He went to the Economy post office and on the back of a circular that

he found in the waste basket he wrote another note: "Pat. This is blood money an' I can't kep it. I didunt no when I

undertuk the job wot kind of a job it was. Thers only one way fur yoo

to kep yur hid saf, an that is to tel the trooth abot wot hapuned. If

yoo ar wiling to tel the trooth put a leter heer sayin so. If yoo don't

I am havin' you watshed an you will los yoor job an likely be hanged.

We are arumd so be keerful. This aint yella. This is rite.

THE KID."

It was a long job and he was tired when it was finished, for his days

at school had been full of so many other things besides lessons that

literary efforts were always strenuous for him. When he had finished he

went out and carried three parcels for the meat market, receiving in

return thirty cents, which exactly made up the sum he had spent from

his tainted money. With this wrapped bunglingly in his note he

proceeded to ambush near Pleasant Valley. He had other fish to fry, but

not till dark. Meantime, if that underground telephone was being used

at other times in the day he wanted to know it.

He placed the note and money obviously before the little hidden

telephone from which he had cleared the leaves and rubbish that hid it,

and then retired to cover where he settled himself comfortably. He knew

Pat would be busy till the two evening trains had arrived, after that

if he did not come there would likely be no calls before morning again,

and he could go on his way. With a pleasant snack of sugar cookies and

cream puffs he lay back and closed his eyes, glad of this brief respite

from his life of care and perplexity. Of course he couldn't get away

from his thoughts, but what a pleasant place this was, with the scent

of sassafras and winter green all around him, and the meadow lark high

in the air somewhere. There were bees in the wild honeysuckle not far

away. He could hear their lazy drone. It would be nice to be a bee and

fly, fly away from everything. Did bees care about things? Did they

have troubles, and love folks and lose 'em? When a bee died did the

other bees care? Aw Gee! Mark in--j--No! He wouldn't say it!

Mark was in New York! Yes, of course he was. It would all come right

some day. He would catch those crooks and put 'em in jail--no, first

he'd use 'em to clear Mark. When he got done here he was going up to

watch the old house and find out about that noise, and he'd see whether

Link and Shorty would put anything more over! Link and Shorty and Pat,

and that sissy Shafton and Sam, whoever Sam was! They were all his

enemies! If Mark were only here how they would go to that old haunted

house together and work this thing out. He ought to have told Mark

everything. Fool! Just to save his own hide! Just to keep Mark from

blaming him! Well, he was done saving himself or getting ill gotten

gains. Him for honesty for the rest of his life.




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