repeated dully.

34 JERRY TODD AND

“Yes, five crates,” said Red. “From the way they’re packed in I guess there must be at least ten cats in each crate.”

Scoop clawed at his hair.

“O-h-h-h-h!” he groaned. “Five more crates of cats. Cats, cats, cats! Nothing but cats. Catch me, fellows, I’m going to faint.”

Red was stepping around in high feather.

“Gee, fellows,” he enthused, “ain’t things work¬ ing out slick? This makes nearly a hundred cats, and it’s only the second day after we opened up for business. That’s a hundred dollars a week! Hot dog! I guess we’ll be able to start a bank, what?” Here he paused and glanced around, a questioning look in his eyes. “Where’s the pro¬ fessor?” he wanted to know.

We told him.

“Now that you know what we’re up against,” Scoop said dismally, “maybe you’ll let me faint like I wanted to.”

He was fooling, of course. No one had any in¬ tentions of fainting — not with one hundred cats on our hands. Cats aren’t very husky when it comes to size, but they eat something, and just what that something was going to be was pretty much of an uncertainty in my mind.

We were preparing to leave the mill when one

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

35

of the baggage man’s kids thrust his tousled head in through the door and told us his pa wanted us to get busy and take the cats away from the depot.

“Two more crates just come in,” he told us, acting like he wanted to be patted on the back for bringing us good news.

Scoop went wild-eyed.

“You mean there’s seven crates instead of five?” he yipped.

“Yep,” grinned the kid. “And I bet you’ll be tickled when you see the way they’re packed in the last two crates.”

Scoop shoved the kid through the doorway. Then he sat down on a cat box and laughed.

“A hundred cats,” he gurgled. “Gee-miny crickets! It’s funny, fellows. It’s a scream.”

“Let’s hope the people who own the hundred cats don’t forget to send us plenty of money,” spoke up Peg. “I guess it won’t be such a laugh¬ ing matter if the owners of the cats misplace our address.”

“I’ll say it won’t,” I agreed.

Before night everybody in Tutter knew about the guards taking the professor back to the in¬ firmary. It seemed to strike a great many people as being a huge joke — the fact that he was crazy and had left the feline rest farm on our hands.

36 JERRY TODD AND

I guess, too, that nearly everybody in town knew about the seven crates of cats at the depot. When we went down to get the cats, driving Dad’s brick¬ yard dump cart, there was quite a crowd at the depot. As we drove up the people stood along the edge of the platform and grinned at us and offered foolish suggestions. The crates contain¬ ing the cats were piled on the platform and we could hear the cats yowling when we got within a hundred yards of the depot.

The baggage man wasn’t very friendly.

“You kids certainly are doin’ a thrivin’ business with your cat farm,” he growled. “I’m goin’ to look for a new job if this keeps up. I can stand crated chickens and dogs and pet pigs and even a nanny goat. But deliver me from crated cats ! Listen to ’em scrap ! That’s the way they go it all the time. I wish they’d kill each other. There’s cat fur all over the depot.”

But he came down from his high horse long enough to help us load the cats into the dump cart. Then we started back toward the old mill. When we passed down Main Street we attracted a lot of attention. The people stood on the edge of the sidewalk and laughed. They wanted to know where we were going to put on the circus— and did we have any elephants, or just cats?

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 37

Maybe you never saw a dump cart It is a one-horse outfit on two wheels. The body is balanced on the axle and by pulling a lever near the driver’s seat the front end of the box tips up letting the contents of the cart slide out at the back. Dad uses the car for dumping scrap brick onto the refuse pile near the canal.

When we turned into Grove Street Red Meyers tried to act smart and balance himself on the top cat crate. He’s always up to monkeyshines like that. I yelled at him to sit down and quit jig¬ gling the cart, but he pretended not to hear me.

“Lookit, gang!” he yipped, standing on one foot. u ‘Tilly Tinker,’ ” he cried, and swayed his body back and forth in imitation of the wooden nursery toy you frequently see in store windows.

I don’t know how the accident happened. Maybe I struck the dumping lever with my elbow when I turned in my seat to yell at Red. Any¬ way the hind part of the cart took a sudden dip and there was “Tilly Tinker” in the middle of the dusty street with seven crates of yowling cats piled on top of him.

I don’t know who made the most racket, Red or the cats. It was funny. When he crawled from under the pile of crated cats and found us laughing he wanted to fight the three of us.

38 JERRY TODD AND

Then Peg yelled:

“The cats, fellows ! One of the crates is busted,” and he jumped out of the cart and made a wild grab at a pair of furry tails. In less than seven seconds the street seemed full of scamper¬ ing cats. They beat it in a dozen directions. We tried to catch all of them but it was a hard job. Maybe six or eight got away from us. I don’t know.

Peg likes to tease Red. I never suspected, though, that he was starting a joke when he said:

“Say, Red, there’s one of the cats over on Miss Prindle’s front porch. I bet you can’t catch it.”

“I bet I can,” bragged Red.

“Your feet are too big,” said Peg. “You move around like a steam roller. By the time you get within ten feet of the porch the cat will be in the next block.”

“Is that so!” snorted Red. Hitching up his pants he started across the street.

Pretty soon he came to the porch steps. The cat seemed to be sleeping and didn’t notice him. That was funny, I thought. Then I tumbled to the fact that it was Miss Prindle’s pet Angora.

Sneaking up the porch steps on his hands and knees, Red made a lunge for the cat. It gave an awful yowl. Miss Prindle appeared in the door-

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

39

way with a broom. I suspect she came to the porch to do some sweeping. She forgot all about sweeping, though, when she saw Red hanging to her cat. Down came the broom on his head.

“Tryin’ to steal my Tabby to put in your silly cat farm, are you?” she cried, getting in another lick. “I’ll teach you to keep out of my yard and leave my cat alone. Take that and that,” and poor Red got a couple more husky whacks.

He limped back to the dump cart rubbing his head.

“I’ll get even with her,” he growled, glaring in Miss Prindle’s direction. Then he saw us grin¬ ning and tumbled to the fact that Peg had put up a job on him. “Yes,” he gritted, scowling at Peg, “and I know some one else I’ll get even with, too.”

When we reached the old mill we took the cats out of the crates and shut them in the boxes we had fixed up. We counted seventy-nine. As we already had thirty-seven before this last bunch arrived, our total was now one hundred and six¬ teen. We had to double up with a number of the cats and put two in a box.

When the cats were taken care of we sat down to talk things over, because, as Scoop pointed out, the situation was getting complicated to say the

4o . JERRY TODD AND

least. Twice that afternoon we had stoppfcd in at the post office, hoping more money would arrive in the mail. Each time the post office box that Professor Stoner had rented was empty.

“So far,” said Scoop, “with the exception of the ten-dollar bill it has been all cats and no coin. Maybe you can tell me what we are going to do if the cats keep on coming and the money doesn’t show up.”

“I think the money’ll come pretty soon,” Red said hopefully. “We can’t expect everything to happen the first day or two.”

“The advertisement in the Chicago newspaper didn’t say that people had to pay in advance.,” I reminded. “Maybe the owners of the cats ex¬ pect us to send them a bill at the end of each week, like the storekeepers do.”

“Who are we going to send the bills to?” said Scoop, acting like he wanted to corner me.

“To the owners of the cats,” I said.

“Who are they?” he followed up.

Well, I couldn’t answer that. It is a fact that we didn’t have the names and addresses of the people who had sent us the cats. I knew it as well as Scoop did, but I had let it slip my mind.

There was a brief silence.

“I’m beginning to think,” said Scoop, “that

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 4*

there is some joke about these cats. Every one around here thinks so. Anyway, if the coin doesn’t begin to come in pretty soon, or if we don’t get some letters from the owners of the cats, 1 guess we won’t be in doubt as to whether or not it’s a joke.”

Peg had a thoughtful look.

“If it does turn out that way,” he put in, “what’ll we do with the cats?”

Red giggled.

“That’s easy,” he cried. “We’ll turn ’em loose.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” Scoop said quickly. “That’s one thing we can’t do.”

“Why not?” said Red.

“Dad told me this noon,” said Scoop, “that Bill Hadley told him if we tried turning the cats loose in Tutter he’d put us in the cooler.”

Bill Hadley is the Tutter cop. He’s a pretty good friend of ours, like I wrote about in my whispering mummy book, but we knew if he told Mr. Ellery he would put us in jail he’d stand by his word. When it comes to enforcing the law Bill has no favorites.

“How did Bill come to tell your father that?” inquired Peg.

“Like I mentioned,” said Scoop, “everybody

42 JERRY TODD AND

around here seems to think this rest farm is a joke. The people expect that sooner or later we’ll have to get rid of the cats. I guess they told Bill to keep an eye on us so the cats wouldn’t be turned loose on them. Safety first, kind of.”

Peg giggled, his big mouth stretching from ear to ear.

“Let’s sell ’em to the butcher,” he suggested. “They ought to make fine sausages. We’ll help the butcher fix up a dandy advertisement to go in his window: ‘Try our famous feline sausages. Made from carefully-selected, hand-picked speci¬ mens, secured from Professor Stoner’s celebrated Feline Rest Farm.’ How’s that? Pretty nifty, eh?”

I continued the nonsense by suggesting:

“Or we can have a rummage sale and get rid of ’em that way.”

“Why not form a company,” grinned Red. “ ‘The Tutter Mouse Exterminator Company, Limited.’ We can rent the cats out in gangs at so much a day.”

Scoop gave a disgusted grunt and sprang to his feet.

“You’re getting worse and worse. As idea ar¬ tists you’d make second-class bricklayers. I move we adjourn till some one gets a real hunch.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

43

We started for town. A short distance from the old mill we met the baggage man’s boy coming on the run.

“Say, Scoop,” he yelled, before he reached us.

“Say it,” Scoop said without enthusiasm.

“There’s two more crates at the depot.”

Right away I thought of the five-hundred-dol- lar, rose-colored cat.

“Come on,” I yipped. “Let’s beat it for the depot. Maybe Lady Victoria’s arrived.”

“Nix,” said Scoop, “there’s been no train from Chicago.”

The boy shook his head.

“No,” said he, “these cats came from Peoria.”

Scoop looked like he had a pain in his stomach.

“Where’ll they come from next?” he wailed.

CHAPTER III

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

The one hundred and twenty-six cats that we had cooped up in boxes in the old mill certainly made an awful racket. They yowled as though they were getting paid for it by the hour and were afraid some one would come along and accuse them of loafing on the job. A thing that tended to make them exercise their voices was their empty stomachs. We realized that. But we had noth¬ ing to feed them. All the capital we had was the ten-dollar bill the Chicago woman had sent us and we were depressed in the thought that ten dollars wouldn’t go very far when it came to buy¬ ing food for one hundred and twenty-six hungry cats. It was a critical situation. We talked it over with sober faces and worried minds.

“Maybe we can get some meat scraps at the butcher shop,” Peg suggested.

“Or some stale buns at the bakery,” I spoke up.

“Stale buns!” scoffed Red. “Whoever heard of a cat eating stale buns?”

44

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 45

“Well,” I fired back at him, “I guess these cats’d rather eat stale buns than starve to death.”

“True enough,” said he. “And I suspect if you were starving to death you could keep alive on grasshoppers. But that doesn’t prove you would rather eat grasshoppers than fried chicken. What these cats want more than stale buns is mice and rats. Suppose we set some traps in the brickyard barn.”

“Milk is the food we ought to have,” said Scoop. “Maybe we can get some at the cream¬ ery.”

I told him if we got any milk at the creamery we’d pay for it. Old Bill Stewart, who runs the creamery, is the stingiest man in Tutter. I knew he wouldn’t give us a pint of skimmed milk if he had gallons of it going to waste.

Scoop scowled in a determined way.

“We’ve got to have milk,” he persisted.

“Why not try my scheme,” spoke up Red, “and feed the cats mice and rats?”

“A cat that eats nothing but meat is sure to have fits,” said Scoop, “and I guess we’d be out of luck worse than we are if this gang of cats started in on the fit business. No, that is a thing we must avoid. Your scheme for catching mice and rats is all right,” he told Red, “but in addition

4 6 JERRY TODD AND

we’ve got to think up another scheme for tapping a milk wagon, or something.”

On the instant I thought of Mrs. Maloney and her Jersey cow. Mrs. Maloney is a nice lady and one of my best friends. She is a widow, with no children of her own, and that is why Dad lets her live in one of his Zulutown houses rent free. In addition to her cow she has a flock of chickens and a goat. I suspect she makes a living selling but¬ ter and eggs.

Jumping to my feet I cried:

“I know how we can solve the milk problem, fellows. We’ll ask Mrs. Maloney to help us out.”

“Yes,” Peg said without enthusiasm, “and we’ll probably get turned down.”

“Not if we go about it in the right way,” I de¬ clared. My thoughts were skipping along. “I’ll go over and tell her about our cats,” I said. “She’ll naturally want to see them and I’ll bring her back with me. We’ll be real polite and show her around. Kind of offhand we can mention that the cats ought to have some milk. You see if she doesn’t offer to give us some. She’s awfully good-hearted. Besides, she must have a lot of skimmed milk to spare. I’ve seen her feed it to her chickens, a pailful at a time.”

