CHAPTER 19 “I Promise”

Knowing that Mrs. Jones and the Cubs might not be able to hold the tramp a prisoner very long in the barricaded basement, Dan ran as fast as he could down the road.

He had no idea which way Mr. Hatfield had gone. However, it seemed to him that the house most likely to have a telephone, was a large white one a quarter of a mile farther on toward town.

Dan was midway there when he saw a state trooper’s car approaching. His heart leaped. Help, he thought, was at hand.

Even before the boy signaled, the car came to a grinding halt a short distance away. Two state troopers were in the front seat, with Mr. Hatfield sitting between them.

“Get in, Dan,” the Cub leader said, as the door swung open. “What happened at the shack?”

Dan tersely told him.

“On to Mrs. Jones’ place,” one of the state troopers declared, shifting gears. “We’ll get the fellow!”

As the car swung into the farmyard a few minutes later, Mrs. Jones met the group at the door.

“I’m glad you got here!” she said in relief. “That tramp has been making a frightful fuss in the cellar. We were afraid he would break down the door.”

The troopers decided to accost the man from the outside exit, rather than subjecting the Cubs to possible gunfire.

With weapons drawn, the two officers flung wide the double cellar doors.

“Come out or we’ll shoot!” the order was given.

The Cubs thought the tramp might defy the officers. However, in a moment he came out of his dark hole, hands raised.

Officer Peterson snapped a pair of handcuffs over the man’s wrists and marched him into the house.

“Your name?” he demanded.

“Carl Blakemore.” The tramp blinked owlishly, his gaze roving from one face to another.

“You’ve been living in a shack near here?”

“I’ve been sleeping there nights,” the man muttered.

“You’re under arrest for stealing money from the home of Sam Hatfield. Anything to say?”

“Not a thing,” the tramp muttered. Then he suddenly changed his mind. “Yes, I have too!” he announced. “I know you’ll take me to jail, so I may as well tell you the whole story. Not that you’ll believe me!”

“Go ahead,” the trooper encouraged.

“All right, I stole the money,” the tramp frankly admitted. “The first place I took it from was the Merrimac house.”

“Then he was telling the truth when he said he’d lost a strongbox!” Dan exclaimed. “The other claimants were false.”

“It was Merrimac’s money,” the tramp confirmed. “What’s more, except for twenty-five dollars I used to live on, every cent of it is still here in the box.”

“How did the box get in the coal bin of the church?” Mr. Hatfield questioned.

“I’m coming to that. But first I’d like to tell why I came to Webster City in the first place.”

“Tell the story in your own way,” Trooper Peterson instructed him. “You can put your hands down now.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s only fair to warn you that anything you say may be used against you in court.”

“I got nothing to hide,” the tramp said with a shrug. “I’ve had a tough life, knockin’ around the world. Sometimes I’ve had enough to eat—sometimes I haven’t. For awhile I worked on a lake freighter. Then I got a bad infection in my leg. When I came out of the hospital, I was broke and discouraged.

“I began to turn things over in my mind, wishing I could settle down and start a new life. Then I remembered I had an uncle here in Webster City that was well fixed. I’d never paid any attention to the old duffer, or he to me. I couldn’t even remember his name. But I thought I’d drift out this way and look him up. Figured he might stake me to a new start.”

“Who was your uncle?” Mr. Hatfield asked curiously.

“You’ll hear in a minute. Well, as I was saying, I came out here and tried to look him up. I didn’t have any luck. Finally I was down to my last dime.

“I was desperate. I tried to get help from charity, but was told they couldn’t help me because I was a non-county resident.”

“Never mind all these details,” State Trooper Peterson cut in impatiently. “You robbed the Merrimac home?”

“Yes, I heard talk in a pool room that the old man had a strongbox. I noticed by watching the house that he was careless about locking his doors. So I watched my chance and slipped in. I found the box without any trouble. But as I was leaving, I saw a photograph that gave me a terrific shock.”

“Mr. Merrimac’s picture?” questioned the trooper.

“No, it was a picture of my mother. In a flash, I knew that I was robbing my own uncle, because he was the only person in Webster City who would have such a photograph.”

“But you went through with the deed all the same?” Officer Peterson reminded him.

“I didn’t have time to think things to a conclusion,” the tramp said lamely. “As I was looking at the photograph, a woman came into the house to do some work. Seeing her, I got panicky and fled.”

“With the money.”

“Yes, I kept it. But right away, my conscience began to bother me. I’d never stolen anything before. The last thing I wanted to do was take money from my own relative.

