Back to the Woods Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  JOHN HENRY'S GHOST STORY.

  When the alarm clock went to work the next morning Clara J. turnedaround and gave it a look that made its teeth chatter.

  She had been up and doing an hour before that clock grew nervousenough to crow.

  Her enthusiasm was so great that she was a Busy-Lizzie long before7 o'clock and we were not booked to leave the Choo-Choo House till10:30.

  About 8 o'clock she dragged me away from a dream and I reluctantlyawoke to a realization of the fact that I was due to deliver somegoods which I had never seen and didn't want to see.

  "Get up, John!" Clara J. suggested, with a degree of excitement inher voice; "it's getting dreadfully late and you know I'm allimpatience to see that lovely home you've bought for me in thecountry!"

  Clara J.--A Dream of Peaches--Please Pass theCream.]

  Me under the covers, gnawing holes in the pillow to keep fromswearing.

  "Oh, dear me!" she sighed, "I'm afraid I'm just a bit sorry toleave this sweet little apartment. We've been so happy here,haven't we?"

  I grabbed the ball and broke through the center for 10 yards.

  "Sorry," I echoed, tearfully; "why, it's breaking my heart to leavethis cozy little collar box of a home and go into a great largecountry house full of--of--of rooms, and--er--and windows,and--er--and--er--piazzas, and--and--and cows and things like that."

  "Of course we wouldn't have to keep the cow in the house," shesaid, thoughtfully.

  "Oh, no," I said, "that's the point. There would be a barn, andyou haven't any idea how dangerous barns are. They are the curseof country life, barns are."

  "Well, then, John, why did you buy the cow?" she inquired, and Iwent up and punched a hole in the plaster.

  Why did I buy the cow? Was there a cow? Had Bunch ever mentioneda cow to me? Come to think of it he hadn't and there I was cookingtrouble over a slow fire.

  When I came to she was saying quietly, "Besides, I think I'd ratherhave a milkman than a cow. Milkmen swear a lot and cheat sometimesbut as a rule they are more trustworthy than cows, and they veryseldom chase anybody. Couldn't you turn the barn into a gymnasiumor something?"

  "Dearie," I said, trying my level best to get a mist over my lampsso as to give her the teardrop gaze, "something keeps whispering tome, 'Sidestep that cave in the wilderness!' Something keepstelling me that a month on the farm will put a crimp in ourhappiness, and that the moment we move into a home in the tallgrass ill luck will get up and put the boots to our wedded bliss."

  Then I gave an imitation of a choking sob which sounded for all theworld like the last dying shriek of a bathtub when the water isbusy leaving it.

  "Nonsense, John!" laughed Clara J.; "it's only natural that youregret leaving our first home, but after one day in the countryyou'll be happy as a king."

  "Make it a deuce," I muttered; "a dirty deuce at that."

  "Now," she said, joyfully; "I'm going to cook your breakfast. Thismay be your very last breakfast in a city apartment for months,maybe years, so I'm going to cook it myself. I've got every trunkpacked--haven't I worked hard? Get up, you lazy boy!" and withthis she danced out of the room.

  Every trunk packed! Did she intend taking them with her, and ifshe did how could I stop her?

  Back to the woods!

  I began to feel like a street just before they put the asphalt down.

  For some time I lay there with my brain huddled up in one corner ofmy head, fluttering and frightened.

  Presently an insistent scratch-r-r-r-r aroused me and I began tosit up and notice things.

  The things I noticed consisted chiefly of Tacks and the kitchencarving knife. The former was seated on the floor laboriouslyengineering the latter in an endeavor to produce a largearrow-pierced heart on the polished panel of the bedroom door.

  "What's the idea?" I inquired.

  "I'm farewelling the place," he answered, mournfully. "They's onlytwo more doors to farewell after I get this one finished. Ain'thearts awful hard to drawr just right, 'specially when the knifeslips!"

  "You little imp!" I yelled; "do you mean to tell me you've beendoing a Swinnerton all over this man's house? S'cat!" and Ireached for a shoe.

  "Cut it!" cried Tacks, indignantly. "Didn't the janitor say he'dmiss me dreadful, and how can he miss me 'less'n he sees my lovingrememberments all over the place every time he shows thiscompartment to somebody else? And it is impolite to go 'wayforever and ever amen without farewelling the janitor!"

  "Where do you think you're going?" I inquired, trying hard to becalm.

  "To the country to live, sister told me," Tacks bubbled; "and weain't never coming back to this horrid city, sister told me; andyou bought the house for a surprise, sister told me; and it has apizzazus all around it, sister told me; and a cow that givescondensed milk, sister told me; and they's hens and chickens andturkey goblins and a garden to plant potato salad, and they's abarn with pigeons in the attic, and they's a lawn with a barberswire fence all around it, sister told me; and our trunks are allpacked, and we ain't never coming back here no more, sister toldme; and I must hurry and farewell them two doors!"

  Tacks was slightly in the lead when my shoe reached the door, so hewon.

  At breakfast we were joined by Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha, both ofwhom fairly oozed enthusiasm and Clara J.'s pulse began to climbwith excitement and anticipation.

  I was on the bargain counter, marked down from 30 cents.

  Every time Uncle Peter sprang a new idea in reference to hisgarden, and they came so fast they almost choked him, I felt aburning bead of perspiration start out to explore my forehead.

  Presently to put the froth of fear upon my cup of sorrow there camea telegram from "Bunch" which read as follows:

  New York ----

  John Henry No. 301 W. 109th St.

