# The Purple Pennant/Chapter 7

THE boys crept quietly down the stairs and out into the street. It was not until they had turned the corner that Fudge broke the silence.
"What do you know about that?" he murmured awedly.
"Looks as though you were right," returned Perry admiringly. "He was disguised, all right."
"I—I've got to think this over," said Fudge. He was plainly bewildered. They paused at Perry's gate and he declined an invitation to enter, with a shake of his head. "I guess," he muttered, "there's more in this than I thought. You saw him take it off, didn't you?"
"Of course!"
Fudge sighed relievedly. Perhaps he had doubted the evidences of his senses. "Well, I'll think it over, and to-morrow——"
"What?" asked Perry interestedly.
​"We'll see," was Fudge's cryptic and unsatisfactory reply. "So long. And not a word of this to a living soul, Perry!"
"All right. But, say, Fudge"—Perry dropped his voice—"do you really think he's a—a criminal?"
"What else can he be? Folks don't wear false mustaches for nothing, do they?"
"N-no, but he might be doing it for—for a sort of joke," returned the other lamely.
Fudge sniffed. "Joke! I'll bet the joke will be on him before I'm—before we're done with him! You leave it to me. Night!"
Fudge strode off in the twilight. There was something very stealthy and even somber in his departure. Perry, watching a bit admiringly, saw the careful manner in which the amateur detective discounted surprise by keeping close to the fence and peering cautiously at each tree as he approached it. At last Fudge melted mysteriously into the distant shadows down the street, and Perry, somewhat thrilled with the afternoon's adventure, hurried upstairs and glanced toward the window in the brick building. There was a light behind the lowered shade, but, although he kept watch for nearly a half-hour, nothing came into view.
He wondered what was going on behind that window, and imagined all sorts of deliciously excit​ing things. Perhaps the mysterious cowboy pianist was studying a plan of Cosgrove's jewelry store, or perhaps he was bending over a fascinating assortment of jimmies and files and—yes, there'd be an acetylene torch for burning a hole in the steel safe, and there'd be dynamite or nitro-glycerine or something equally useful to a safe-breaker! If only he might somehow get a momentary peek into that room over there! He was so full of his interesting neighbor that he ate almost no supper and incurred the anxious displeasure of his mother.
"Aren't you feeling well, Perry?" she asked.
"No'm—I mean, yes'm!"
"I think, Father, you'd better have a look at him after supper. His face looks feverish to me."
"I'm all right, honest, Ma! I—I just ain't hungry."
"Don't say 'ain't,' Perry. Have you been eating this afternoon?"
"No'm."
"I wouldn't worry about him," said the Doctor. "These first spring days are likely to interfere with one's appetite. Have you started that sprinting yet? Been doing too much running to-day?"
"No, sir, we don't start until to-morrow. Dad, did you ever see a burglar?"
​"I suppose so. I don't recollect. Have you seen one around?"
Perry almost changed color. "No, sir—that is—I just wondered whether they wore false mustaches."
"Now, Perry Hull, what sort of nonsense have you been reading?" inquired his mother. "Some of the books you get out of the library aren't fit for any boy; all about fighting and Indians and—and now it's burglars, I dare say! I don't see when you have time for reading, anyway, with all those lessons to study. Your report card last month wasn't anything to boast of, either."
"It was all right except math.," defended Perry. "Gee, if you think my card was punk, you ought to see some of them!"
"I didn't say anything about 'punk,'" retorted Mrs. Hull with dignity. "And I'd like to know where you get all the horrid words you use lately. I dare say it's that Shaw boy. He looks rather common, I think."
"There, there, Mother, don't scold him any more," said the Doctor soothingly. "Slang's harmless enough. Have a slice of lamb, son?"
Perry dutifully passed his plate and consumed the lamb, not because he had any appetite for it but in order to allay his mother's suspicions of ill​ness. There were some especially nasty bottles in the Doctor's office and Perry had long ago vowed never to be ill again! After supper he excused himself early and retired to his room to study. Mrs. Hull smiled commendingly. It was evident to her that her remarks had borne fruit. But Perry didn't get very much studying done, because he spent much of the evening peeking cautiously around the corner of his window shade. Of course he realized that the safe-breaker would be at the theater in his assumed rôle of pianist, but it had occurred to Perry that possibly he had an accomplice. But the opposite window remained dark all the evening, or at least until after Perry, ready for bed, had sent a final look across the starlit gloom. What happened subsequently he didn't know, but he dreamed the wildest, most extravagant dreams in which he was at one moment participating in furious deeds of crime and the next, aligned on the side of Justice, was heroically pursuing a whole horde of criminals across the roofs of the city. That the criminals were under the able and even brilliant leadership of Fudge Shaw did not strike him as the least bit incongruous—until the next morning!
