CHAPTER XIXHOPE IN THE ATTIC
Shadows of early evening were beginning to creep over the silent swamp land before the boys hit upon a practicable plan of escape. They had had two hours’ hunt through the dust-choked attic, braving a seventy-five year accumulation of rubbish which generations of rats had chewed and scattered to its four corners.
They found a trunk of ancient vintage that still held up sufficiently to enable them to sit down and rest upon it. Before them, the front attic window offered possibilities and they were discussing it pro and con. Also, they had been able to open it and because it lacked shutters they enjoyed what was left of the daylight and welcomed the occasional damp, warm breeze that blew in.
Skippy had found in the rubbish a coil of rope that was in excellent condition. Nickie had come upon what apparently had been the handle of an antique iron pot, and the two discoveries had formed the nucleus of their present discussion.
The giant evergreen of poor Timmy’s dream spread its lofty boughs within a few yards of the small window. “That pot handle’s strong enough to wedge out those bars, Nickie,” Skippy was saying thoughtfully. “It’ll take maybe a coupla hours, ’cause I guess they’re in there pretty tight. When we get that done, I’ll lasso that tree an’ tie it pretty tight somewheres in here.”
“I getcha, kid!” Nickie said enthusiastically. “We swing out along it hand over hand, hah? Then, when we hit a strong-lookin’ branch we drop an’ zip, we’re on the ground fore we know it!”
“Yeah, that’s it. It’s the only way. We been all over this house an’ this is the best we can do.”
“Sure. It’s work but ain’t it worth it? Anyways, kid, let’s put the bag on. We ain’t had no chow all day, we been so busy turnin’ this place upside down. How about it?”
“Gee whiz, I most forgot I had a stomach—honest! I can’t thinka nothin’ but gettin’ away. But I’m hungry, that’s a fact.”
“Yeah, me too. Even them canned beans’ll taste like turkey tonight.”
“Beans!” Skippy said disgustedly. “It’ll be nice to eat sump’n besides canned beans n’ stale crackers n’ coffee. Gee whiz, I like milk, I do—cold, creamy milk!”
“Yeah, an’ I like soup, kid. Nice, hot, creamy soup like my aunt makes.”
“C’mon, Nickie, let’s get eatin’ an’ get it over with!”
Just as they descended the ladder they heard, far in the east, a low rumble of thunder. Before they had started to feast on their beans, there was no doubt that a storm was fast approaching. The wind was rising steadily and the swaying trees made eerie sounds which they could plainly hear during frequent lapses of conversation.
“Hope it ain’t gonna be like the other night,” Skippy said earnestly. “The room was hot but I shivered just the same. An’ then Timmy havin’ that dream an’ screamin’ like he did....”
“Yeah, I was glad I was asleep. Outside this graveyard, there ain’t nothin’ gives me the jitters worse’n a bad storm. Holy Smoke, I ain’t myself then.”
There was a terrific clap of thunder and the wind screeched mockingly past the kitchen windows. A shutter somewhere on the house creaked uneasily on its rusted hinges. The boys put down their coffee cups and looked at each other.
“Takes a hard storm like this for clearin’ the air,” said Nickie profoundly. “My aunt always says that. Remember since the other night it’s been so gloomy—ain’t even seen no sun since we been here. Maybe it’ll be clear tomorrer.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Anyways, kid, will we beat it right off if we get them bars loose tonight?”
“Sure, if we get ’em loose. But it ain’t gonna be so easy, Nickie.”
And it wasn’t easy—not at all. They took turns at the top bar and after an hour succeeded in making it yield only a little and on one side at that. The lantern light was feeble and they dared not use two lamps at a time, for they had made the discovery before climbing to the attic that the oil supply which Frost had left them was too low to be used freely.
The wind screamed around under the eaves and presently blew the rain through the open window. Vainly, they tried to close it but having been in disuse for so many years the frame had warped and Skippy soon decided that it would take a chisel and hammer to get results.
“How about them newspapers in the cellar, kid?” Nickie suggested. “We can pin ’em up against there while we work.”
“Pin ’em with what? Gee whiz, use your bean.”
“Yeah, you’re right, kid. We gotta get wet an’ like it.”
“Not if you wanna quit till tomorrow. An’ I don’t like to do that, Nickie. Sump’n tells me do what we can tonight.”
“Just’s you say, kid. I’m gettin’ so’s I feel you’re a reg’lar mascot—see? I ain’t doin’ nothin’ without you sayin’ it’s K. O.”
Skippy grinned and took his turn at the window. The thunder was rolling away into the distance but the heat lightning blazed across the black sky at frequent intervals. The moaning wind echoed back and forth mournfully and the rain made a hissing noise as it lashed the window sill.
Fallon had pulled the trunk as near the window as possible. He made a doleful picture sitting there, the lantern held at arm’s length so as to give Skippy light. His pale face was in a half-shadow and his narrow shoulders drooped dejectedly. Suddenly he looked up and his black eyes were questioning.
“Hear a noise, kid?”
Skippy stopped his tugging at the top bar and shook his head. “What kinda noise?”
“Like somebuddy runnin’. Maybe I’m crazy—just hearin’ things.”
“The wind an’ the rain, I betcha,” Skippy said, getting back to his task. “It’ll last all night—I think it’s gettin’ cooler.”
“Yeah, an’ you’n me’s gettin’ wetter. We’ll be plenty cool by the time we get through. Gimme a whack at it now, hah?”
“Wait a minute. I ain’t tired yet—it’s loosened a little more.”
Nickie sighed. “Just on one side yet, hah? Holy smoke, at that speed....” Then, suddenly: “Kid, I hear somebuddy! Somebuddy runnin’!”
Before Skippy could answer they were startled by a cry that seemed to come from the clearing.
“HE JUST STOOD WAITIN’ FOR ME TO DROWN!”
“HE JUST STOOD WAITIN’ FOR ME TO DROWN!”
“HE JUST STOOD WAITIN’ FOR ME TO DROWN!”