Scoop said there was nothing like trying, so I

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 47'

started for Mrs. Maloney’s house while Red and Peg headed for town. Red was going after traps and it was Peg’s intention to call at the butcher shop and see what he could scare up in the way of meat scraps.

Mrs. Maloney was in her kitchen.

“Well, well, if it ain’t me little friend, Jerry,” she greeted warmly, when I went onto the back porch and rapped on the screen door. “Sure, you’re jist in time for a bite to eat,” she added, holding open the door. “Come right in an’ have a cookie. Whin I was bakin’ ’em this mornin’ I says to meself : ‘Here’s hopin’ some nice boy like Jerry Todd comes along with a good husky appe¬ tite.’ Take another, Jerry. Put a couple in your pocket. And tell me, did the milkweed juice I sint over help your ma’s freckles any?”

I told her I knew nothing about Mother’s freck¬ les. Then I mentioned the cats in the old mill and asked her would she like to come over and see them.

“We don’t make a business of showing them to everybody,” I explained, wanting her to feel that the invitation was very special.

“Now, would ye listen to that!” and Mrs. Ma¬ loney beamed at me in her usual kindly way. “Sure,” she added, “I did hear somethin’ about

48 JERRY TODD AND

your cat farm. An’ whin I seen ye cornin’ along the back walk I says to meself: ‘I bet the little divil is here to wheedle me out of the two cats that keep me sich fine company.’ I tell ye what I’ll do, Jerry, seein’ as how it’s you: I’ll let ye have one of me cats, but ye can’t have both.”

“I — I wasn’t expecting a cat,” I fumbled. Good night! The last thing I wanted any one to wish onto me was another cat. Of course I couldn’t tell her so. In offering me the cat she thought she was doing a kindness. The thought came to me that if I refused to accept the cat we might not get the milk. I wasn’t going to take the chance of hurting her feelings.

“Sure, you’re welcome to the cat,” Mrs. Ma¬ loney said in a sort of liberal way. “An’ ye needn’t say another word about it, Jerry. I don’t know what ye want with so many cats, but it’s proud I am to be able to help, considerin’ all the fine things your pa and ma have done for me. Which one would ye rather have ? — the white one, or the black one with the short tail?”

“Which one eats the most?” I inquired.

“Sure, they’re both good feeders,” Mrs. Ma¬ loney skid reflectively. “They’re fine cats,” she added. “Maybe the black one eats a bit the most - ”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 49

“Then I’ll take the white one,” I put in hur¬ riedly.

“Have your own way about it, Jerry. The white one it is if ye say the word. What I was goin’ to remark is, that the black one with the bob tail eats the most at meal times, but the white one — heaven bless it! — eats all the time. Sure, he’d have his nose in a saucer of milk the livelong day if he had his way about it.”

“Well, he won’t have any such chance if we take him over to the old mill,” I cried, “because we haven’t any milk.” Maybe I was mistaken, but it seemed to me that she turned and regarded me with a sort of questioning look.

“Jerry,” she laughed, “whin it comes to havin’ a business head you’ve got your pa beat sivin dif¬ ferent ways. Come ! I’ve got me bonnet on, an’ I’m anxious to take a squint at these wonderful cats you’ve bin tellin’ me about.”

She caught the white cat just outside the kitchen door and handed it to me. I thanked her, hoping all the time that the blamed cat would slip from my fingers and make its escape. Then we left the yard, taking a short-cut across the brickyard to the old mill.

Her eyes got big and round when she saw our family of cats.

5o JERRY TODD AND

“Mither of Moses,” she gasped, “an’ would ye look at the cats ! Sure, I didn’t know there was so many cats in the whole state of Illinois. What the divil be you b’ys expectin’ to do with all these cats?”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Scoop evaded. Then he explained: “We’re supposed to get pay for taking care of them, but so far the only money we’ve seen is a solitary ten-dollar bill. Maybe you know what’s best to feed cats, Mrs. Maloney. You see,” he added, “we don’t know very much about cats.”

“Give a cat a mouse an’ a dish of milk an’ he’ll be perfectly continted,” said Mrs. Maloney. She was passing in front of the cat boxes, peeking in through the slats at the cats. “Sure,” she grinned, “they’ve got good strong voices.”

Scoop touched her on the arm.

“You said something about milk, I believe,” he put in quickly, not wanting her to get away from the subject that was uppermost in our minds.

“Yes, about milk,” I supplemented, touching her other arm.

She turned and squinted at us closely.

“My, what an attentive audience I have,” she laughed. “Sure, an’ I repeat : what your cats need mostly is milk.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

51

“Thank you for telling us, Mrs. Maloney,” Scoop said politely. He turned to where I was standing. “You can feed them some milk, Jerry, ) while I show Mrs. Maloney around.”

I tumbled to his scheme.

“How can I feed them milk,” I said, “when we haven’t any?”

He scratched his head.

“That’s so,” he admitted. Then he looked into the face of our visitor. “You don’t happen to know where we can get a little skimmed milk for nothing, do you, Mrs. Maloney? — like people feed to chickens?”

She gave another hearty laugh.

“Do I? Sure, I do. You’re fine b’ys, outside of a few p’ints I needn’t mention, an’ if you’ll come over to the house this evenin’ after I’ve milked an’ siparated I’ll git ye fixed up in fine shape.”

It was mighty good of Mrs. Maloney to help us out. We told her so. Presently Peg returned from town with two pounds of meat scraps. That evening we gave the cats a filling up that took some of the yowl out of them.

The following day was Wednesday. The let¬ ter from Mrs. Kepple had reached us Tuesday afternoon, so we felt that the rose-colored cat

52 JERRY TODD AND

would surely arrive in Tutter within a few hours.

We were anxious to see this wonderful cat. We told each other it was wonderful in the first place because it was worth five hundred dollars. Never had we imagined a cat could be worth so much money. Then, too, the fact that it was rose-colored helped to make it wonderful. The professor had insisted there was no such thing as a rose-colored cat. Very shortly we were going to see for ourselves — and we were anxious to have the cat arrive so we could satisfy our curi¬ osity.

When we went over to the depot to meet the morning train from Chicago the baggage man scowled at us.

“I hope you kids ain’t hangin’ ’round here for more cats,” he growled.

“You bet we are,” Scoop returned. “We’re expecting Lady Victoria to arrive this morning,” he added loftily.

The baggage man’s scowl deepened.

“Who’s Lady Victoria?” he wanted to know.

“Maybe,” countered Scoop, “you never heard of a rose-colored cat.”

“Naw,” growled the man, “an’ I never heard of a green pig, nuther.”

“Lady Victoria,” continued Scoop, “is a rose-

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 53

colored cat worth five hundred dollars. She be¬ longs to a swell society lady in Chicago.”

The baggage man walked away, shaking his head and muttering to himself. I guess he thought Scoop was dippy.

When the train pulled into the station we ran down the platform to the baggage car. A box was unloaded that looked to us as though it might contain the cat we were expecting. In our excite¬ ment we would have climbed onto the truck if the baggage man hadn’t yelled at us to keep down.

“Here’s another cat,” he told us. Then his scowl turned into a grin as he better observed the cat in the box. “Calc’late it must be your rose- colored cat,” he added. “Who did you say was sending it?”

“Mrs. Peter Kepple,” Scoop returned quickly.

“Well, here she be,” and the man leaned down and handed us the box.

I guess we all held our breath as we gathered around and peered through the chicken netting that covered the top of the box. At last we were to get a glimpse of what we thought must be the most wonderful cat in the whole world. We took a good look. Scoop was the first one to fall back. He gave a cry of astonishment. Then he began to laugh. Pretty soon we were all laughing.

54

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

“Yes,” said the baggage man, “it’s your rose- colored cat, all right. I’ve seen lots of yaller roses. Haw! haw! haw!”

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” said Scoop. “Nothing but a yellow cat. Yellow. Rose-colored. A yel¬ low cat is rose-colored when you come to think about it,” he added, “but it’s rose-colored only in the sense of a joke.”

Peg had a dizzy look on his face.

“It can’t be a joke on us,” he said slowly, “be¬ cause the woman sent us ten dollars and people don’t pass out money in fun. Nope. Besides, the woman wrote in her letter that she was coming to the sanitarium. A rose-colored cat! Fellows, doesn’t it strike you that she’s got a reason for calling this cat rose-colored instead of yellow?”

Red was staring.

“You think there is some mystery about the cat?”

Peg nodded.

“Either that,” said he, “or the woman’s blamed queer.”

On the instant an excited thrill chased itself up and down my backbone. In a vague unexplain¬ able way I knew that Peg had the right dope.

CHAPTER IV

LADY VICTORIA DISAPPEARS

Lady Victoria disappointed us quite as much as she amazed and mystified us. Mindful of the cat’s value, as given in Mrs. Kepple’s letter, we had expected something classy; a high-toned cat* as it were. But here was a common yellow cat.

Scoop turned from the box with a disgusted look.

“If you were to give me my choice,” said he, “I’d take the five hundred dollars.”

“You and me both,” said Red.

Peg was squinting into the box.

“The only classy thing about this cat is her copper collar,” he put in.

My attention thus drawn to the cat’s collar, I noticed that it was copper, as Peg said, and ap¬ parently brand new.

“A two-cent cat,” laughed Red, “dressed up in a five-hundred-dollar collar.”

“The collar isn’t made of gold and diamonds,” I put in.

55

5 6 JERRY TODD AND

“Of course not,” said Scoop. “You can buy a collar like that in any harness store for seventy- five cents.”

So completely did Lady Victoria and the cop¬ per collar hold our attention that we failed to take note of the fact that three more crates of cats had arrived on the same train that brought Mrs. Kep- ple’s five-hundred-dollar cat. When the baggage man shoved the cats at us we felt sort of weak in the knees.

Scoop touched me on the arm.

“Jerry,” said he, “you better go to the brick¬ yard and borrow your pa’s dump cart.”

“All right,” I agreed.

“While you and Red and Peg are carting the cats to the old mill,” he added, “I’ll skin down the street to the Western Union office and send a telegram to the Chicago Tribune ordering them to discontinue the ad about the feline rest farm. I’ll have to bust the ten-dollar bill to pay for the message, but if we don’t send the telegram we’re likely to find ourselves with five hundred more cats wished onto us. This is getting to be too much of a good thing to suit me,” he concluded dismally, scowling at the crated cats.

The rest of us agreed with Scoop that he couldn’t send the telegram to the Chicago Tribune

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

57

any too soon. What we would do if more cats came in no one could imagine.

When we uncrated the cats that arrived that morning we counted twenty-three. Already we had one hundred and twenty-seven in the num¬ bered boxes, so the new arrivals boosted the total to an even one hundred and fifty.

Though it was hard for us to believe that a plain-looking cat like Lady Victoria could be worth five hundred dollars, we nevertheless used spe¬ cial care in handling her. She was given one of the larger boxes and provided with a carpet roll for a bed. Acting the monkey, Red even put a hook on the side of her box and told us it was for her tooth brush. Peg said we should get her a powder puff. This fun helped to cheer us up.

The traps were baited that morning and set in likely places in the lower part of the old mill and in the brickyard barn. We were in hopes that we would catch a rat or a mouse in each trap. This would help a lot.

There was plenty for us to do. If you think it’s a snap to feed one hundred and fifty cats, just try it. Of course we got some help from the kids who hung around. Even the Strieker cous¬ ins came snooping that afternoon to see what we were doing. We chased them away. Then

58 JERRY TODD AND

they fired rocks at the old mill from the top of the hill. Every time a rock hit the roof the cats yowled like they were being killed.

When evening came we sat around and talked *. in a dispirited way. There was a general lack of enthusiasm. As yet we were unwilling to give up the cat farm; but, as Peg pointed out, this might become necessary and we ought accordingly to shape our plans for getting rid of the cats. We knew he was talking sense. But no one came for¬ ward with a suggestion worthy of consideration, and that is what put a sober feeling into us.

Mrs. Maloney came over about eight-thirty to see how we were getting along. She brought us a cherry pie. It was very welcome. As she was leaving for home she reminded us to come over in the morning and get some more milk for the cats.

“An’ maybe I’ll have some cookies for ye,” she added. Mrs. Maloney’s all right.

The moon came up at nine o’clock, a big white disc in the eastern sky where the Tutter slaughter house lifts its roof on Knob Hill. It was a very beautiful sight. Thirty minutes later we turned in, Peg and I sleeping in separate cots while Red and Scoop shared the big cot we had fixed up for the professor. An hour passed. I found it hard to

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 59

get to sleep, as the moonlight came through a window and fell on my face. Without the mill the world of living things seemed to expire into a tomb of silence. Canal frogs that croaked lustily in the gray dusk of early evening were now asleep in their muddy beds. The katydid chorus had disbanded. Through the open window I could see the trees that grew on the hillside, but the leaves had tired of the day’s adventures and rested with closed and unobserving eyes. It was a peachy night. Once I got up from my cot and went to the window. The shadows beneath the trees seemed possessed of goblin-like shapes. A creepy feeling came out of the night and touched me. Then I laughed at my vague fears and went back to bed. The others were asleep. Scoop was snoring. I counted a few hundred hurtling sheep and shortly joined my companions in the land of dreams.

