Evening Star Newspaper, January 25, 1942, Page 78

“It hadn’t ought to have been there,” he said. Then, very firmly, he closed the door. *Oh, my!” cried Marty. *‘Oh, my goodness! What in the world are we going to do »zo1v?"”’ “I don’t know,” said Bill, “but what gets me is — who would want that thing? I mean if it was Carole Lombard or somebody — but old Curtis! Who would want that thing?” “Well, somebody must have wanted it! It must have been somebody — Oh, Bill, do you think it could have been somebody who came in here and knew that bust belonged in the library? And just naturally took it back?”’ He stared at her. “Why —say! It could have been! Why, Marty, I bet that’s just exactly what happened!” They took fire from each other's enthusiasm —-and the more they thought of this new theory, the more plausible it became. As A theory, it was very sound. It was too bad they had built it on the wrong premise. When they arrived at school next morning they found the whole campus seething with excitement. Rumors concerning the mysteri- ous disappearance of Mr. Hibbert’s bust had seeped right down to the lowliest pig-tailed freshman. Then there were fresh rumors of a special assembly called for the whole student body —- rumors quickly verified. Bill, ambling into the auditorium at Marty's side, assumed a faint, supercilious smile, meant to indicate his complete indif- ference to the matter at hand. He was unique in this attitude. Mr. Hibbert announced the disappearance of the bust. He called upon the responsible person to rise and confess. Naturally no one responded to this appeal —but every one glanced covertly at the person on either side of him, and a few unnerved young people tittered helplessly. Marty looked at Bill again. He was still smiling sarcastically. His face, however, had turned a painful red, blazoning his guilt to the world — if all eyes had not fortunately been riveted on Mr. Hibbert. “‘Very well!" that autocrat continued. “‘Now I have one more announcement to make. If that bust is not returned within twenty-four hours, the whole school will be penalized. Unless the restitution is made within that period of time, I am afraid we shall have to cancel our mid-semester dance.”” Mr. Hibbert lifted his hand, quelling the anguished mur- mur that had risen. *“We would not be happy about having that dance. We would take no joy in any such merry and carefree event when a situation as disgraceful as this was weighing on all our minds. I am sure you will all agree with me — after a moment’s sober reflection.” That was all. No one agreed with. Mr. Hibbert, even after a moment’s sober reflec- tion — but no one, of course, dared to say so. The assembly broke up. Bill and Marty slipped away for a conference. “I've got to tell 'em!” Bill cried. “T can't let the whole school miss out on the dance on account of me. I'd be a rat!” “No, you wouldn’t!” cried Marty. “It isn’t your fault, is it, if Mr. Hibbert has to go and punish the whole school for something you just happened to do without even knowing what you were doing?"’ There was a flaw in Marty's logic, but Bill couldn’t put his finger on it. He looked at her uncertainly. “Anyway I feel like a rat,” he said. “I feel like one — me not saying anything.” “Well, you're going to feel a whole lot worse if you're expelled! And your family’s going to feel worse! Why, just think of your mother, Bill Newcomb!”’ “Sure I'm thinking of my mother — but I’ve got to think of my own peace of mind!” “I don’t think it matters so much about your peace of mind — But there's the bell. We'll talk some more about it after school. We'll maybe think of something,’’ said Marty. But after school they had to drive over to Francine’s house for the Thayers’ laundry. Francine was late with il again. Francine lived in a shack in the colored section, but she greeted Marty and the young gentleman who accompanied her with a bright and beautiful smile, and ushered them into her humble abode with all the graciousness of her race. It was very embarrassing for Marty to discover all her intimate garments, freshly ironed and draped all over the room. She blushed furiously and did not look at Bill until a sort of strangled yelp from him brought her eyes swiftly to his face. He was staring with dazed eyes at an object resting on the ruffled shelf over Francine’s gas plate. That object was the bronze bust of Curtis A. Hibbert. “Your papa’s got to have his collars just so,” Francine was saying, amiably. “Not too much starch nor too little. Got to be just so!”’ “Yes — " Marty said, breathlessly. “‘I know my father’s very particular, Francine, but you always do such wonderful work — My goodness, I don't see how you do so much wonderful work and keep your house so — so neat and clean!” Francine cackled. “It’s a little bitty house! And that Mist’ Abbott — he asks a heap o’ rent for it! Twelve dollahs a month!” “Yes — " Marty floundered on. “But it's such an attractive little house, Francine — and you’ve got so many attractive things to — to dust and keep clean. Well, like that — that bronze thing over there — Francine rolled her eyes towards Mr. Hibbert’s unsmiling countenance. “My. gem- 'mum friend give me that. Ain’t it somep’n!” Marty looked at her anxiously. ‘“You mean you really like it very much, Francine?”’ “‘Sure I do! I've took a fancy to it.” Bill coughed. “Then you wouldn’t consider selling it? I've got three dollars.” *And I've got eighty cents!”’ cried Marty. “Would you sell it for three dollars and eighty cents, Francine?”’ Francine turned the matter over in her mind. ‘I dassent. Alexander Brown wouldn’t like for me to sell that there little bust he give .me. He wouldn'’t ltke that.” Marty started. She knew Alexander Brown. He was the amiable and charming little col- ored man who mowed the Thayers’ lawn. She frowned at Bill, significantly. *“I think,”” she said. *‘we’d better be pushing along.” Tm: next step was obviously an interview with Francine’s fiance. They found him pen- sively considering a rather bedraggled flower bed in Mrs. Henry Webster’s garden. Bill was thrown, immediately, into a state of wild excitement. *“Why, my gosh!” he said. “That'’s the colored man who was in the zoo! That's the very same man, Marty!” “Oh, dear! I wish it wasn't!” faltered Marty. But she approached the culprit reso- lutely enough. ‘‘Alexander!” she said. He looked up and touched his tattered old hat, his face shining in innocent delight. Marty traced for him, diffidently, the mis- adventures of the bust. Alexander considered her with grieved eyes. “Why, Miss Marty, I wouldn’t take no bronze bust out of no zoo! This here bronze bust I give Francine — I took it out of an old junk heap back of Cassidy’s feed store! I could take you there and show you!” “But,” Bill said, ‘‘that bust was in the zoo!” Alexander gave him a forgiving smile. ‘‘Not this one. This bust I give Francine — it was in that old junk heap.” “But I saw you there! I saw you working in the zoo!” Alexander was plaintive. “Ain’t no crime — workin’ in a zoo.” “No, but — “Sendin’ a poor colored man to jail! A nice young gem’'mum like you!” “For Pete’s sake! Nobody said anything about jail!” But Alexander was hurt. “Just takin’ a funny-lookin’ thing like that out of an old junk heap! Thinkin’ that just nachally some- body must ‘a’ throwed it away!”’ “Well, all right!” cried Bill. “I put it in the zoo and somebody took it out and put it on an old junk heap and you took it off the junk heap and gave it to Francine! But listen! Do you think you can get that bust away from Francine and sell it to me?”’ *‘Oh, yes!” cried Marty. ‘‘For three dollars and eighty cents! Please, Alexander!” Alexander’s brown eyes gleamed for an instant. Then, mournfully, he shook his head. “I dassent. I give one or two other little concerns like that to Francine — and then I took 'em away. Francine was mighty sore at me. But she didn’t like anything I ever give her the way she likes this here bust. She’s took a fancy to it. I dassent.” They were no match for Alexander. After they had left, Bill said, ‘‘We haven’t a chance, Marty. There’s no way we can get that thing back on that pedestal before nine o’clock tomorrow morning! No way!”’ “‘But, Bill, he stole it! He must have!” “Sure. But I stole it first, didn’t I? Gosh, Marty, this is a spot!” “Yes,” Marty said, thoughtfully, “but Alexander just kind of slides out of everything you say. I think we’d better go back and talk to Francine. We'd just better go and tell her the plain and simple truth!”’ Bill looked faintly alarmed. ‘“Well, don’t queer things between her and Alexander! I wouldn’t feel right about it.” “No,” Marty said, “I’ll put it in some kind Page Five of a roundabout way, Bill. I'll say it isn’t that we think Alexander took it, but it might look to other people as if he had. It might look kind of suspicious if she had a bust of Mr. Hibbert on her wall that ought by rights to be in the high school library — “Yeah! That’s the angle! And then you can say we want to pay her for any little trouble she’s been put to.” Marty ran over the argument. It was not a bad little speech that she finally rehearsed —but, like most rehearsed speeches,.it never reached a human ear. By the time Marty and Bill got back to Francine’s house, Mr. Hib- bert’s bronze bust was gone. It was that Mist’ Abbott!” Francine wept. “He took it for the rent!” “The rent, Francine?” “Well, I've been owin’ him, and I tol’ him I couldn’t pay him an’ he kind of looked aroun’ here — an’ he saw that there bust — *’ “And he wanted it?” Bill demanded, in- credulously. Francine looked at Bill in honest wonder. “Why, o' course he wanted it!”” she said. Marty sighed. “What’s Mr. Abbott'’s first name, Francine? And where does he live?”’ MR. MATTHEW ABBOTT opened the door to his young visitors. He said at once that he didn’t want to buy anything —and that, furthermore, he didn’t want any tickets to anything. Reassured on these points, he let them in — though looking a little batfled. They saw the bronze bust right away. It had a very prominent place on Mr. Abbott’s mantel. Mr. Abbott saw them looking at the bust and he beamed on them broadly. ‘“That,” said Mr. Abbott, “is my old granddad!” Marty-and Bill looked at him, and looked at each other, and looked at him again. It was Marty who first regained the power of speech. “Your — your what, Mr. Abbott?”’ Please tura to next page “My gem’mum friend give me that bust,” she said. ‘“Ain’t it somep’n!” ——— L. L I AR+ § 4