CHAPTER XVHIS JOB
Even if they had been capable of speaking afterward, Devlin gave them little time. He came in, hurried upstairs and came down again in a few minutes, carrying a suitcase and wearing his usual dark clothes. He ordered Frost to stay close to the house until he returned. And without seeming to see the silent, staring boys he nodded at Timmy with some show of impatience.
“Time’s short—come on!”
Skippy could still feel the strong, firm clasp of Timmy’s handshake long after the ancient car clattered out of the back yard. He felt restless, and Nickie, that heroic defier of man-made petty laws, seemed stunned and fearful.
Shorty and Biff, a little too blunt to be long affected by anything, were comfortably seated again at the table arguing in their native tongue over a game of cards. Frost was seated opposite them, absorbed in a New York newspaper.
“All along I been sorta thinkin’ we might be layin’ it on kinda thick,” Nickie whispered at Skippy’s side. “Know what I mean? Aw, I thought mebbe we’d got thinkin’ the worsta Devlin counta that funeral pan he’s got an’ the house an’ all—see? People get jumpy just talkin’ bout ghosts, don’t they? Well, that’s what I mean—I thought we got thinkin’ he’s a killer like Timmy done an’ we couldn’t thinka him as nothin’ else. Up till just before they beat it I tells myself mebbe it’s just his old racket, the swindlin’ game that he’s workin’ in a new way with us kids as fall guys—see? But when I sees his face an’ his eyes all funny an’ starin’ when he tells Timmy to c’mon, I get feelin’ bad inside.”
“Me too,” Skippy agreed, after he had made certain that Frost was not watching them.
“Say, kid,” Nickie said, between half-closed lips, “I ain’t feelin’ we’re thinkin’ the worsta him now. I’m feelin’ that mebbe he’s worse’n’ what we think, he is—see!”
They sauntered toward the table at that juncture for Frost was looking up from his paper. His shrewd, colorless eyes observed them and his thin mouth was wrinkled mirthfully.
“Something in this here paper might give you kids a laff,” he chuckled. “Here, sit down and read it—I gotta go up to my room and do a few things.”
He was still chuckling when he left the kitchen but none of the boys paid him any attention then. They were too interested in the page which Nickie spread out and on which they read the headlines:
HOLD UP POLICE,HELP BOYS FLEEREFORMATORY TERMGangsters Wrest Four From InjuredGuards After Delafield BoundAuto Is Ditched.JOHN DOE IS RESCUEDHe And Three Others Escape WithArmed Aid—Comb CountryFor Fugitives.
HOLD UP POLICE,HELP BOYS FLEEREFORMATORY TERMGangsters Wrest Four From InjuredGuards After Delafield BoundAuto Is Ditched.JOHN DOE IS RESCUEDHe And Three Others Escape WithArmed Aid—Comb CountryFor Fugitives.
HOLD UP POLICE,
HELP BOYS FLEE
REFORMATORY TERM
Gangsters Wrest Four From Injured
Guards After Delafield Bound
Auto Is Ditched.
JOHN DOE IS RESCUED
He And Three Others Escape With
Armed Aid—Comb Country
For Fugitives.
There were two columns of the story. It had been discovered that the car had been tampered with and the driver told of being drawn into conversation while he was waiting at the courthouse by a “queer-looking man, dressed like a mechanic.” Also, he described how the boys had been taken from him at the point of a gun and how Dippy Donovan had refused to escape. It was hinted at the reformatory that the boy, because of his behavior, stood a chance of having more than half his sentence remitted.
“They’d do that for us too, eh?” Shorty remarked regretfully. “The time eet go quick then an’ when we got out we go ’ome, eh? Now we don’t go ’ome teel we do stretch. Now we go west where Devlin send us. Always we are seeck for ’ome but we can’t go.”
“Yeah,” said Nickie wistfully, “that’s the trouble. It’s justa bad break. I never give it a tumble before bout home, sweet home. All I thought was what a joke on them dicks when we pull a fast one. I never think how it ain’t such a joke goin’ west where we can’t go home unless we take a rap. An’ it’ll be harder doin’ the stretch afterward than now—why didn’ I thinka that, hah?”
“I coulda told you if I hadn’t been out,” Skippy said thoughtfully.
“Yeah, sure thing, kid. You got brains. Me, I think I’m smart—see! I don’t think how I’m gonna get homesick out west an’ wanta see my aunt an’ New York too. Holy Smoke, I don’t wanna be dodgin’ dicks forever!” he added, bitterly.
Bragging, laughing boy-heroes the day before, they were all bitter and resentful now. Their grand dream of escape, their defiance of the law, had brought them nothing but disappointment, and instead of knowing that each day brought them nearer to freedom, they were to be forever pursued by the spectral arm of the law. It threatened them with a double punishment should they come back voluntarily, yet it stood between them and their homes if they evaded it.
Skippy was absorbed in these thoughts just as if he had been one of them. He no longer felt that he was playing a part or acting as the spring of the trap into which Mr. Conne hoped Devlin would fall; he felt that the whole thing had become too realistic and that the spring of the trap was threatening to snap upon himself instead of Devlin.
Nickie broke into his musing. “Aw, we ain’t gettin’ nowheres by sittin’ here mopin’ about it, hah? C’mon, kid, let’s play rummy.”
Skippy had been turning the pages of the paper, giving them a cursory glance. As he turned to the ninth page he saw a column markedPERSONALand directly under it he saw his name. His heart pounded furiously.
“Yeah, later,” he said, trying to make his voice sound calm. “I gotta read the baseball news.”
Nickie nodded absently for he was already absorbed in a good hand of cards which Biff had just dealt him. Skippy made certain that they were all equally absorbed; also, he made certain that Frost was still quiet upstairs. Then he proceeded to read.
SKIP: UNDERSTAND UNEXPECTED MOVE—SHOULD HAVE PREPARED FOR THAT ... YOU MUST SEND WORD SOMEHOW—IT’S YOUR JOB!... SIGNED “BOSS.”
He must send word—somehow!It was his job!No one but Carlton Conne could have said it just like that—no one but Carlton Conne could have written it! And Skippy thrilled at the thought, thrilled each time he read the vivid message. Hewouldget word to him somehow, particularly since he had seen in print that it was his job to do nothing else but! There was no doubt about it now.
Carlton Conne had signed himself asBoss!