I don’t know how long I slept. Maybe not more than half an hour. Suddenly I found my¬ self sitting upright in bed. In a dazed way I realized something was wrong. The cats in the adjoining room were yowling and spitting. I could hear barking dogs and the low tones of tittering voices.

By this time the other fellows were awake.

60 JERRY TODD AND

“Somebody’s got their dogs in there lettin’ ’em chew up our cats,” Scoop cried, springing to his feet.

The noise increased to a din. We could not doubt that a wild battle was in progress between our cats and a number of unknown dogs. Then I heard a giggle and a rock whizzed through the open window, narrowly missing my head.

“It’s the Strieker gang,” I cried, and the fear that had gripped me went down under a flood of anger. “It’s just like them,” I added bitterly, “to come sneaking around here after dark with a lot of dogs to try and bust up our cat farm.”

“We’ll chase ’em out of here,” cried Peg. “Everybody grab a club. Take a board- — any¬ thing. All fixed? Atta boy! Come on, gang.”

He opened the connecting door. Four big dogs were bounding about the outer room, tipping over the cat boxes and clawing at the slats. Several of the cats had escaped and were clinging to the posts that supported the roof beams.

Peg raised his club and dashed forward. The Strieker cousins and the other members of the Zulutown gang were just inside the door. When they saw us they gave a jeering shout and ran away. Out through the open door we chased the dogs. I gave one a good whack with my club.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 61

He let out a fearful yelp. I was glad I hit him. Only I wished it was Bid Strieker I was hitting in¬ stead of his dog. We didn’t try to follow the Strieker s. We knew we couldn’t find them in the shadows that lay heavy and black beneath the sur¬ rounding trees. When they were gone from sight and the dogs had been chased away we re¬ turned to the mill to see how much damage had been done.

“Just wait,” Scoop declared, when we were putting the cat boxes to rights. “We’ll make the Strieker gang pay dear for this night’s work.”

“You bet your sweet life,” growled Peg, nod¬ ding his head.

“The only reason they got the upper hand of us to-night,” continued Scoop, “was because they caught us unprepared. To-morrow night we’ll lay for them.”

“I doubt if they’ve got nerve enough to come back,” said Peg.

“You never can tell,” returned Scoop. “Any¬ way, we’ll be on guard. If they do come back we’ll give them a trimming they won’t forget for

a few weeks. Um - Leave it to me, fellows.

I’ll think up some kind of a scheme for trapping

V „ 1)

em.

We corrected the disorder as best we could, re-

62

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

pairing the broken boxes and putting them in their proper places. Then we caught the cats that were loose in the room. I was happy under the thought that our job was almost completed when suddenly Scoop let out a screech that sent my heart skidding into my throat. I wheeled to find him dumbly pointing to Lady Victoria’s box. It was empty ! In the fracas the box had been tipped over and the five-hundred-dollar, rose-colored cat had escaped into the night or had been carried away by the Strieker gang.

When I thought of what the loss of the cat meant to us 1 wasn’t surprised that Scoop’s voice was filled with dismay.

CHAPTER V

AN UNSUCCESSFUL OPERATION

Following the discovery of the empty cat box we lighted a lantern and searched the room, peer¬ ing into all the shadowy nooks and crevices.

“Now we are in a fix,” groaned Scoop, when it became plain to us that Mrs. Kepple’s five* hundred-dollar cat had positively disappeared from the old mill.

Red set the lantern on a box and hitched it his belt.

“Well?” he said shortly, meaning what should we do next in an attempt to locate the rose-col¬ ored cat.

About to shape a reply, I was cut short by an ear-splitting yowl. Never in all my life had I heard a yowl so chock-full of quivering terror. It appeared to come trom the lower floor of the mill. Without a doubt some cat near us was in serious trouble.

Scoop leaped into action.

63

6 4 JERRY TODD AND

“Lady Victoria, I bet,” he cried. “Quick, fel¬ lows,” and taking the lantern he dashed through the doorway into the open. We were close on his heels as he rounded the corner of the mill and tumbled pell-mell down the slope to the lower door.

The yowling grew sharper when we entered the basement room. Guided by the sounds we soon located a yellow cat in one corner. It was Lady Victoria beyond a doubt, because the copper col¬ lar on the cat’s neck glistened dully in the lantern’s light. At a second glance we observed that the jaws of a rat trap had closed midway on the long tail.

When we released the cat it was plain to all of us that the tail bone was broken. Four inches of the tail’s tip end hung by the skin. A five-hun- dred-dollar cat with a broken tail! I could not doubt that the damaged tail put Lady Victoria forever out of the blue ribbon class, the same as a broken leg ends a racing horse’s track career. She might have been worth five hundred dollars when she was whole; but only a person with a wild imagination would argue that she was worth that amount of money with a bob tail. In the thought that we would be held responsible I felt sick and discouraged.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 65

Returning to the upper room I replaced the cat in its box, handling it gently so as not to cause it unnecessary pain. The other fellows stood back of me looking on.

‘‘Maybe,” said Red, “if we had some glue we could stick the tail in place and it would grow there. They do that with trees. Eh, Scoop?”

“Lady Victoria isn’t made of wood,” retorted Scoop.

“It might work,” persisted Red.

“Shucks!” snorted Scoop, giving the other a disgusted look.

Red got huffy, which is the easiest thing he can do.

“I suppose you know all about fixing broken

cats - I mean, fixing broken cat-tails - I

mean - ” He clawed his hair. “Good night!”

he fumbled. “I don’t know what I do mean.”

Peg snickered.

“Some one page the dingey wagon for Red Meyers,” he yipped.

Scoop pretended he was talking into a tele¬ phone.

“Is this the dingey house?” he inquired, put¬ ting a grave look on his face. “Very well, sir,” he added, “please send your hurry-up wagon to the Tutter Feline Rest Farm. Make it snappy.

66 JERRY TODD AND

We have a red-headed lunatic here who wants to engage one of your padded parlors.”

“Shucks !” I put in. “Cut out the nonsense and do something for the cat.”

“What can we do?” said Peg.

“The tail ought to be bandaged up,” I said* “and salve put on it to make it heal.”

Scoop yawned.

“We’ll do that to-morrow. Come on and let’s go to roost.”

It occurred to us that possibly the Strieker gang might return to the old mill under the thought that we were asleep, so we took turns standing guard. But nothing happened.

The following morning we finished repairing the cat boxes and then Peg went over to Mrs. Maloney’s house for the skimmed milk she had promised to save for us. When Red inspected the traps he found fourteen mice and two rats. This was hardly a taste for our big family of cats.

In dividing the mice and rats among the cats Scoop said we better feed them in groups, so we selected the white cats for the first feast. It was fun to watch the cats fight. One would grab a mouse and run with it, clawing and spitting at the cats pursuing it.

“If they were wise,” laughed Scoop, “they

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 67

would work in pairs, one chewing the head and the other the hind feet. Then their scrapping would be confined to the final bite.”

“Which shows that you don’t know very much about cats,” I put in quickly.

He looked at me.

“A cat,” I added, “always starts eating a mouse at the head end, saving the tail till the last.”

“What’s the idea?” Scoop inquired.

“It uses the tail to pick its teeth with,” I grinned.

Here Peg came in with the milk and a sackful of cookies. We left Red to watch things and went home to breakfast. Afterwards I joined Scoop and Peg down town. They had stopped in at the post office but the cat farm box was empty as usual. I wasn’t surprised. Like the others I realized that with the exception of Lady Victoria the cats had been sent to us as a joke. I had per¬ sistently hoped, though, that a few dollars would show up. Our money was fast dwindling away.

Scoop had his pockets full of scissors and things.

“What’s the keyhole saw for?” I inquired, when we were hurrying along the path to the old mill.

68 JERRY TODD AND

“I’ll likely need it in performing the operation,” he grinned.

“What operation?” I inquired.

“Well,” he countered, “we’ve got to fix Lady Victoria’s damaged tail, haven’t we?”

I nodded.

“That’s the operation I mean.”

“And you expect to use those wire cutters and that saw on the cat?” I cornered, staring at him.

“It’s just as well to be prepared for emergen¬ cies,” was his offhand reply.

“Good night!” I cried, and promptly told him I was sorry for the poor cat.

Presently we arrived at the old mill. When Red saw the scissors and wire cutters he made us promise to delay the operation till he returned from breakfast.

“I don’t want to miss a thing,” he told us. Then he beat it for home.

Viewed in the morning sunlight, Lady Victoria seemed very much dejected and shy of pep. Be¬ fore the accident she was one of the scrappiest cats in the mill. Now she crouched in a corner of her box like a forlorn, hunted thing.

In planning the operation Scoop told us the first step was to cut the skin that held the dan¬ gling tail to the stub. Under his directions we

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 69

made an operating table of a box and flopped Lady Victoria onto her back. She clawed and spit. Red held to the front feet while I man¬ aged the hind pair. Peg stood around and criti¬ cized, handing the operating tools to Scoop as he called for them.

When everything was ready Scoop snipped the skin with the scissors and the cat doubled up like a jackknife.

“Steady now, fellows,” he cautioned. “I’ve got to examine the bone. Hand me that basin

of water, Peg. Um - Just as I thought. The

bone is slivered.” Here he did something to the stub that caused the cat to double up a second time. “Don’t let her do that, fellows. Steady now. I want to saw the jagged bone.”

He ran the teeth of the saw across the end of Lady Victoria’s stub. In spite of all Red and I could do the cat squirmed under our grip and re¬ peated the jackknife stunt.

Scoop ran his fingers through his hair in a thoughtful way. “Guess we’ll have to give her chloroform,” he decided.

“Will that fix the tail?” Red inquired quickly.

“It’ll put her to sleep,” explained Scoop. “Haven’t you heard how patients in hospitals are given chloroform when operations are being per-

70 JERRY TODD AND

formed on them? As I understand it the chloro¬ form makes them sleep through the operation and they don’t know what the doctors are doing to them.”

“Maybe it won’t work on a cat,” Red said doubtfully.

“Sure it will,” declared Scoop. Presently he added decisively: “Yes, we’ll have to give Lady Victoria chloroform. That’s the only way to do the job up proper. It hadn’t ought to take a great deal. Here’s a dime, Red. You’re a good run¬ ner. Suppose you beat it for the drug store and tell the clerk you want ten cents’ worth of chloro¬ form. If he thinks you’re going to commit suicide, tell him about the cat.”

Red scowled.

“Gosh!” he complained. “I have to do all the running.” He took the dime, though, and started for town.

I guess chloroform is pretty expensive. Any¬ way, Red didn’t bring back more than a thimble¬ ful. We figured there wasn’t enough in the bot¬ tle to make Lady Victoria sleep very long, so decided it would be best to give the chloroform to her in one dose.

“You’ll have to work fast,” Peg told Scoop.

The latter had a puzzled look on his face as

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

7r

he alternately squinted at the cat and chloroform bottle.

“Um — Which is the right way to give it to her?” he inquired. “Inside or outside?”

“Try it both ways,” I suggested.

He shook his head.

“Not enough chloroform,” he explained.

“I think you should let her smell of it,” said Peg.

Acting on this suggestion, Scoop held the un¬ corked bottle close to Lady Victoria’s nose. In¬ stead of putting her to sleep it started her to yowling.

“How long do I have to let her smell of it?” inquired Scoop, glancing up at Peg.

Red gave a laugh.

“I knew you fellows would be up against it when it came to using the chloroform,” he said.

Scoop straightened.

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Sure thing,” said Red. “I asked the man in the drug store.”

“What did he say?”

“You should put the chloroform on a cloth and hold the cloth over the cat’s nose and mouth. Then it will breathe the chloroform smell and go to sleep.”

72 JERRY TODD AND

Scoop followed these directions. In no time at all Lady Victoria stopped squirming. When she was perfectly limp Red and I released her feet.

“Gosh!” I cried. “She ain’t dead, is she?” She looked dead to me.

Scoop was visibly uncertain.

“Feel of her heart, Red, and see if it’s still beating. Naw, that isn’t the place to feel of. Here, let me do it.” There was a brief silence. “I guess she’s still breathing,” he told us. “I can feel something wiggle under the skin. Um — I’ll have to hurry with the operation or she’ll be coming to her senses before I get the tail fixed.”

Here he took the saw and brought it down across Lady Victoria’s stub. This time the cat didn’t double up. When the jagged bone end had been sawed off he took a file and smoothed the corners. Then he drew the skin down over the stub and tied a string around it. It gave the cat a puckered look. Applying salve, he com¬ pleted the operation by bandaging the stub with strips of cloth torn from an old pillow case he had brought from home.

Straightening, he drew a deep breath.

“There,” he said proudly.

Lady Victoria looked queer with the bandage

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

73

on her stub. We wondered how she would act when she recovered her senses.

A minute passed. Two minutes.

“Hadn’t she ought to be waking up pretty soon?” Peg inquired anxiously.

We looked at Red.

“I never asked the drug store clerk how to wake her up,” he confessed.

“Maybe we ought to fan her — like they do people who faint,” I suggested.

“Or sprinkle her with cold water,” Peg put in.

“We’ll try both,” decided Scoop. He sprinkled on the water while Peg and I did the fanning. This failed to do a bit of good. Lady Victoria lay through it all, perfectly motionless. I touched her and found that she was getting stiff.

