CHAPTER XXII
MR. PULSIFER SHAKES HIS HEAD
It was well along toward the middle of the following morning beforeRussell had learned definitely what had happened at Number 112 Weststreet. Stick’s account had been exciting but vague. He had, however,assured Russell that he had personally made an examination of thepremises and found everything all right, after learning which Russellhad been able to compose himself to slumber with the determination toawait philosophically the full explanation of the surprising event.Not that he had sought sleep very early, for Stick, in spite ofsmall knowledge, had had much to say, and his theories had prolongedconversation well toward midnight. In fact, Stick was still theorizingwhen Russell dropped asleep.
When he did learn the particulars it was from the still agitated lipsof Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer. The two met in the police station, whitherthey had been summoned, and on a bench in the outer room waited to beconducted into the presence of the Chief. Shorn of unnecessary detailsand repetitions, the facts were these. Mr. Pulsifer had gone to thestore after supper last evening and had remained there until nearlyten o’clock. He had then put out the light, locked the door behindhim and reached the corner of Linden street, where the post office issituated. There he annoyingly discovered that he had failed to bringaway with him two letters which he had early in the evening preparedfor the mail. As it was necessary that they should be delivered inthe city early in the morning, he had thereupon retraced his steps,entered the store and, without troubling to light up, groped his way tohis desk and found the letters. He had again started toward the frontof the store when sounds at the rear had attracted his suspicion. Thesounds resembled the straining of a window sash, as though some one wasforcing it upward with a jimmy.
Mr. Pulsifer had promptly made his way silently to the window at theleft of the rear door. Sounds outside told him that burglars wereat work. What his emotions were at the moment Mr. Pulsifer didn’tstate. It is to his credit, though, that he quickly seized the nearestavailable weapon, which happened to be a broom reposing in a corner,and prepared to repel the marauders. He had barely got into positionwhen the window sash went up and he dimly saw some one swing across thesill. What happened then was still doubtful so far as Mr. Pulsifer’smemory was concerned. He recalled raising a loud shout of “_Police!_”and of swinging the broom lustily. He recalled, less distinctly, thecrash that resulted when the broom, evidently missing the intruder,struck the window glass. Then a surprising number of stars shot intohis vision and when he next took cognizance of events he was beingsupported by a policeman, the store was dazzlingly illuminated and asecond policeman stood by with a firm grasp on the prisoner.
Mr. Pulsifer had a dreadful headache and a swelling under his righteye, but after being given a drink of water was able to recount whathad happened. Fortunately, one of the officers had been crossing themouth of the alley on State street when the sound of breaking glasshad reached him. He had run toward the scene in time to see a figurespeeding away in the opposite direction, had shouted to it to stop andwas raising his revolver to fire when a second figure had collided withhim at the gate of the rear premises. The officer had been obliged touse the butt of his revolver to make his capture, for the prisoner hadstrongly objected to being detained. Mr. Pulsifer, having been assistedfrom the floor, observed that the prisoner, who was hardly more thana boy, although a very robust boy, looked extremely pale and that hewas holding a handkerchief to the side of his head. Mr. Pulsifer wasuncharitable enough to hope that the prisoner’s head was aching wasmuch as his was!
After that they had proceeded in a compact body to the station house,accompanied by an ever-growing body of curious spectators. Inside,the prisoner had, after several hesitations, given his name as WilliamCrocker and his residence as 43 Munroe avenue. Mr. Pulsifer had dulymade a charge against the prisoner and then been conveyed in a taxicabto his home.
After some minutes of waiting Russell and his companion were summonedinto the Chief’s office. The latter did most of the talking. He had,he informed them, got a confession from the boy. What had appearedlast evening as an attempt at burglary turned out to be no more thana very silly school-boy prank. Of course, the Chief wasn’t excusingyoung Crocker, but, on the other hand, Mr. Pulsifer of course knewwhat boys were! The offender was a boy of excellent character, the sonof one of Alton’s prominent merchants and respected citizens and ofa hitherto stainless record. Young Crocker had earnestly disclaimedhaving intended any theft or damage, and the Chief believed him. Now,then, did Mr. Pulsifer think that any good would be done by prosecutingthe charge already made?