  Sister and family will move in country house tomorrow be sure toplay your game to-day good luck.

  Bunch.

  "Poor John! you look so worried," said Clara J., anxiously; "Ireally hope it is nothing that will call you back to town for aweek at least. It will take us fully a week to get settled, don'tyou think so, Aunt Martha?"

  I dove into my coffee cup and stayed under a long time. When Icame to the surface again Uncle Peter was explaining to Tacks thatbaked beans grew only in a very hot climate, and in the generalconfusion the telegram was forgotten by all except my harpoonedself.

  Clara J. and Aunt Martha were both tearful when we left the flat toride to the station, but to my intense relief no mention was madeof the trunks, consequently I began to lift the mortgage from mylife and breathe easier.

  On the way out Tacks left a small parcel with one of the hall boyswith instructions to hand it to the janitor as soon as possible.

  "It's a little present for the janitor in loving remembrance of hismemory," Tacks explained with something that sounded like a catchin his voice.

  "Hasn't that boy a lovely disposition?" Aunt Martha beamed onTacks; "to be so forgiving to the janitor after the horrid man hadsworn at him and blamed him for putting a cat in the dumb waiterand sending it up to the nervous lady on the seventh floor whoabominated cats and who screamed and fell over in a tub of sudswhen she opened the dumb-waiter door to get her groceries and thecat jumped at her. Mercy! how can the boy be so generous!"

  Tacks bore up bravely under this panegyric of praise and his facewore a rapt expression which amounted almost to religious fervor.

  "What did you give the janitor, Angel-Face?" I asked.

  "Only just another remembrance," Tacks answered, solemnly. "Ihappened to find a poor, little dead mouse under the gas range andI thought I'd farewell the janitor with it."

  Aunt Martha sighed painfully and Uncle Peter chuckled inwardly likea mechanical toy hen.

  On the train out to Jiggersville Clara J. was a picture entitled,"The Joy of Living"--kind regards to Mrs. Pat Campbell; Ibsenplease write.

  As for me with every revolution of the wheels
I grew more and morelike a half portion of chipped beef.

  "Oh, John!" said Clara J., her voice shrill with excitement; "Iforgot to tell you! I left my key with Mother, and she's going tosuperintend the packing of the furniture this afternoon. Byevening she expects to have everything loaded in the van and wewon't have to wait any time for our trunks and things!"

  "Great Scott!" I yelled; "maybe you won't like the house! Maybeit's only a shanty with holes in the roof--er, I mean, maybe you'llbe disappointed with the lay-out! What's the blithering sense ofbeing in such a consuming fever about moving the fiendishfurniture? I'm certain you'll hate the very sight of thiscorn-crib out among the ant hills. Can't you back-pedal on thefurniture gag and give yourself a chance to hear the answer to whatyou ask yourself?"

  Clara J. looked tearfully at me for a moment; then she went overand sat with Aunt Martha and told her how glad she was we weremoving to the country where the pure air would no doubt have asoothing effect on my nerves because I certainly had grownirritable of late.

  At last we reached the little old log cabin down the lane and afterthe first glimpse I knew it was all off.

  The place I had borrowed from Bunch for a few minutes was a dream,all right, all right.

  With its beautiful lawns and its glistening gravelled walks; with amodern house perfect in every detail; with its murmuring brookletrushing away into a perspective of nodding green trees and with thebright sunshine smiling a welcome over all it made a picturecalculated to charm the most hardened city crab that ever crawledaway from the cover of the skyscrapers.

  As for Clara J. she simply threw up both hands and screamed forhelp. She danced and yelled with delight. Then she hugged andkissed me with a thousand reiterated thanks for my glorious present.

  I felt as joyous as a jelly fish. Ten-legged microbes began toclimb into my pores. Everything I had in my system rushed to myhead. I could see myself in the giggle-giggle ward in a bat house,playing I was the king of England.

  I was a joke turned upside down.

  After they had examined every nook and cranny of the place and hadtalked themselves hoarse with delight I called them all up on thefront piazza for the purpose of putting out their lights with myghost story.

  I figured on driving them all back to the depot with about fourparagraphs of creepy talk, so when I had them huddled I began in ahoarse whisper to raise their hair.

  I told them that no doubt they had noticed the worried expressionon my face and explained that it was due chiefly to the fact that Ihad learned quite by accident that this beautiful place was haunted.

  Tacks grew so excited that he dropped a garden spade off the piazzaand into a hot house below, breaking seven panes of glass, but theothers only smiled indulgently and I went on.

  I jumped head first into my most blood-curdling story and relatedin detail how a murder had been committed on the very site thehouse was built on and how a fierce bewhiskered spirit roamed thepremises at night and demanded vengeance. I described in awfulwords the harrowing spectacle and all I got at the finish was thehoot from Uncle Peter.

  "Poor John," said Clara J., "I had no idea you were so run down.Why, you're almost on the verge of nervous prostration. And howthoughtful you were to pick out a haunted house, for I do loveghosts. Didn't you know that? I'll tell you what let's do. I'llgive a prize for the first one who sees and speaks to this unhappyspirit--won't it be jolly? Where are you going, John?"

  "Me, to the undertakers--I mean I must run back to town. Thattelegram this morning--important business--forgot all about it--seeyou later--don't breathe till I get back--I mean, don't live tillI--Oh! the devil!"

  Just then I fell over the lawn mower, picked myself up hastily andrushed off to town to find Bunch for I was certainly up against itgood and hard.