By this time Scoop was, thoroughly scared. His hands trembled as he felt up and down the cat’s sides to see if he could detect a heart action.

“Here’s a little bump,” he mumbled. “It’s either her heart or a button she’s swallowed. But it’s perfectly still,” he added in a hushed voice. He looked soberly into our faces. “Hon¬ est, fellows, I believe she’s dead.”

Dismay gripped us when we faced the fact that the five-hundred-dollar cat was really dead. The broken tail had been bad enough, but to have

74 JERRY TODD AND

the cat expire on our home-made operating tabl* was a thousand times worse. We realized now, when it was too late, that the operation was & crazy mistake. A cat with a damaged tail was better than no cat at all.

Scoop felt pretty cheap over the way he had bungled things. Collecting the keyhole saw and other operating tools he grimaced at us.

“The man who started the report that a cat has nine lives sure guessed wrong.” There was a brief silence as he cleaned the blade of his pocketknife. “Well, fellows,” he added, “I guess the only thing for us to do is to wait till the Chicago woman arrives at the samtarium. We’ll tell her what happened and face the music.”

His reference to Lady Victoria’s owner filled me with vague alarm. I still believed there was some sort of mystery connected with the rose- colored cat. It had been sent to us under that queer name for a reason known only to its owner. Beyond all doubt the woman wanted the cat returned to her alive. What would happen to us when she learned that the cat was dead I could only imagine.

An hour later we buried Lady Victoria on the hilltop back of the old mill. As she was no ordinary cat we placed her in a small cheese box

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 75

that had lost its strong smell and put some of Mrs. Maloney’s sunflowers on the grave. Red fixed up a marker on which he lettered:

Here lies Lady Victoria,

A feline most forlorn,

Who lost her lives — all nine of them— - By an overdose of chloroform.

Having thus paid our final respects to the rose- colored cat we went with Scoop to the brick¬ yard office and listened while he telephoned to the sanitarium. The desk clerk informed him over the wire that Mrs. Kepple, having elected to motor to Tutter, was due to arrive at the sanitarium the following Monday morning.

CHAPTER VI

A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR

That afternoon Scoop drove up to the old mill in one of his pa’s delivery wagons.

“What’s the idea?” inquired Peg.

“The idea is,” Scoop returned grimly, “that we’re going to get rid of these blamed cats.”

Red let out a crazy yip.

“I thought maybe you were going to put velvet cushions in the delivery wagon and take the cats out for an airing,” he giggled.

“You guessed it,” was Scoop’s unexpected ac¬ knowledgment.

Red stared.

“I’m going to take them on an airing trip into the country,” laughed Scoop, “and drop them at a farmhouse.”

“Yes,” I put in, “and have Bill Hadley land on us like a ton of lead. Help yourself,” I added, motioning him away, “but leave me out of it.”

“Bill Hadley doesn’t own the whole country,”

76

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 77

argued Scoop, bobbing his head. “Not so you can notice it. He can stop us from dropping the cats in town, but he has no authority outside of the city limits.”

“L never thought of taking the cats outside of town to get rid of them,” came thoughtfully from Peg.

“This noon,” proceeded Scoop, “pa was tell¬ ing how he got stalled south of town in our auto and had to hoof it to the Walkers Lake dairy farm to borrow gasoline to get home. They keep their gasoline in a corncrib and pa says he never seen so many mice in all his life. One ran up his pants leg. I laughed when he told about it.

, Then I pricked up my ears when he suggested in a joking way that I go to the farm and sell Mr. Hibbey some of our best mousers. Right away I saw that here was a chance to get rid of the cats. Only we won’t try to sell them — we’ll let Mr. Hibbey have them for nothing.”

“All of them?” gasped Red, letting his eyes turn to the long row of cat boxes.

“All we can take in one load,” laughed Scoop.

“Who is the lucky man who gets the rest?” Peg wanted to know.

“Oh,” said Scoop, “we’ll drive north of town on our second trip and drop the remaining cats

7§ JERRY TODD AND

along the Treebury pike.” He looked at his

watch. “Three-thirty. Um - Let’s make it

snappy, fellows, so we can complete the second trip before supper time. I don’t mind telling you that I’m dead anxious to kiss this feline rest farm good-by.”

Under his directions we loaded the yowling cats into two of the biggest crates. When the crates were jammed full we drove out of town, whistling and singing so that the people we met on the road wouldn’t notice the cats. Coming within sight of the dairy farm we proceeded cautiously, because, as Scoop said, it was just as well not to let the farmer see us in the act of dropping the cats. When we were nicely screened by the trees and bushes that paralleled the road¬ bed on both sides we loosened the slats of the crates. Gee-miny crickets ! It was a sight to see the cats boil out of the crates and disappear across the field in the direction of the big barn. I told the fellows that Mr. Hibbey’s mice and rats would have a bad case of heart failure when they saw that army of four-legged traps descend¬ ing upon them.

“Let’s hope,” laughed Scoop, “that Mr. Hib- bey doesn’t have heart failure.”

Returning to town we tied the old horse to 21

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

79

telephone pole and ran up the hill to the cat farm. About to dash into the mill our attention was drawn to a letter thrust into the handle of the door latch. It was addressed to the Tutter Feline Rest Farm. Tearing open the envelope Scoop read aloud:

I want to buy a dozen of your cats and will pay fifty cents apiece. Put the cats in my base¬ ment. I am leaving the east window unlocked. When I get back from Ashton to-morrow I will pay you your money.

Miss Mary Prindle.

“Why,” spoke up Red, when Scoop’s voice trailed away, “Miss Prindle is the old maid who soaked me on the head with a broom.” His eyes searched ours. “What do you suppose she wants of twelve cats?” he added, a puzzled look settling into his freckled face.

“We should worry what she wants of them,” laughed Peg, “if we can get fifty cents apiece for them.”

Scoop walked quickly to the row of cat boxes.

“A dozen,” he mused. “I wonder if we have that many left.”

When we came to count the remaining cats all we could find was eleven.

80 JERRY TODD AND

“Hot dog!” cried Red, as we loaded the cats into a crate. “Here’s where we make five dollars and fifty cents.”

It was twenty minutes to six when we drove up in front of Miss Prindle’s house and carried the crate of cats into her yard. Mrs. Wheeler, who lives next door and usually knows everything that goes on up and down the street, came inquis¬ itively onto her porch and stared.

“Goodness gracious!” she cried. “What are you boys intending to do with all those cats?”

“They’re for Miss Prindle,” informed Scoop.

“She’ll skin you alive if you leave them in her yard.”

“She ordered them from us,” declared Scoop.

“Ordered them?”

“Sure thing. She’s paying us fifty cents apiece for them.”

Mrs. Wheeler had a dizzy look on her face as we took the cats one at a time and dropped them through Miss Prindle’s basement window. Then we carried the empty crate to the wagon and drove away.

“To-morrow,” said Scoop, as we rattled down the dusty street, “we‘11 come back and collect our pay.”

That evening Red and I went to the first pic-

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

81

ture show. We were full of giggles. What put us that way was the happy thought that hence¬ forth we wouldn’t have to bunk with a flock of yowling cats.

“If I live to be five hundred years old,” said Red, “I never want to touch another cat.”

“You and me both,” I agreed.

“It’s like being turned loose from jail,” he added, “to be relieved of the worries of running that old cat farm.”

“Easy,” was my warm reply.

After the show we each bought a soda, because, as Red pointed out, there was no need of us being tight wTith half of Miss Prindle’s five dol¬ lars and fifty cents coming to us the following morning.

When the sodas were down we bought two peach sundaes. Then we stopped at a fruit- stand and spent twenty cents for bananas. We got a lot for our money because they were so ripe.

“How about some apple pie smothered in cream?” suggested Red, when we came even with Mugger’s all-night restaurant.

“Hot dog!” I said, starting for the door.

Coming from the restaurant ten minutes later, we ran into Scoop and Peg. The latter had a big watermelon in his arms. What with the apple

82 JERRY TODD AND

pie in my stomach on top of the bananas and everything, I can’t say was I very hungry, but when Scoop invited Red and me to fall into line I didn’t back down.

“Where you heading for?” Red wanted to know.

“The Commercial House alley,” informed Scoop.

“Bid Strieker is up the street with his gang,” put in Peg, shifting his hold on the melon and squinting back. “They had their heads together like they were cooking up some scheme to get us, so we better watch out for them. Scoop says we can climb the hotel fire escape, then if they come into the alley we can soak them with our melon rinds.”

“I’d like to soak them with a donnick,” growled Scoop, “after the dirty trick they played on us last night.”

Pretty soon we came to the brick-paved alley that parallels the Tutter hotel on the dining room side. Here an iron fire escape zig-zags its way up the building’s brick walls to the roof. Mounting to the first balcony we got our pocket- knives in hand and waded into the melon.

Sure enough the Strickers were hot on our trail. They came sneaking into the alley, squint-

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 83

ing into the shadowy places and talking in whis¬ pers. It never occurred to them to look up the fire escape.

Bid Strieker stopped directly beneath us.

“They came this way,” he said in a low voice.

“Sure thing,” said Jimmy.

“Wonder where they are,” said Bid.

Peg touched each of us in turn to attract our attention.

“We’ll show ’em where we are,” he whispered, sort of gritty-like. “Each one get a rind. When I count ‘three,’ let ’er fly. Ready? One, two, three.”

I aimed for the top of Bid Strieker’s head. He let out an awful yip when my juicy rind landed “kerflop!” on his bean. It was as good as a circus to see him hipper out of the alley into Main Street, the others tumbling along on his heels.

“You guys think you’re awful smart,” he yelled at us from the mouth of the alley. “Just wait, though! You’ve got something coming when you git home to-night.”

“Please sell us some cats,” yipped Jimmy Strieker.

“Sure thing,” another cried. “We’ll pay you fifty cents apiece for them.”

84 JERRY TODD AND

Then the whole gang went, “Haw! haw! haw!”

“They’re sore,” said Scoop, “because we sold the cats to Miss Prindle and made some easy money.”

After a bit we started for home and there was the Strickers half a block behind us. First one would hoot at us, then another.

“We’ll go to Jerry’s house,” suggested Scoop, “and lay for them.”

Shortly after that we turned into our lawn. The porch light was burning and I could see Dad and Mother and Red’s pa and ma. Miss Prindle was there, too. I wondered at that, because she and Mother aren’t very thick.

Dad got his eyes on us.

“Come here,” he called.

Standing on the porch steps, Miss Prindle wheeled and pierced us with a pair of angry eyes.

“How dare you put your cats in my base¬ ment?” she cried. “I should have you arrested.”

Dad held up his hand.

“Just a minute, Miss Prindle. Suppose we give the boys a chance to defend themselves. Maybe there is some mistake.”

“I know what I am talking about,” snapped

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 85

Miss Prindle. “They put the cats in my base¬ ment and my nearest neighbor saw them do it. One of the dirty creatures fell into a crock of fresh crabapple marmalade, and in addition there are broken fruit jars all over the basement floor.”

Dad turned to me with a sober face.

“How about this, Jerry? Did you put any cats in her basement?”

I nodded, sort of dizzy-like.

“She told us to,” I explained.

Miss Prindle gasped and stared at me as though I was the biggest liar that ever walked on two legs. It made me hot.

“Yes, you did,” I fired at her. “You wrote it in a letter.”

“I did no such thing,” she denied.

“How about this?” said Scoop, and he handed the letter to Dad, who read it aloud.

“I never wrote that,” declared Miss Prindle. “It’s just a part of your scheme to annoy me.”

“Maybe,” Dad put in quietly, “some one has played a joke on the boys. Have you thought of that, Miss Prindle?”

A joke ! On the instant I went sick and dis¬ gusted in the thought that the Strieker gang had made monkeys out of us. Yes, sir, that was it.

86 JERRY TODD AND

I could see it now. And I felt the ice cream com¬ ing up in my throat, only it didn’t get up very far because the watermelon jumped on it and held it down and then the bananas jumped on the watermelon and the apple pie came up for air and I wanted to lay down on my stomach and groan.

“Joke or no joke,” snapped Miss Prindle, “they’ve got to come over to my house and get their cats.”

Dad put a steady hand on my arm.

“I reckon, Jerry, you better take the cats back to the old mill,” he advised. “And to-morrow,” he said to Miss Prindle, “I’ll stop in and settle for any damage the cats have done to your crab- apple marmalade.”

“Of course,” said Miss Prindle, sort of com¬ ing down from her high horse, “I don’t want to be unnecessarily sharp. But when a neighbor told me how the cats came to be in my basement I naturally concluded they had been put there to annoy me.”

“I don’t think Jerry would do a trick like that,” Dad said quietly.

“Nor my Donald, either,” put in Mrs. Meyers, meaning Red.

Well, it was nice to have our folks stick up

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 87

for us, but I can’t say did it put any happiness into us. Growling to ourselves we got some sacks and went over to Miss Prindle’s house and caught the cats. We were good and hot and we didn’t care whether they went into the sacks tail end first or head end first. I guess not! On the way to the old mill we told each other that we’d get even with the Strieker gang if it took us seven¬ teen years.