“I made up my mind I’d return it and then try to get Merrimac to help me.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Everything worked against me. First I made the mistake of hiding the money box in the empty church. It was my bad luck that the Cub Scouts had a meeting there before I had a chance to get it back again.”

“You were the man we met on the street that night in the rain!” Dan identified him.

“Sure, I asked you what was going on. That was the first I knew the church had been reopened.”

“Then later you peeked through the church window!”

“I saw a light in the basement first,” the tramp explained. “That gave me a real scare. But I had a worse jolt when I saw you kids had found the money and were counting it.”

“You followed us in a car after we left the church?” Mr. Hatfield inquired.

“Where would I get a car?”

“Then how did you learn where the money box was taken?”

“I knew you’d either take it home or to the police station.”

“So you broke into my home later and took the box?”

“I had to get it back.”

“You dressed as a woman so you wouldn’t be recognized?” Mr. Hatfield resumed the questioning. “You wore a black silk dress with diamond-shaped jet buttons?”

“That’s right!”

“You mean you wore my dress!” Mrs. Jones exclaimed indignantly. “Why, then you stole it from the shed! You’ve been taking wood too!”

“Only a little.”

“All this time I wrongfully was blaming Jack,” Mrs. Jones said. “And the boy never once spoke up to set me right!”

“After using the dress, I suppose you hid it in the hollow log in the woods,” Mr. Hatfield commented.

“That’s right,” the tramp agreed. “For a while I slept in an unoccupied house near here. After the contractor drove me away, I had to throw up that shack in the woods. It was pretty cold at night.”

“What about the money?” Trooper Peterson reminded him.

“There’s not much more to tell. I made up my mind to return it to Merrimac like I said.”

“But you never did?”

“I tried. Once I got into the house, but before I could put the box where I’d found it, someone rang the doorbell. I had to get out fast!”

“You could have left the money,” the trooper pointed out.

“I guess so,” the tramp admitted. “I was sort of rattled. I just crawled out the back window and beat it as fast as I could.”

“After that, you didn’t make another attempt to return the money?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I used a little to buy food. Oh, I was weak all right—I admit it. But it’s the truth I never intended to steal from my own uncle. I know you won’t believe my story.”

“On the contrary, everything you have told us tallies with the facts as we know them,” Mr. Hatfield assured him.

“Well, that’s my story and it’s all there is to it,” the tramp said, making a despairing gesture with his hands. “You may as well take me off to jail now.”

The troopers escorted the man to the waiting car. As the man left the home, he paused in the doorway to direct a word to the Cubs.

“No hard feelings, boys,” he said. “You fellows made it plenty tough for me, but I’m not blaming anyone except myself. I led a useless life and I got what’s coming to me!”

After the car had driven away, Mr. Hatfield told the Cubs they must return to Webster City without further delay. So much time had elapsed that he was afraid lest their parents worry.

“Jack, we owe you a lot,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand. “Through your cooperation, my name will be completely cleared, and Mr. Merrimac will have his money again. Many thanks not only from me but from all the Cubs.”

“Sure, that’s okay,” the boy replied in deep embarrassment. He hesitated, and then with a darting glance at Mrs. Jones asked: “Are you going to send me back to the Institute?”

“Send you back?” Mrs. Jones demanded with a quick laugh which had real affection. “Why, Jack! What an idea! I need you here to help me.”

“You do? You aren’t just saying it?” said Jack.

“Jack, I truly need and want you,” the widow repeated. “Since my own sons grew up, I’ve wanted another boy the worst way. One I could depend on. Shucks! I wouldn’t have a boy without spirit!”

“I’ll never run away again,” Jack said earnestly. “I promise!”

“When a Cub gives a promise, he never breaks it,” Mr. Hatfield reminded him. “So be sure you really mean it.”

“I’m not a Cub,” Jack said slowly. “I’d like to be one someday.”

“There’s no reason why you can’t join the organization if you’re willing to live up to the rules,” Mr. Hatfield assured him. “We’ll give you a little start now. Boys, show Jack the Cub sign.”

The boys all raised the two first fingers of their right hands, holding them high.

“What does that mean?” Jack asked curiously.

“Those two fingers signify the ears of the Wolf,” Dan explained.

“It’s the Indian sign for ‘intelligence,’” Mr. Hatfield added. “If you want to be a Cub, Jack, you must learn to use your head instead of your emotions. Remember that the next time you’re inclined to do something rash.”

“I’ll remember,” Jack grinned, making the sign with his right hand. “From now on, you can depend on me. I promise!”