When he finally tumbled out of bed, after reviewing his dreams, or as much as he could recall of ​them, he went first to the window and looked across the back yard. His heart leaped into his throat at what he saw. The last window on the third floor of the brick building was wide-open and there, in plain view of all the world, sat the safe-breaker! A small table was pulled in front of the casement and the safe-breaker was seated at it. On the table were a cup and saucer, some dishes and a newspaper. Perry gazed fascinatedly. The safe-breaker alternately read the paper and ate his breakfast. Perry couldn't be quite certain, but it appeared that the breakfast consisted of sausage and rolls and coffee. Whatever it was, the man ate with evident enjoyment, slowly, perusing the morning news between mouthfuls. There was no mustache to-day. Instead, the safe-breaker's face was clean-shaven and undeniably good-looking in a rugged way. He had a rather large nose and a generous mouth and lean cheeks and a very determined-looking chin. His hair was brown, with some glints of red in it where the sunlight touched it. He was attired in quite ordinary clothes, so far as the observer could see, but wore no coat; perhaps because the morning was delightfully warm and the sunlight shone in at his window. Fortunately for Perry, the man never once glanced his way. If he had he might easily have seen ​a boy in blue pajamas staring fascinatedly across at him with very wide, round eyes. In which case doubtless he would have suspected that he was under surveillance!
Perry was still looking when his mother's voice summoned him to action. Regretfully he withdrew his gaze and hurried off to the bathroom. When he returned the safe-breaker was still there, but he had finished his breakfast and was smoking a short pipe, still busy with the paper, and so Perry was obliged to leave him, and when he had finished his own repast and raced upstairs again the opposite window was empty. Perry set off to school fairly weighted down with the startling news he had to tell Fudge Shaw, and hoping beyond everything that he would be fortunate enough to meet with that youth before the bell rang. He wasn't, however, and not until the noon hour did he find a chance to unburden himself. Then, while he and Fudge, together with some two hundred other boys—not to mention an even larger number of girls—sat on the coping around the school grounds and ate their luncheons, he eagerly, almost breathlessly, recounted the story of what he had seen.
Fudge was plainly impressed, and he asked any number of searching and seemingly purposeless ​questions, but in the end he appeared a little disappointed. "It doesn't seem," he said, "that he'd show himself like that if he's what we think he is. Unless, of course, he's doing it for a bluff; to avert suspicion, you know."
Perry nodded.
"He doesn't look much like a criminal," he said doubtfully. "He's sort of nice-looking, Fudge."
"Lots of the best of 'em are," was the sententious reply. "Look at—oh, lots of 'em! Remember the crook in that movie play last month, the fellow who forged things?"
"Jim the Penman? Yes, but he was only an actor, Fudge."
"Makes no difference. Those plays are true to life, Perry. That's why they got that good-looking chap to act that part, don't you see? That's one of the most suspicious things about this fellow. He's too good-looking, too innocent, don't you see? He's probably an awfully clever cracksman, Perry."
"Maybe," replied the other hopefully. "What do you suppose he was so interested in the paper for?"
Fudge frowned thoughtfully as he conveyed the last morsel of a generous sandwich to his mouth. "You can't tell. Maybe he was looking to see if the police were on his track. Or maybe——"
​But the bell cut short further speculation and, agreeing to meet after school, they went back to the drudgery of learning. Perry had not had time to ask Fudge what plan of procedure the latter had decided on, a fact which interfered sadly with his work during the final session. As it developed later, however, Fudge had not decided on the best manner in which to continue the relentless pursuit of the criminal. As they made their way to the athletic field Fudge talked a great deal on the subject but, to Perry's disappointment, didn't seem to arrive anywhere. It would be necessary, thought Fudge, to do a good deal of watching before they could obtain enough evidence in the case. What they ought to do, he declared, was to shadow the safe-breaker and never let him out of their sight. But this, as Perry pointed out, was rather impractical, considering that they had to spend most of the day in school. Whereupon Fudge reminded him that Saturday was coming.
"We'll have the whole day then. The only thing I'm afraid of is that he will pull it off before that and make his getaway. And, of course, if we want to get the reward we've got to collar him before that."
"Reward?" echoed Perry. "What reward?"
"Why, the reward for his apprehension."
​"How do you know there's any reward?"
'I don't know it, but it stands to reason, doesn't it, that there is one? If that fellow's wanted somewhere there's sure to be a reward out for him, and a description and all. I wish I knew how much it is!"
"How much do you suppose?" asked Perry.
"Oh, maybe five hundred dollars, maybe a thousand. It depends, you see, on how much swag he got away with on his last job. Maybe he killed someone. You can't tell. Burglars are desperate folks when they're interrupted."
"I don't think he'd kill anyone," said Perry. "He doesn't look that sort."
Fudge, though, shook his head unconvincedly. "You can't tell," he said. "Anyway, if he has, the reward's bound to be bigger. You keep your eyes peeled, Perry, and watch that window closely. I wouldn't be surprised if you discovered something mighty important in the next day or two. He must be getting pretty nearly ready to do something."
"You don't think, then, he has an accomplice?" asked Perry.
"No, I don't. He sort of looks like a man who'd work on his own hook. It's lots safer, you see, and he has a pretty wise face."