It was nine-thirty when we plodded up the hill and opened the door. Peg lit the lantern. Tak¬ ing a cat from his sack he shoved it into the near¬ est box.

“Git in there,” he growled.

“You, too,” I said, grabbing a cat and shoving it into a box.

The cats disposed of, we sat in a circle and looked at one another.

“Weren’t we the champion dumb-bells,” wailed Scoop, “to let the Strieker gang pull that joke on us?”

“We sure were asleep at the switch,” Peg agreed unhappily.

“The thought that the Strieker gang got the best of us is what hurts the worst,” proceeded Scoop. “To-morrow we can easily get rid of the cats in the country; and I guess it won’t kill

88 JERRY TODD AND

us to bunk here one more night. But to think

that we let Bid Strieker slip it over on us -

Oh, oh! It makes me sick.”

“They were watching us,” I informed, “when we went over to Miss Prindle’s to get the cats. They know we’re here in the mill. After what they did last night it may be well for us to be on our guard.”

Scoop jumped to his feet and snapped his lingers.

“Jinks ! That reminds me that I never told you about my ghost scheme.”

“Ghost scheme?” we questioned in chorus.

“The idea came to me this morning,” said Scoop, “but I forgot to mention it.”

Before he could proceed with an account of his scheme the sound of creaking wagon wheels came to us from in front of the mill and a gruff voice called out, “Who-oa !” We stared at one another, wondering who was planning to make a call at that time of night. Then a lantern flashed in the doorway and a man bounded into the mill — the angriest man I ever set eyes on. It was Mr. Hibbey, the proprietor of the Walkers Lake dairy farm.

“Durn your measly hides,” he roared at us. “I got a notion to take a horsewhip to you.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 89

“Wha-at’s the matter?” inquired Scoop, going white.

The man shook his big fists at us.

“You know well enough what I be talkin’ ’bout, you young pirates! Thought you’d be perty slick, heh, droppin’ your pesky cats on my farm? Thought I wouldn’t know ’bout it, heh? Well, I’ll show you a trick or two, by gum! Jest you trot out to my wagon an’ git your blamed cats an’ make it snappy.”

Scoop gave a gasp and clutched my arm like he had a bad case of wabbly knees.

“You — you haven’t brought the cats back?” he fumbled.

“You’re durn tootin’ I brought ’em back.”

The cats were in a big box on the farmer’s wagon. Discouraged and disgusted we lugged them up the hill into the mill.

“I’m lettin’ you off easy this time,” growled the farmer, as he untied his horse and climbed onto the wagon seat. “But if you put any more cats on my farm I’ll git the sheriff after you, an’ don’t you furgit it, nuther. I mean business, by heck !”

When the cats were distributed in their boxest Scoop sat down and wiped the sweat from his face.

9o JERRY TODD AND

“Fellows,” said he in a hollow voice, “this is awful ”

“Awful is right,” I put in.

Red gave a groan.

“And to think,” he reminded, “that a few hours ago we were gay and happy in the thought that we had kissed the old feline rest farm good- bv.”

Peg was counting the cats. Suddenly he straightened and turned to us with a queer look on his face.

“Fellows,” he inquired, “how many cats did we have this morning?”

“One hundred and fifty,” informed Scoop, “in¬ cluding Lady Victoria.”

Peg gave a scattered laugh.

“Well,” said he, “I don’t know where the others came from, but we now have one hundred and fifty-five.”

“It’s that blamed farmer,” screeched Scoop. “He brought back cats that don’t belong here.”

“If this keeps up,” I put in, “we’ll soon have a corner on all the cats in the county.”

“Yes,” Scoop agreed dismally, “and a corner on all the troubles and worries.”

We ' rent dejectedly into the side room where the cots were.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

9i

“What is that ghost scheme you were going to tell us about?’* Peg reminded.

Red brightened.

“Yes, Scoop, hurry and put us wise,” he said, “and we’ll work it on the cats and scare them to death.”

“It was my scheme,” said Scoop, “for two of us to dress up as ghosts and scare the Strickers. We can use these sheets,” he added, indicating the bed clothing on the cots.

“I’ll be a ghost,” offered Peg.

“And I’m the other one,” I put in quickly.

Peg was full of enthusiasm.

“We’ll fix up real spooky,” he said, “and if those Zulutown bums come sneaking around here to-night we’ll scare the liver out of them. It’ll be fun,” he added, with sparkling eyes, “and help to keep our minds off of our cat troubles.”

This kind of talk got us all excited. Like the others I could think of nothing more pleasing and satisfying than turning the tables on Bid Strieker and his companions. And I was glad I was going to be one of the ghosts.

“You two fellows can hide on the hillside,” j planned Scoop, “and watch the door. If they come, creep down the hill and head them off.” He looked into Peg’s face and laughed.

92 JERRY TODD AND

“Can you give an honest-to-goodness graveyard groan?” he inquired.

Peg’s grin put his mouth from ear to ear.

“Listen to this,” he bragged, and lifting his chest he went: “O-r-r-r-r-r ! G-r-r-r-r-r !”

“Fine!” complimented Scoop. “If you do that well when you come up behind them in the dark you’ll scare them cold. Carry a club,” he added grimly, “and aim for their shins.”

Our plans completed, Peg and I took the sheets and started up the hill. It was necessary to pick our way because the moon that had painted the world with white light the previous night now lay hidden behind a bank of clouds.

I don’t know how long we crouched in silence, vague gray shadows against the black hillside. It may have been thirty minutes. An hour maybe. I have found that the minutes always drag when one is keyed up and expectant. My legs got stiff and the prolonged silence began to put an edge on my nerves.

Peg yawned.

“Sleepy?” I whispered.

He told me he was.

“So’m I,” I returned.

“Must be close to midnight,” ,

“Easy.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 93

“Bet they won’t come. It was earlier than this when they came last night.”

“If they don’t come pretty soon,” I said, “we’ll - ”

Peg’s fingers closed convulsively on my wrist.

“What was that?” he cut in.

My heart was racing.

“Sounded like some one in front of the mill,” I told him.

We lay perfectly still, straining our eyes and ears. In the faint light of the hidden moon we could trace the outline of the old mill. It seemed fearfully big and angular and grim. I was strangely reminded of a glowering, ill-natured giant. I experienced an unexplainable feeling of oppression, as though the giant were preparing to put forth a tremendous foot and squash me as I have seen ants squashed under people's feet on concrete sidewalks.

Peg squeezed my hand.

“They’re coming, Jerry. Get your sheet ready.”

I put the sheet over my head. It was like being shut in a barrel.

“I can’t see a thing,” I complained.

There was a sound of tearing cloth.

“Poke a couple of holes through the sheet

94 JERRY TODD AND

for your eyes,” Peg suggested. “That’s what I’ve done. I can see pretty good.”

Fixing eyeholes in my sheet, I followed him down the hill. Each step was measured carefully so as not to make an unnecessary sound. It would upset our plans to have the Strickers hear us coming.

I was directly behind Peg when we reached the door of the mill. Glancing inside, I detected a round splotch of moving light. I suspected it was a flashlight in the hands of one of the Stric¬ kers.

Peg started forward with outstretched arms. Against the faint light that penetrated the room through the open door he looked fearfully spooky. I told myself, with satisfaction, that the Strickers were scheduled for the scare of their lives.

“O-r-r-r-r-r !” went Peg. This set the cats to yowling. It was a fearful din.

There came a frightened cry. The flashlight went out. Hearing some one near me I made a wide swing with my club. It struck goal. There was a terrified yell in the darkness. Then Scoop 'and Red tumbled into the room with the lantern.

“Head ’em off, fellows,” clamored Scoop. As he darted across the room, lantern in hand, his fast-moving legs made dancing shadows on the

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 95

wooden walls. These shadows gave the room the appearance of being full of hurtling people. But when I tore off my sheet I found that we had the room to ourselves. Whoever had stopped the full swing of my club had escaped through the doorway into the night.

“Where are they?” yelled Scoop, helping Peg out of his sheet.

The latter had a dazed look on his face.

“It wasn’t the Strickers,” he said slowly.

Scoop stared.

“It was some one else,” Peg continued. “A man. He had a flashlight. He seemed to be looking for something.”

“Looking for something?” Scoop echoed dully.

Peg nodded.

“I think he was looking for something in the cat boxes.” There was a brief silence as Peg let his eyes meet ours in turn. “If it wasn’t such a crazy idea,” he added, “I’d say the man was looking for a certain cat.)f

I had wondered at the feeling of oppression that gripped me on the hillside. It was then un¬ explainable. Now I understood. The queer thought that the old mill was a formidable, de¬ structive giant was a premonition. That is a big word, but I know what it means. And on the

9 6 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

instant I wondered uneasily if dangers as well as strange adventures lay ahead of us.

Not for one minute was I in doubt regarding the identity of the cat the man was seeking under cover of darkness. Of all the cats sent to us Lady Victoria was the only one possessing dis¬ tinction. The rose-colored cat, of course, was dead and buried; but the mysterious prowler didn’t know that.

My mind crowded full of conflicting, puzzled thoughts, an involuntary cry dropped from my lips when Scoop darted across the room and pounced upon an object that lay just within the open door. It was a man’s cap.

CHAPTER VII

WANTED: ONE HUNDRED CATS

The knowledge that a mysterious prowler had positively entered the mill in the dead of night to undoubtedly steal Mrs. Kepple’s rose- colored cat filled us with nervous apprehension and sent our minds into scattered speculation. Who was he? What did he want of the cat? And why did he come for it under cover of dark¬ ness ?

A prolonged conversation failed to bring probable answers to these puzzling questions. So we decided to let the mystery rest and get some needed sleep. Before turning in, however, we barred the door and latched the windows in the thought that the prowler might possibly re¬ turn to continue his strange quest.

The sun was high in the sky and the world without the mill lay tepid in the heat of a new summer day when I awakened. Running into the adjoining room I made sure that the door

97

'98 JERRY TODD AND

bars and window latches were undisturbed. Then I got the other fellows out of bed.

Scoop squinted at his watch and yawned.

“Nine o’clock,’’ said he.

“Fat chance of ma cooking breakfast for me at this time of day,” grumbled Red.

“We’ll get our own breakfast,” said Peg. Crossing the room he squinted at the shelves con¬ taining the professor’s supply of food. “Here’s bacon and eggs,” he told us, “and corn flakes. If Mrs. Maloney will let us have some fresh milk I guess we’ll be able to make out a satis¬ factory meal.”

Shortly after breakfast Mother and Mrs. Meyers climbed the hill and entered the mill.

“We came to see if you were alive this morn¬ ing,” laughed Mother, smoothing down my hair.

“Yes,” puffed Mrs. Meyers, like she was out of wind, “and we came to see the cats.”

“Well,” grinned Scoop, “they’re all in sight and ready for inspection. Just help yourself,” he motioned.

“Goodness gracious!” cried Mother. “What a lot of cats.” She turned to where I was stand¬ ing. “I thought you told me you had gotten rid of all but eleven.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

99

I explained about the farmer and the wagon load of cats from the dairy farm.

“How lucky you are to get the cats back,” put in Mrs. Meyers when I concluded.

“Lucky?” I repeated, wondering what did she mean by such a careless use of the word. Not for one instant did we consider ourselves lucky in the return of the cats. To the exact contrary we felt that we were a million times out of luck.

“When you can sell your cats for twenty-five cents apiece,” Mrs. Meyers continued, “it would be foolish to give them away.”

I thought, of course, that she was joking. It could not be otherwise, because there was no market for cats at a cent apiece let alone twenty- five cents.

“Don’t be so sure of that,” laughed Mrs. Meyers, and locating a newspaper clipping in her handbag she read:

WANTED: ioo cats by Saturday night. I will pay 25c. each. Phone 9044.

“If I were you,” advised Mother, on the instant that Mrs. Meyers’ voice died away, “I would get in touch with this cat buyer immediately.

100 JERRY TODD AND

Otherwise, some person with a supply of eats may get in ahead of you.”

Scoop reached for the clipping and regarded it with puzzled eyes. Presently he inquired:

“Was this in the Tutter newspaper?”

Mrs. Meyers nodded.

“Last night was the first I noticed it,” she in¬ formed.

“Maybe,” suggested Mother, “you can mark down the price of your cats and get rid of them in one lot.”

Scoop lifted his eyes from the clipping and gave a queer laugh.

“I can’t make myself believe that any sane person would advertise for cats and offer to pay twenty-five cents apiece for them,” he declared.

“But it says so in the advertisement,” Mrs. Meyers put in.

“I bet you,” Scoop added reflectively, “that the ad is a fake. Yes, sir! Just like the letter we got yesterday. Some smart geezer who knows we have the cats is trying to put up a joke on us. I don’t know what the joke is, but I suspect that if we called up 9044 we’d get instruc¬ tions to deliver the cats at the Eureka Laundry to be washed, or some such crazy thing. Huh!”

I knew that Scoop was right. Absolutely. To

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT ioi

take any other view would be ridiculous. As he pointed out, no person with brains would ad¬ vertise for one hundred cats in good faith and actually pay money for them. I told myself that whoever paid for the advertisement had wasted his money. We wouldn’t bite. Not so you can notice it. After what had happened in connec¬ tion with the fake letter we were too foxy to be taken in by the advertisement.

