CHAPTER XVI.

BOY SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE.

Twenty-four hours passed and Mary Dugan knew nothing about the winning of the turkeys. On the way home from church Renfro had asked his father and mother not to mention his success to Mary. “Afraid she’ll kick on cooking the whole lot?” Mr. Horn laughed.

Mrs. Horn stared at her husband with hauteur. He was in admirable humor over the whole affair. The Rev. Mr. Bottleman had shook his hand after he and Renfro had had a little talk over the success of the scheme. “Another king of industry, Horn,” the minister had laughed.

Renfro had touched his arm. “Will you have your three names ready for the charity turkeys?” he asked. “I’d like to deliver them in a few days.”

“I’ll get them to you tomorrow night,” the minister promised. “I want to do some looking around to be sure that they are delivered at the homes where there are the most children.” He put out his hands. “Come again, when you have another deal like this one,” he said gravely.

And then the Horn family had gone out to their car and started home. Mr. Horn, sensing the mood of his wife from the lofty elevation of her chin, did a monologue on the sermon; and Renfro was trying to picture Morrison’s pride in the morning when he heard that six turkeys would go to one of his carriers.

When suddenly Mrs. Horn gave a moan and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Oh,” she began, “what if there happened to be a reporter at the church. We’ll be the laughing stock of the town all because you gave your permission for him to carry that detestable route and--”

“We’ll be the victims of three funerals tomorrow if you grab my arm like that again,” Mr. Horn said hotly, “Didn’t you see how close I ran to that telephone pole?”

Then Renfro reassured his mother. The Globe would not use the story without Mr. Bruce’s permission, he knew. Also no other paper would carry one line of it because that would mean free advertising for the Globe. “And newspapers aren’t run that way,” he ended.

But Mrs. Horn was not convinced.

However, she soon forgot her worries. A knot of neighbors on the corner caused Mr. Horn to stop his car. He found the group discussing new turns in the Wier kidnaping. The detectives in a town half way across the state had ordered the arrest of a man, one of the gangsters, who had been indicted in the election fraud case and had left the town the night Helen was kidnaped.

They would arrive in town that night. The man’s actions had been mysterious for several days before the kidnaping, in fact enough so for the police to send word out to watch him. “But as usual with our police,” said the doctor on the corner, who himself having been robbed during the fall, was vindictive, “no watching was done.”

That afternoon Renfro called Morrison for news of the Wier kidnaping, verifying what news in regard to the story he had heard that morning. It seemed to be an assured fact that this man had been arrested and that he was being brought back tonight.

Renfro too heard stories about the scratched window pane. But the workman who put in the new windows at the Wier house offered evidence which seemed to make all these no clues at all. Very seldom he said were a set of windows ever installed in a new home without some of them being scratched by the workmen.

Most of the work done involved the use of knives. And these scratches were knife made. The chief of detectives, hearing this had laughed and promptly put in his desk the two gray hairs he had been guarding since a short time before.

Monday morning papers told of the return of the man believed to have some knowledge of the crime and his incarceration in the city jail. Mrs. Wier’s condition, according to the story, was improving. Another letter had come to the Wier home, this one sent from a nearby city, written in the child’s handwriting, assuring her mother that she was well and comfortable.

On his way to school Renfro telephoned Morrison. And that executive had been very jubilant. “How did you do it?” he demanded, “and are you sure all your subscriptions are acceptable?”

“Sure,” Renfro laughed back, “I’ve got the money in advance.”

Then came a conversation with Bruce, and Renfro was ordered to come around past the office that afternoon early enough to have his picture snapped with the prize turkeys. Renfro had laughed to himself, “mother will die,” he imagined her horror when she saw the picture, “But I can’t help it. Business is business, and mothers have to expect some publicity if their sons are successful.”

At the office that afternoon he stood very straight while his picture was being made. The six turkeys were magnificent birds. The boys, who owned routes for several months, and those, who had been carriers for more than a year, were very envious. And also eager to hear how Renfro had secured his subscriptions.

Mr. Bruce called Renfro into his office, and to him and Morrison, Renfro told the story of his business deal with the minister, and of its success. Mr. Bruce had then held out his hand. “Congratulations old man,” he had beamed. “You’re one of the fellows I need right at the post. There are going to be some vacancies in some dandy routes. You’ll have first choice at any of them.”

“I protest,” Morrison was all dignity, “Mr. Bruce, Hooch belongs to my bunch. He can’t be sent in any other district route manager’s territory.”

It was then Renfro spoke, “If you please, Morrison,” he was quite in earnest, “I would like to keep Old Grief.”

And both Morrison and Bruce were speechless.

A little later, Renfro decided to take his turkeys home before he carried his route. That would make him later and he would have a better chance of investigating his eyebrow mystery. And after he straightened his shoulders and thought to himself, “The turkeys are won and I’ve got to solve that mystery in the same way I won them.”

It was Macauley who suggested that Renfro drive the turkeys home--Macauley, who had a twinkle in his eye and a rich brogue, both of which should have made most people suspicious but they rarely did. He had lived on a farm in his youth. He had helped care for turkeys, “the most recreant birds in the category of farm animals,” and he laughed boyishly, “and always they wandered away daily while I hunted them daily and drove them miles. All you need, Hooch, is two or three fellows to help you, and to remember this bit of advice. KEEP TO THE ALLEYS FOR FEAR YOU MIGHT FRIGHTEN THE LADIES.”

Three boys started out to help Renfro drive his brood home--among them the little carrier whose route was next Renfro’s and who had rushed into the office the minute he had heard that Old Grief had won Renfro six birds. Jimmy Noel called in a rush to be ready to offer first aid and have a chance to win more merit badges, and after him a little colored boy who had been playing in the alley back of the Globe office.

The birds trotted down the first stretch of alley in a beautiful manner and then they crossed the street with the same precision. The second alley would have been a quiet course had it not been for the washwoman who was carrying a bundle of clothes toward the oncoming flock. Thinking these turkeys were runaway birds and scenting an easy way to get a Thanksgiving dinner she dropped her washing and started after the largest bird.

And then came the stampede. Jimmy, Renfro and Bill, the other route boy kept after the turkeys which perched on buildings, ran in all directions and made a medley of noises which could never be described. But the little colored boy took after the woman of his own race and after she had given up the chase of the turkey he kept up his pursuit, shouting at the top of his voice.

At the corner Jimmy sighted some other scouts starting on a five mile hike. He signaled them with all the authority of a patrol leader in his troop and they, being good scouts, joined in the chase. Two little girls who had wished for boyish adventure recognized this as a great opportunity and came to the throng.

Such chasing, such climbing, such squawking as followed. But before long the entire six were back in a group in the arms of six sturdy scouts. “One good turn today,” they informed Renfro, “Better let us help you get them home.”

And Renfro agreed. At the next corner they were met by a colony of colored people, the old washwoman gesticulating and protesting, while the little chap who had pursued her was also talking vehemently. Renfro gasped at the bunch. It was their evident determination to accompany himself and the scouts to the Horn residence.

He raked his mind. And then he talked to Jimmy. “Mother’s club is meeting tonight,” he said. “If this bunch would follow me home well--”

And Jimmy, the general, was quick to size up the situation. “Give the kid a turkey,” he suggested. “You can’t cook them all, anyway, and he sure has run some. Besides he isn’t a scout and doesn’t have to do a good turn for us other fellows.”

So Renfro handed the little colored chap a turkey. And to their amazement the little colored boy and the big colored woman whom he had been pursuing, straightway made up all their differences and went away carrying the turkey between them.

“Well, Jimmy,” he laughed, “I’ll change my mind. He’s a good scout after all.”