There, for the time being, the subject had to be ​abandoned, for they had reached the field and confidential conversation was no longer possible.
Not only the baseball candidates were out to-day but some forty-odd aspirants for positions on the Track Team. These were clustered at the further side of the inclosure where the coach and trainer, "Skeet" Presser, were, rather dubiously it seemed, looking them over. Guy Felker, eighteen years of age and a senior, was captain this year, and Arthur Beaton was manager. Beaton was checking off the candidates from a list he held and Captain Felker was inquiring of no one in particular "where the rest of them were." Sixty-four names had gone down on the notice-board in the school corridor and only forty-four had shown up. "Skeet" explained the absence of a number of the delinquents by reminding Guy that fellows couldn't practice baseball and report for track work both. Guy consented to become slightly mollified, and, Manager Beaton having completed his checking, the coach and trainer took charge.
"Skeet" was a slight, wiry man of some thirty years, with a homely, good-natured countenance and a pair of very sharp and shrewd black eyes. He had been in his time a professional one- and two-miler of prominence, but of late years had made a business of training. He was regularly employed ​by the Clearfield Young Men's Christian Association, but his duties there did not occupy all his time and for three seasons he had coached and trained the High School athletes, and with a fair measure of success, since during his régime Clearfield had once won overwhelmingly from her rival, Springdale, had once been beaten decisively and had once lost the meeting by a bare three points. This year, if Guy Felker could have his way, the purple of Clearfield was to wave in gorgeous triumph over the blue of Springdale.
The trouble was, however, that after the last defeat by her rival Clearfield High School had rather lost enthusiasm for track and field sports. The pendulum swung far over toward baseball, and this spring it had been more than usually difficult to persuade fellows to come out for the Track Team. Felker had posted notice after notice calling for volunteers before his insistence had stirred up any response. Of course there was a nucleus in the hold-overs from last season, but they were not many and new material was badly needed if the Purple was to make a real showing against the Blue. Within the last week the list on the notice-board had grown encouragingly in length, though, and with a half-hundred candidates to choose from it would seem that coach and captain ​should have been encouraged. Unfortunately, though, a good half of the aspirants were youngsters whose chances of making good were decidedly slim, and "Skeet" and Guy Felker both realized that if, after the final weeding out, they had twenty-five fellows to build the team with they might consider themselves extremely fortunate.
At least half of the candidates who reported this afternoon were in street togs. Those who were not were taken by Guy for a slow run out into the country and the others were dismissed with instructions to report to-morrow dressed for work. Of the former were Fudge and Perry, and it was their fortune to amble over the better part of two miles at the tail-end of a strung-out procession of runners. Perry was in the rear because Fudge was. Fudge was there because running was not a strong point with him. If it hadn't been for the occasional rests allowed by the captain, Fudge would have dropped out, discouraged and winded, long before they got back to the field. As it was, however, he managed to remain within sight of the leaders. Once when, having trotted up a hill, he subsided on a convenient ledge to regain his breath, he voiced a protest.
"Gee," panted Fudge, "I don't see any good in running all over the landscape like this when you're ​going to be a shot-putter! If I'd known they were going to spring this on me I wouldn't have signed for the team!"
"I guess maybe it's good for you," replied Perry, "whether you're going to throw weights or run or jump. Hadn't we better start along again? The others are nearly a quarter of a mile away now."
Fudge lifted a dejected head and viewed the situation. His face brightened. "They're going around the hill, Perry," he said. "That's all right. We'll just trot down this side and pick 'em up again at the road."
Perry wanted to demur at that, but Fudge's discomfort was so real that he had to sympathize, and so they cut off to the right and reached the bottom of the hill shortly after the first runners had passed. There were many knowing grins as the two boys trotted out from the fringe of trees.
"Did you lose your way?" asked one chap solicitously.
"No, I lost my breath," replied Fudge. "Had to stop and look for it."
"'And for numerous other reasons,'" remarked a voice behind him.
Fudge glanced back with a scowl, but every face in sight was guileless and innocent.
Later, when they were making their way home ​from the field, Fudge pulled his feet after him wearily and groaned every few yards.
"I'll be as stiff as a crutch to-morrow," he sighed pessimistically. "F-f-for two cents I'd tell Guy to find someone else to put his old shot for him. I d-d-didn't agree to be a b-b-b-blooming slave!"
Still, he managed to drag himself around to Perry's after supper and until it was time for the theater to open they watched the window across the yard. But they saw nothing, not even a light. Fudge feared that their quarry had flown and accused Perry of scaring him away. "He probably saw you watching him and has skipped out. Bet we'll never see him again!"
"But I'm quite sure he didn't see me," expostulated the other. "He didn't look up once."
"That's what you think. He must have seen you. Well, there goes five hundred dollars!"
"You don't even know there was any reward for him, so what's the good of grouching about it?"
But Fudge refused to cheer up and presently took his departure gloomily. It is very easy to be a pessimist when one is weary, and Fudge was very weary indeed!