Mother and Mrs. Meyers commented on our varied assortment of cats as they passed in front of the boxes.

“Oh,” cried Red’s mother, “what a cunning black cat.”

We told her it was the cat Professor Stoner brought to Tutter in the covered basket.

“I always liked black cats,” continued Mrs. Meyers, “because they are so easy to keep clean* Usually, though, a black cat has some disfiguring spots. This cat seems to be coal black.”

“All except its tongue,” joked Scoop, “and that’s pink.”

I spoke up and told Mrs. Meyers she could have the black cat if she wanted it.

“Gosh, yes,” put in Scoop, “and you can have a dozen more if you say the word.”

She thanked us dryly and stated that one cat

102 JERRY TODD AND

was an ample sufficiency. Stooping, she raised the slats and took the black cat from its box.

“I hope you boys learn that the advertisement was inserted in the Globe in good faith,” said Mother, as she and her companion were leaving.

We politely said we hoped so, too, and thanked^ both of them for their trouble in coming to the mill to tell us about the cat buyer. Down in our hearts, though, we had not a particle of doubt that the advertisement was a fake. As Scoop told us, it was a good thing to keep away from.

That noon when Red came back from dinner he was so full of giggles he could hardly talk straight.

“What do you know,” he cried, “if the Stac¬ kers aren’t fine-combing the town for stray cats.”

Peg gave the newcomer a suspicious scowl and asked what the joke was.

“The joke is on the Strickers,” gurgled Red as he came up for air. “They saw the advertise¬ ment in the newspaper and it’s their bright idea to clean up a lot of jack selling cats.”

Scoop let out a yip.

“Ain’t they the poor boobs,” he laughed, “to fall for that fake ad? I tell you what, fellows: let’s make it our business to be on hand when

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 103

they deliver the cats, so we can give them the horselaugh.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Peg, his black eyes snapping.

It was important in the working of Scoop^s plan for one of us to keep an eye on the Stac¬ kers, so Red disappeared in the direction of town. At four-thirty he came back on the run.

“Quick, fellows! They’ve started out with their cats.”

Hurriedly locking the mill door, we beat it down the hill and followed on Red’s flying heels until we overtook the Strickers in Grove Street.

“They’re heading for the Treebury pike,” he explained.

A surprised look crept into Peg’s broad face.

“Is the cat buyer located in the country?” he inquired.

“It’s some one living in the big brick house near the Morgan crossroads. Tommy Hegan told me. He overheard Bid Strieker telephon¬ ing.”

Scoop gave another contented laugh.

“Yes,” he put in, “Bid thinks the cat buper lives there. Like as not, though, the owner of the brick house knows nothing about the cat ad-

io4 JERRY TODD AND

vertisement.” There was a brief silence. “Yes, sir,” Scoop continued, “I’d be willing to bet my Sunday shirt against a last-year’s bird nest that the Strickers are due for a shock when they parade up the front steps of the house to deliver their cats. Huh! I hope they get doused with water.”

“Or get whacked with a broom,” supplemented Red, recalling his humiliation on Miss Prindle’s front porch.

“We’ll keep well behind,” planned Peg, “so they won’t see us or suspect they are being fol¬ lowed. Then when the door is slammed in their faces we’ll give them the hee-haw. Good and plenty. They’ll think we put up the joke on them.”

“And when they lug the cats back to town,” giggled Red, “we can hoot at them from behind: ‘Pkase sell us some of your cats,’ like they hooted at us last night.”

The gang ahead of us consisted of five boys. Bid Strieker pulled a coaster wagon containing a big crate. Just how many cats were shut in the crate we could only imagine. Jimmy Strieker steadied the crate on one side and another mem¬ ber of the gang did the same on the opposite side. In this way they passed out of town on

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 105

the Treebury pike, covering a stretch of possibly two miles before they came to the old brick house that is considered something of a landmark in our section.

Concealed in the shrubbery, we watched them( pass up the front porch steps. And as Bid Stric-' ker cranked the old-fashioned door-bell I tingled happily in the thought that he was sort of walk¬ ing into the spider’s parlor, only he didn’t suspect it. There he stood all chesty and confident on one side of the closed door, and on the inner side Trouble was exercising its muscles. Very soon he’d catch it. I was glad.

Presently a young man came to the door. There was some low-voiced conversation; then, to our amazement, the young man came onto the lawn and interestedly inspected the cats through the slats of the crate.

Well, I don’t like to write down what followed. A fellow with pride in his system hates to admit defeat at the hands of the enemy. And, as Scoop said later, defeat, as a word, only mildly describes what we got handed to us. You’ll understand what I mean when I tell you that the man actually paid the Strickers money for their cats. We could see the silver pieces shine in his hands as he extended the money to Bid. And we could see

10 6 JERRY TODD AND

the silver sparkle in Bid’s hands as he counted the pieces to make sure he was getting all that was due him.

^^fcight then and there we went sick and dis¬ gusted. Crowding up in our minds was the hu¬ miliating realization that the Strickers had got¬ ten in ahead of us in supplying the buyer with cats we could have easily supplied had we been less quick to brag to one another how smart we were to detect the joker in the advertisement. Mother and Mrs. Meyers had expressed their opinion that the advertisement was sincere. We had paid no attention to what they said. We thought we knew more than they did. Now it was plain to us that they were wholly right. It was an unhappy situation for us.

There wasn’t much talk between us as we slunk into town in the wake of the jubilant Strieker gang. Our usual pep and self-confidence had deserted us. Ahead, the Strickers were singing and whistling. What filled them with happiness was the thought of all the ice cream sodas and chocolate bars their money would buy. It was our money, I told myself. And I hated Bid Strict ker worse than ever for cheating us out of it* As a matter of fact, there was no actual cheating, and the Strickers were entitled to the money.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 107

But I was angry enough to take the other view. You know now it is with a boy sometimes.

The tower clock on College Hill struck six times as we came dejectedly into town.

“I guess,” Scoop said quietly, “we’ll keep to ourselves.”

“I guess you said a mouthful,” Peg agreed dis¬ mally.

“They didn’t have more than twenty cats,” continued Scoop. “The man wants one hundred. Bright and early to-morrow morning we’ll do

some cat selling. Um - Eighty cats at a

quarter apiece will bring us twenty dollars.”

Red brightened.

“No need to be downhearted,” said he, “with all that money chasing after us.”

“Yes,” agreed Scoop, “our luck might be worse.” Scowling, he continued: “It galls me, though, to think that we were asleep at the switch and let the Strickers get in ahead of us.”

“They don’t know we trailed them into the country to give them the horselaugh,” Red re¬ minded quickly.

“That,” returned Scoop, “is the only comfort ing thought.”

Peg had a reflective expression on his face.

“I can’t for the life of me figure out what a

& *F

io8 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

man wants with one hundred cats. For my part I’d as soon have one hundred toothaches wished onto me.”

“Or one hundred baths,” I put in.

“It’s unusual,” agreed Scoop, nodding his head. His thoughts carried him away and we walked

several paces in silence. “Urn - I wonder is

there any connection between this sudden demand for cats and the prowler’s visit to the mill last night.” Pausing, he searched our eyes. “May¬ be, fellows,” he added, a queer note in his voice, “this cat buyer and the man who got whanged with Jerry’s club are one and the same person.”

We couldn’t say with any certainty did Scoop have the right dope or not. He’s an easy jumper when it comes to forming conclusions. Lots of times in his jumping he gets himself tangled up. But what he said about the cat buyer gave us something to think about, to say the least.

CHAPTER VIII

OUR BARREL TRAP

Dusk settled low upon the land as we sat in the doorway of the old mill and planned how we would deliver our cats into the buyer’s hands early the following morning. If we could manage to crowd all the cats into one load so much the better. There was a chance that the buyer would accept the lot. In that event we would be in luck. We joyously pictured the envy in Bid Strieker’s homely face upon learning the story of our good fortune. He was welcome to his little old five dollars. Huh! We were going to earn twenty dollars. This happy thought took the keen edge from our dejection and humiliation.

“If the cat buyer wants only eighty cats,” said Scoop, “we’ll fill the order and then drive deeper into the country and drop the remaining cats here and there along the Treebury pike.”

Peg laughed.

“ ‘Here and there’ is the right way to do it,”

he agreed, recalling, I guess, the unfortunate re- * 109

no JERRY TODD AND

suits that attended our first attempt to get rid of the cats wholesale.

Scoop readily understood what the other meant.

“Yes,” he nodded, “if it becomes necessary to drop the cats along the turnpike we’ll spread them out and not release them in bunches like we did over by the dairy farm.”

The mysterious cat buyer was a target for a good bit of our speculative conversation. Was he indeed the prowler who had stopped the full swing of my club the previous night when Peg and 1 played ghost? And was he in the mill in quest of the yellow cat? To put answers onto these questions would likely clear up the mystery, and that, of course, is what we were anxious to do. But would we be able to pump the stranger as Scoop anticipated? The cat buyer was a man; we were boys. It didn’t seem possible to me that he would fall into any of our traps. Still I was hopeful.

Peg thoughtfully advanced the theory that the prowler might be an agent of Mrs. Kepple’s.

“I read in a story one time,” he explained, “how a woman had her pet dog insured against theft, then hid it and tried to collect the insurance money. That may be Mrs. Kepple’s game.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT hi

Listening with eager ears, I instantly thrilled under the thought that Peg’s theory supplied a reason for the unusual cat advertisement. In¬ structed to steal the cat, the prowler had made the discovery that the cat wasn’t in the mill. His next step was to run the advertisement in the newspaper under the hope that in rounding up all the stray cats in Tutter the desired cat would be delivered into his hands. This accomplished, Mrs. Kepple could safely file her five-hundred- dollar claim with the insurance company.

In tumbling, excited words I spilled my thoughts to the others. Scoop, though, couldn’t see it my way.

“You entirely overlook the fact,” said he, “that the cat advertisement was placed in the newspaper before the prowler visited the mill.”

He was right. My excitement subsided and I shut up.

The moon lifted its round white face into the sky as though to assure us of its friendship and support. A powerful electric searchlight could have given us no more complete protection. Nevertheless we safeguarded the cat farm against possible invasion, which task completed, we dropped onto our cots, sleeping the night through without disturbance. Awakening at the call of

1 12 JERRY TODD AND

the first factory whistle, we divided the work of preparing breakfast and crating the cats; then set forth happily, mindful of Mr. Ellery’s injunc¬ tion that the borrowed delivery wagon must be returned to the store within an hour.

Our early-morning ridjs into} the country touched up my pep and made me gladder than ever that I was alive. It was a magic world, sort of. The leaves tenanting the trees seemed washed and refreshed under the disappearing dew. Once we dipped into a hollow and a tang crept toward us from out of the low lands, put¬ ting imaginative pictures of colorful growing things into my mind. Not infrequently in such contented moments I have the industrious feel¬ ing that I want to be a farmer when I grow up. Running a farm is hard work; but there comes a fine contentment, I bet, from living close to fields and forests. Dad jokes about educating me to be a minister. He says I can do the preach¬ ing and he’ll take up the collection and we’ll split fifty-fifty. That is his nonsense, of course. When I do get to be a man as big and tall as he is, with number eight shoes and a safety razor of my own, he’ll likely forget about the minister business and let me be a farmer if I want to be one.

The clattering delivery wagon built a wall

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 113

about my thoughts and I gave critical attention as a future-day farmer to the adjacent fields of growing corn. There was one poor field. I told myself stoutly that there would be no crooked corn rows in my farm; nor would there be weedy patches. No, sir-e ! Then we came to a sloping meadow spread upon the sunny hillside like a huge blanket, all green and soft and velvety, and I turned my attention to the grazing cattle, draw¬ ing a mental comparison between these cows and the cows that were to be a part of my farm. Pretty soon in imagination I got to be a big land owner and all the farms paralleling the turnpike were my farms and all the cattle were my cattle and I scowled back at the weedy corn¬ field, saying to myself that the hired man who had charge of that particular field would hear from me, all right, all right. I even had it figured out in my mind what I would hand the lazy bum, then Red gagged up a bug or some¬ thing, and thus jerked out of my dream world I was made to realize that I was a boy in knee pants with a big patch on the seat and the only farm I owned was a quarter interest in a cat farm, which was nothing to brag about.

Pretty soon we came within sight of the brick house and Scoop pulled on the reins, slowing

H4 JERRY TODD AND

the trotting horse into a jerky walk. A tree- hung lane gave entrance to the barnyard in the rear. Turning into this lane, we made use of the farmer’s hitching post to secure our horse, then unloaded the big cat crate onto the lawn in front of the house.

No one came to inquire our business, so Scoop went onto the front porch and twisted the tail of the door-bell. Footsteps sounded from with¬ in. Then the doorknob turned and a large wo¬ man stood framed in the opening.

“Good morning,” was her polite greeting, as she regarded us inquiringly.

“Good morning,” returned Scoop. Remember¬ ing his manners he slid from under his cap. “I believe,” he proceeded in a snappy, businesslike way, “that this is the place where we sell our cats.”

At this the woman’s) face clouded and one hand moved nervously to her cheek.

“You are mistaken,” she returned quietly yet firmly. “This is the one place where you do not sell your cats — if I know anything about it!”