Mr. Pulsifer felt of his cheek, blinked a few times and shook hishead. The Chief smiled his approbation. Of course, he continued, ifMr. Pulsifer felt that he had a claim for personal injury doubtlessthat matter could be arranged easily and without publicity. The Chiefbore heavily on the last word. Mr. Pulsifer started to feel of hischeek, thought better of it and again shook his head. The Chief lookedrelieved and arose from his arm-chair, intimating that the consultationwas at an end and implying that Mr. Pulsifer had acted in exactlythe way he--the Chief--had expected a gentleman of his wisdom andkindliness to act. It was Russell, who so far had said nothing, who, ina way of speaking, spoiled the finale.
“I’d like to ask,” said Russell, “what Crocker intended to do when hegot inside the store.”
The Chief turned a displeased look on him. “Nothing at all, Iunderstand, nothing at all. They--that is, he had no plan. Itwas merely a foolish prank, conceived hurriedly and carried outwithout--er--without reflection.”
“There were two of them in it, I think?” asked Russell.
“Two of them? Possibly, possibly.” The Chief frowned darkly. “Only onewas apprehended, Mr. Emerson. As he refuses to state whether he hadan accomp--a companion, that is, we are left in doubt. And since Mr.Pulsifer has decided not to prosecute the matter is of no importance.You are not, I think,” added the speaker suggestively, “the lessee ofthe premises?”
“No, but I sub-rent half the store, and--”
“Nothing has been stolen or damaged?”
“Not so far as I know,” acknowledged Russell.
“Of course not! Very well then!” The Chief was once more affable andwas herding them toward the door. “Thank you for your visit, Mr.Pulsifer. The matter will be allowed to drop, and so, of course, Itrust that neither you nor Mr. Emerson will discuss it with others. Ihave the boy’s promise, and his father’s, that nothing of the kind willhappen again. Good morning!”
Saying good-by to the florist, Russell hurried back to school and aneleven o’clock recitation. At twelve he mounted to Number 27 and foundStick anxiously awaiting his account of the interview. Russell toldwhat had happened, and Stick snorted. “Ha, that’s old man Crocker,”he said. “I suppose he’s got enough influence to get Billy off if hecommitted murder! J. Warren’s a spineless shrimp, if you ask me. Didn’tintend any mischief! Oh, no, not a bit! If J. Warren hadn’t been therethose two would have put the place on the blink, I’ll bet! Maybe theywouldn’t have swiped anything: I don’t believe they meant to: butthey’d have ruined a lot of our stock.”
“Do you think the other fellow was Throgmorton, Stick?”
“Sure! Why not? Billy was mad because he couldn’t get my share in thebusiness and he made up his mind to get square. Throgmorton’s a chunkof cheese, if you ask me, and Billy probably made him think it was justa sort of lark. Well, Crocker got a crack on the head and a couple ofhours in jail, and he ought to be satisfied!” Stick’s expression becamemore mollified. “I guess we might as well be satisfied, too, Rus. Thelaugh’s on our side, all right. Billy’s in bad with faculty, you see,and out of football-- Gee, that reminds me!”
Stick stepped to the table and rummaged amongst the litter.
“Out of football!” exclaimed Russell. “Gee, that’s tough, Stick!”
“Tough?” Stick laughed unfeelingly. “I don’t see it. Where the dickensis that-- Oh, here it is! That crazy guy Johnson left this
a fewminutes ago.”
Russell took the folded sheet of paper and read the hastily scrawledwords amazedly.
“Emerson: Report at training table at twelve-thirty. HY. JOHNSON, Mgr.”