Well, to have her come back at Scoop that way was a knockout, sort of. The amazement that gripped us was reflected in our staring eyes. Was it her intention to step in between us and

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT nj

the cat buyer and cheat us out of the chance of selling our cats? It would seem so.

But Scoop had his wits about him.

“A young man,” said he, “who lives in this house put an advertisement in the Tutter news¬ paper for cats. We would like to show him our unusual assortment of cats. I dare say he never set eyes on a finer collection. We even have a few choice rose-colored specimens.”

The friendly grin on the speaker’s face brought an answering smile from the woman. But when he asked her to call the cat buyer to the door to inspect our cats she stiffened.

“You can take your cats away from here and keep them away,” she returned shortly. “We don’t want them. Our farm is overrun with cats as it is. Humph! It may be some one’s idea of humor to clutter up our buildings with cats, but / don’t regard it as a joke.”

Right away all the joy and contentment that had filled my mind on the way from town went kerplunk ! into a bottomless pit, as they tell about in church. Could it be possible that despite all precaution we had tumbled headlong into some joker’s trap? I shot a troubled glance at the cat crate. And I groaned in the thought of further chaperoning that bunch of yodelers. Cats ! cats !

ii 6 JERRY TODD AND

cats! Was there nothing in the world but cats? I wanted to grow wings and fly away to some distant planet where the nearest thing they had to a cat was a petrified cat-tail marsh.

Scoop is a persistent talker. Maybe he had a sickening chill like I had, but if so he didn’t let it freeze his gab. That is fortunate, because his questions kept the woman’s tongue in action and brought out the fact that the young man who had paid the Strickers real money for their cats was a boarder at the farmhouse.

“He rode his bicycle into the yard about a week ago,’’ the woman informed us. “Seemed like a nice young man, so I agreed to board him for a short time. It was a mistake, however. Yesterday my suspicions were aroused. I told myself that no man in his right mind would buy eighteen cats. Then the telegram came and he rode away, leaving the cats shut in the granary.”

Here was a new phase of the mystery. I didn’t wonder at the dazed look that flitted across Scoop’s face.

“You say the man got a telegram?” he fumbled.

The woman nodded.

“It was telephoned to him from town. When I went up to his room ten minutes later I found

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 117

on the dresser the money he owed me and a note saying he wouldn’t return.”

As though to dismiss us, she stepped back and took hold of the doorknob.

“Just a minute,” cried Scoop, lifting a detain¬ ing hand. “You see,” he tumbled on, “there is a mystery about your boarder and we need your help to solve it.”

The woman looked bewildered.

“A mystery?” she repeated.

Scoop quickly recited our adventures to date.

“You can see,” he concluded, “how we came to connect up the cat buyer with the prowler who entered our cat farm. We were hopeful that in meeting him here we would be able to pick up bits of information that would help in solving the mystery.”

“Land of Goshen!” cried the woman. “He might have murdered us in our beds.”

Scoop grinned.

“I don’t think he aims to murder anybody. What he wants is the rose-colored cat.”

The woman’s bewilderment deepened.

“But it seems ridiculous that a man should go to such trouble to get possession of a cat.” i “Lady Victoria,” informed Scoop, “is no ordi¬ nary cat. We realized that from the first. Even

1 1 8 JERRY TODD AND

before she arrived in Tutter we scented a mys¬ tery. Didn’t we, fellows?”

“Sure thing,” put in Red. “And when we saw the cat we told each other Mrs. Kepple had a reason for calling it rose-colored.”

“Then,” went on Scoop, “the prowler came searching for the cat in the darkness to further confirm our suspicions that Lady Victoria was a mystery cat. That was night before last.”

Here the woman gave a gasp.

“I do believe you’re right in connecting up the cat buyer with the prowler who disturbed you. Yes! You say it was Thursday night?”

“Between eleven and twelve o’clock,” Scoop nodded.

“On Thursday night,” said the woman in a steady voice, “the cat buyer left here shortly after supper and never returned till midnight.”

To thus learn that the prowler was positively the cat buyer gave me a queer nervous thrill. Then my mind went confused under the mys¬ tery’s befuddling and conflicting angles. Old questions confronted me. Who was he? What were his motives? I reached for the answers but fell short.

Scoop, though, shared none of my bewilder¬ ment. A reflective look clung to his face that

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 119

told me as plain as words that his thoughts were being put one on top of another in orderly se¬ quence. Presently he turned to the woman and inquired :

“When the man left your house Thursday evening, did he have on a gray cloth cap?”

“Now let me think. Ye-es, he did.”

Scoop’s eyes snapped.

“And when he rode away last evening, did he have on the same gray cap?”

“No-o. He wore a black hat.”

“I suspected as much,” Scoop said quickly. Then he gave a scattered laugh. “I bet I can tell you the size hat your husband wears.”

The woman stared as though she suspected her ears of deceiving her. It was a crazy thing for Scoop to say. I wondered what was he get¬ ting at.

“The size,” grinned Scoop, “is seven and a quarter.”

“How did you know?”

“Because that is the size of the cap the cat buyer left behind when he paid us a visit night before last.”

Now I tumbled to what Scoop was driving at. It was his belief that the capless cat buyer had snitched the farmer’s hat rather than ride away

120 JERRY TODD AND

from the farmhouse bareheaded. I told myself it was pretty smart of Scoop to figure it out.

“I can’t believe it,” cried the woman, when the situation was explained to her.

“You can easy enough prove it,” returned Scoop, “by looking on the hook where your hus¬ band hangs his hat. But that can wait,” he added hastily, as she made a move to enter the house. “Um - the telegram is more important. Sup¬

pose you tell us about it.”

“Well, I answered the ’phone, recognizing Carrie Mulliguy’s voice. ‘This is Western Un¬ ion,' says she. ‘Have you a cat buyer staying at your place?’ ‘Maybe you mean Mr. Barnes,’ says I. ‘He put an advertisement in the Globe for cats.’ ‘Yes,’ says Carrie, ‘Mr. Barnes is the party I want. Call him to the ’phone, please, as I have a telegram for him.’ ”

“She didn’t tell you where the telegram was from?” queried Scoop.

“No.”

“When the man got the message, did he act worried or happy or what?”

“Worried, I should say.”

“Then,” said Scoop, “it was bad news.” He drew a long breath. “Um - I’d like to know

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 12 1

what was in that telegram. I suspect it came from Chicago.”

“From Mrs. Kepple?” I put in.

He nodded.

“Maybe,” he said reflectively, “we can find out from Miss Mulliguy.”

The farmer’s wife leaned forward, an eager light in her eyes.

“If you find out - ” she began.

“Yes,” grinned Scoop, “if we find out we’ll let you know.” Here he glanced at his watch. “Crickets!” he exploded. “We’ve got to shake a leg and get back to the store.”

Red scowled.

“But you said we were going to drive into the country and drop the cats along the turnpike,” was his reminder.

“Not this trip,” Scoop returned shortly. “We haven’t time.”

“And do we have to lug that crate of yowlers back to the old mill?”

Scoop grinned.

“Let’s not worry about the cats,” said he, slap¬ ping Red on the back “We can get rid of them later on. Just now I want to follow up the tele¬ gram clew. That is important. The message

122 JERRY TODD AND

probably connects up with the rose-colored cat in some way or another.”

“Gee!” said Red, shedding his gloom in the thought of possible adventures.

As we turned to leave, the woman touched Scoop on the arm.

“Maybe you would like some more cats - ”

“Hardly,” Scoop declined before she could finish.

“But how in the world am I going to get rid of the cats in the granary?”

“You might put up a sign near the turnpike,” laughed Scoop, “offering the cats as premiums. For instance: ‘Fresh eggs, only thirty cents a dozen. Each customer given a beautiful full- grown cat absolutely free.’ ”

He meant it as a joke, of course. But the woman took him seriously. That to us was the funny part.

Loading the cat crate into the delivery wagon, we drove out of the lane lickety-cut, heading the horse toward town. It was a jolty ride. Our excited conversation was punctuated more or less by resentful yowls from the jostled cats. We gave little thought, however, to their probable discomfort. The telegram was the big thing in our minds.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 12 3

Upon meeting the Strieker gang in Grove Street we temporarily lost the keen edge of our enthusi¬ asm. It was not pleasant to face them with the knowledge that we had failed where they had suc¬ ceeded.

“Lookit the cat farmers!” jeered Rid. “What do you know,” he added, “if they hain’t bin takin’ their cats out tourin’ in a delivery wagon.”

“So kind of them,” yipped Jimmy Strieker, “to give their cats an early morning ride.”

“I see the rose-colored cat on the front seat,” whooped Bid. “It’s got a red head and freckles.” Then the whole gang made a pretense of being cats and hissed at us. It was very disgusting.

“Some day,” growled Red, as we clattered past the smart alecks and beyond their hearing, “I’m going to push Bid Strieker’s face down his throat and let it strangle him to death.”

Peg grimaced.

“I’m glad they don’t know where we’ve been.”

“You and me both,” I put in feelingly.

Scoop went thoughtful.

“I’ve been wondering more or less,” said he, “if the man would have bought our cats had we delivered them to him yesterday afternoon.”

“Probably,” surmised Peg without enthusiasm. “He bought the Strickers’ cats.”

;i24 JERRY TODD AND

Scoop went deeper into his reflections.

“It’s a queer mess,” he proceeded. “I can’t understand it. Evidently the man got instructions in the telegram to buy no more cats. But why should he beat it without saying anything of his intentions to the farmer’s wife?”

Peg gave a gurgle like he frequently does when he gets braced to recite his excited thoughts.

“Do you suppose,” said he, “it’s leaked out about the rose-colored cat being dead?”

“I never told anybody,” came quickly from Red.

“Nor me,” said Scoop and I in the same breath.

“If I had been sent to Tutter to get the rose- colored cat,” continued Peg, putting himself imag¬ inatively into the cat buyer’s shoes, “and I got a telegram saying the cat was dead, what would I do?”

“Dig out,” Scoop supplied shortly.

“Exactly,” said Peg, complacently nodding his head.

“But no outsider knows the cat is dead,” came from Red. “How could any one telegraph what they don’t know?”

Peg’s only reply to this was a shrug of his broad shoulders.

We made short work of dumping the cat crate

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 125

into the old mill, then headed for the grocery store, hopeful that Mr. Ellery would overlook the fact that we were ten minutes late.

He came from the back door onto the loading platform as we drove up.

“Get rid of your cats?” he grinned in a friendly way.

“Not yet,” Scoop returned shortly.

“No? I thought you had a buyer?”

“We got fooled,” said Scoop.

Mr. Ellery’s laugh put an up-and-down motion into his over-sized stomach.

“I guess,” he chuckled, “you’ll have to keep your cats and start a fur farm. I understand there’s a profitable market for cat skins the right time of the year. And it ain’t no expense raising the cats, because you have a rat farm next door to the cat farm, and you feed the multiplying rats to the cats, then skin the cats and feed the insides to the rats.”

“Let’s go into partnership,” grinned Peg. “We’ll furnish the cats and you can catch the rats.”

“Um - ” evaded Mr. Ellery, letting his fore¬

head go puckered in a comical way. “Reckon I better go answer the ’phone; I hear it ringing.”

We waited on the platform while Scoop got

126 JERRY TODD AND

some gumdrops, then the four of us headed for the telegraph office. Miss Mulliguy smiled as Scoop stepped up to the counter to carry on the conversation.

“We’re trying to locate a cat buyer named Barnes,” he began. “The man,” he explained, “who got a telegram from Chicago yesterday afternoon.”

“You mean Springfield, not Chicago,” cor¬ rected Miss Mulliguy.

“Mr. Barnes has disappeared,” continued Scoop. “It is important that we locate him, be¬ cause his firm buys cats and we’ve got cats to sell. Do you think we can secure his address by get¬ ting in touch with the party who sent him the telegram?”

“That is doubtful,” said Miss Mulliguy. “As I recall the telegram was received under the news¬ paper key.”

Scoop looked puzzled.

“I mean,” Miss Mulliguy explained patiently, “that Mr. Barnes’ name didn’t appear in the tele¬ gram. It was addressed to the Tutter Cat Buyer, ’phone 9044.”

“And it is your belief,” followed up Scoop, “that whoever sent the telegram didn’t know Mr. Barnes’ name?”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 127

“I’m quite sure that is the case, having in mind the nature of the message.”

Scoop leaned eagerly across the counter.

“I suppose you can tell us from memory what was in the telegram.”

Miss Mulliguy gave him a suspicious glance and stiffened.

“I can,” she returned coldly, “but I don’t intend to. Western Union operators are not permitted to divulge the contents of telegrams passing through their hands. It is a company ruling.”

There was some more talk, but Scoop couldn’t budge her. It was disappointing. I guess we said some mean things about the telegraph com¬ pany as we kicked our way to the old mill.

“It surprised me,” said Scoop, “when she said the telegram came from Springfield. That’s the state capital.”

Red grinned.

“Maybe,” he suggested, “it’s a message from the governor.”

“Huh!” snorted Scoop, giving the joker a con¬ temptuous up-and-down look.

“It surely can’t be Mrs. Kepple,” came thought¬ fully from Peg.

Scoop shook his head.

“By every right in the world,” he reflected,

128 JERRY TODD AND

“the telegram should have come from Chicago. That’s where the yellow cat came from; and if thieves, for some unknown reason, are trying to get the cat away from us, you’d naturally conclude they were Chicago men. Otherwise how would they know about the cat?”

“Do you suppose,” said Peg out of his thoughts, “that the telegram is a blind?”

We stared.

“Maybe,” he continued in steady tones, “it’s a scheme to throw us off our guard. Then, when we least expect it, the prowler’ll descend upon the mill in further quest of the cat.”

Scoop’s forehead went puckered.

“I don’t know - ” he began uncertainly.

“It would be my idea,” went on Peg, “to sort of pretend we're asleep at the switch. That’ll fool the prowler and give us the advantage. We can even leave the mill door wide open when night comes. Instead of snoozing, however, we’ll be on the job with four stout clubs. And when the prowler does come - ”

“We can rush up on him,” I cut in excitedly, “and knock him out.”

Peg nodded grimly.

“What if he has a gun?” reminded Scoop.

Here Red gave a yip.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 129

“I know what we can do/’ he cried, his eyes sparkling. “We’ll set a trap for him and catch him in a barrel. Then he won’t have a chance to draw a gun on us.”

Well, when we were made to understand what Red was driving at we told each other it was a pretty slick scheme. And we had a good laugh among ourselves as we pictured the unsuspecting prowler hooked in our barrel like a fish trapped in a fyke net. Red is handy at rigging up me¬ chanical things. He understands electricity, too. We knew he could make his scheme work.

Tumbling into the mill, we took a comprehen¬ sive survey of the overhead beams, deciding on the best place to suspend the barrel. It was our theory that the prowler upon entering the mill would pass quickly before the row of cat boxes, flashing his light through the slats. Naturally he would make longer pauses before the boxes con¬ taining yellow cats so as not to overlook Lady Vic¬ toria. It was our decision, therefore, to put a bright yellow cat in one of the central boxes and fix up the barrel trap at that particular spot. We would use for the trap a big sugar barrel with one end knocked out. This could be suspended by a rope and pulley and the loose end of the rope brought into the side room where we slept.

130 JERRY TODD AND

Then when we got the signal that the prowler was standing on Red’s electric floor switch we could release the rope and down would come the barrel.

“We’ll drive some shingle nails through the sides of the barrel,” grinned Red, “with the ends pointing up. That will let the barrel slide down over the prowler’s head and body; but if he tries to lift up on the barrel the nails’ll hook into his clothes.”

We put in a busy morning. First we took the cats from the crate and shut them in the boxes. Then Scoop and Peg rolled the required barrel from the store to the mill. I helped them get the barrel properly suspended, open end down. Under trial it worked as slick as a button, only once the rope came untied and poor Peg pretty nearly got his brains knocked out. While the three of us were rigging up the barrel, Red skidded here and there with a coil of wire on his arm and a pair of wire nippers in his hands. The floor switch he contrived was principally a copper strip nailed fast at one end. Under foot pressure it was made to form a contact with another copper piece, closing the dry bat¬ tery circuit on a tiny electric light in the side room.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 131

“When the light goes on,” explained Red, “we’ll know the prowler is standing directly un¬ der the barrel. Then, bingo ! we let go of the rope.”

“But suppose,” Peg put in thoughtfully, “that something gets out of kilter with your contrivance and the trap doesn’t work when it should.”

“No danger of that,” Red returned confi¬ dently.

“How would it be,” persisted Peg, “if we played safe by fixing another trap at the door¬ way? It’s a cinch we don’t want the prowler to escape us.”

“Aw, shucks!” growled Red.

Peg laughed.

“How long does it take to wash off ink?” was his queer question.

“You mean school ink?” I inquired.

He nodded.

“It doesn’t wash off; it has to wear off,” I told him. I ought to know! If there’s a school kid in Tutter who gets more ink daubed on him than I do I don’t know who he is.

“Exactly,” said Peg. “And if we gave the prowler an ink bath, would we recognize him if we met him in the street, or wouldn’t we?”

“What do you mean?” Scoop demanded.

;i32 THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

Peg took us to the doorway and explained how easy it would be to balance a bucket of ink water just above the top casing.

“We can fix a string,” said he, “so that any¬ body running into it will upset the bucket. Down will come the ink and Mr. Prowler’ll get a free bath.”

“But he’ll bump into the string coming into the mill,” was Scoop’s objection.

“The string will then be on the floor and he’ll step over it,” explained Peg. “I haven’t got it figured out, but I bet you we can fasten the string to the barrel rope so that when the barrel is released, my string will tighten knee high.”

“Hot dog!” said Red. “Just leave it to me.”

“We’ll need plenty of ink,” concluded Peg. “Everybody bring a bottle this noon. If you can bring a couple of bottles, hop to it.”

“Golly Ned!” I put in. “This is fun.”

Yes, that is what I said. And I gave an easy, contented laugh. Like the other fellows, I felt pretty sure of myself. Had I known what was going to happen I would have been as hilarious as a clam with the toothache.

CHAPTER IX

THE FIRE IN THE BRICKYARD

Ordinarily we get together on Saturday evening and head for down town. It is fun to be a part of the street crowd. But to-night we agreed to stick close to the old mill. As Scoop said, there was likely to be some exciting de« velopments.

It came eight o’clock; then eight-thirty. Peg pointed to the clouds obscuring the moon.

“Not a star even,” said he.

“All the better for our purpose,” returned Scoop with satisfaction, meaning, of course, that the prowler would be more likely to pay us a visit if it were dark instead of moonlight. I told myself that if the man did come he was a gone goose. He couldn’t possibly escape both of our traps. In case the barrel trap failed in its purpose the ink brand would promptly lead to his detection.

As usual Red went uneasy with the fading of daylight and began fidgeting.

133

134

JERRY TODD AND

“Do you suppose,” said he, squinting into the outside darkness, “that hidden eyes are watch- ing us r

“Probably,” Peg returned easily.

“Let’s go to bed,” suggested Scoop in a loud voice. Getting to his feet he stretched his arms and legs, whispering the while: “Don’t talk of being watched, you poor boobs ! Act uncon¬ cerned.” He added in loud tones: “Guess we’ll leave the door open to-night. Pretty hot in here.”

“Sure thing we’ll leave the door open,” spoke up Peg. “We don’t want to roast.”

Then we went to bed — in pretense. With the lantern’s flame turned high so that any one with¬ out the mill could easily see us through the open window, we sat on the cots and unlaced our shoes, dropping them heavily to the floor. Next we skinned out of our shirts and pants.

“You fellows get into bed,” said Peg, “and I’ll blow out the lantern. Ready? Here she goes.”

There was an interval of silence as our eyes sought to pierce the room’s sudden darkness. Then Scoop whispered:

“Easy now, fellows. Get into your clothes, only don’t make a sound.”

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 135

It was no small job dressing in the dark. First I got my pants on hind side to; then the sleeves of my shirt went twisted. When I reached for my shoes all I could find was the one fitting the left foot.

Here Red gave a tantalizing giggle and whis¬ pered:

“Hi diddle diddle, my son John,

He went to bed with his trousers on,

One shoe off and the other shoe on,

Hi diddle diddle, my son John.”

I growled at Red to shut up and impatiently continued my search on the rough floor for the missing shoe. All I got for my pains was a sliver in my finger. Disgusted, I gave up the search. And with one shoeless foot I joined the others on Scoop’s cot.

There was very little whispering now. We sat there for the most part like stone statues, our eyes staring into the blackness to where the invisible electric lamp was mounted on the wooden wall. Red had hold of the barrel rope, ready to give it a quick unhooking jerk in case the light flashed. The cats in the adjoining room having quieted down for the night* the silence within

;i36 JERRY TODD AND

the mill seemed suddenly deep and deadly. Like a tomb.

The minutes dragged along. Ten minutes; a hundred minutes ; a million minutes. At least it seemed to me that a million minutes were born and lived and expired in the space of time that we sat there. I began to share Red’s uneasiness. The crowding darkness; the brooding silence; the constant expectation that the light would momentarily flash put a jumpishness into my muscles, sort of.

Peg got up and tiptoed to the window. I was glad. Even to have him move silently across the room helped to break the unnerving monotony of the situation.

“Well?” Scoop whispered, when Peg returned.

“Couldn’t see or hear a thing,” the other re¬ plied in a low breath.

The springs beneath Red creaked and by a sharp jab of my elbow I signaled to him to quit his fidgeting.

“Must be getting pretty late,” he spoke up in a hollow voice.

“A quarter after ten,” informed Scoop, look¬ ing at his watch’s illuminated dial.

There was a brief silence.

“I’ve a good notion,” said Peg out of his

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 137

thoughts, “to slip outside and make a circle of the mill. I can find out easy enough if the prowler is near.”

“Yes; and he’d spot you in the time that you were spotting him,” was Scoop’s prompt objec¬ tion.

“I don’t think so,” Peg returned confidently.

“I bet he’s watching the door at close range,” persisted Scoop.

“So much the better for my purpose,” Peg said quickly. “I can go safely through the win¬ dow.”

“But it’s a drop of ten feet!”

“I’ll use a rope. There’s one under my cot.”

When Peg gets an idea fixed in his head you can’t budge him. So Scoop shut up.

Again the minutes straggled in endless proces¬ sion in the time that it took Peg to get his rope fixed for a safe descent from the window. We could see nothing of him as he moved stealthily in the darkness, but from the slight sounds he made I figured he was tying one end of the rope to a roof post. The next step was to dangle the loose end of the rope from the window. When silence came I knew he was outside.

Suddenly the swift beat of running feet fell up¬ on our startled ears. My heart jumped into my

i3 8 JERRY TODD AND

throat and I sprang erect. Plainly an unknown peril was snapping at Peg’s flying heels. Red’s breath came hot against the side of my face and his fingers closed on my arm. Then:

“Fire! Your pa’s brickyard, Jerry. Come quick!”

My lung valves working again, I gave a gasp and ran quickly to the window. I was the next thing to crazy, I guess. Pounding on my brain was the awful thought that a fire in the brickyard could easily wipe out Dad’s business. That would make us poor. And dozens of workmen would be left without jobs. My darting eyes searched for and detected a tongue of flame. Just be¬ yond the brickyard barn. I gave a glad cry in the knowledge that the fire wasn’t in the main building where the machinery is housed.

“The fire’s just getting a start,” yelled Peg. “Maybe we can put it out. Hurry, fellows!”

Our faces painted in the red glow of the mount¬ ing flames, we went out through the window. Me first, then Scoop, then Red. In the sliding descent the rope burned my palms. I didn’t mind. Peg was dancing up and down like a man with bumblebees in his pants. He gripped my arm and we started down the hill on the run.

“There goes the fire bell,” panted Scoop.

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 139

Distant voices took up the hoarse cry of, “Fire! Fire!” We could hear the clatter of speeding feet. Then came the shrieking siren of the fire truck.

Slacking a bit, Peg cried in my ear:

“What’s the idea, Jerry? You run one-sided.”

“I don’t know,” I gasped.

“Why, you’ve lost a shoe,” cried Scoop, look¬ ing down at my feet.

“It’s in the mill,” I panted.

“You’ll need it,” said Peg, going dead still. “We’ll wait here while you run back and get it.”

I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to keep on running. Dad needed me. His brickyard was burning up. I should join him without delay and help put out the fire.

But in the brief interval that I wavered, Peg turned me around and started me off with a shove.

“Make it snappy,” he ordered.

Well, I was too utterly confused to stop and argue the matter. Vaguely I had the feeling that the forgotten shoe was not wholly necessary un¬ der the demands of the moment. I could go to the fire without the shoe, and should. But 1 stronger in my jumbled mind than these impres¬ sions was Peg’s definite orders. Through long

i4o JERRY TODD AND

association with him I have come to rely upon his judgment in emergencies. He said I needed the shoe. And, as usual, I accepted his view of things and acted on his directions.

Headed for the cat farm, I sped over the ground like an arrow, tumbling up the hill lickety- cut. Rounding the corner of the mill, I paused for an instant to get my wind. The open door¬ way was but a few feet away. About to dash into the mill, I was held in amazement to my tracks by the unexpected sight of a moving light. Some one was in the mill!

I don’t know how long I stood there. Poised and stonelike. Maybe it was not more than a second or two. Anyway, in the instant that my blood started flowing again, the confusion went out of my mind. I am like that. One minute I’ll be rattle-headed and half scared out of my wits. Then a reaction will set in, putting me cool and courageous. I was wholly cool and courageous now, only I don’t want you to get the idea I’m bragging about it.

I knew, of course, who was in the mill. And I had the conviction that the prowler’s presence at this particular moment was no coincidence. Unquestionably the brickyard fire was a ruse of

THE ROSE-COLORED CAT 141

his to get us away from the mill so he could carry on his search undisturbed.

I went stiff and hot in the thought of what little regard the prowler had for Dad’s property. It seemed almost unbelievable that a man in his right mind would consider the destruction of a big industry in order to get possession of a yel¬ low cat. Did the answer to the riddle lie in the fact that the man was crazy? Yes, that must be it. But even so the law would accept no ex¬ cuses for the crime he had committed. He should be captured