Homer Price (9 page)

The noise (it was sort of a rattle) grew louder, and then suddenly an old car swung into the town square. The sheriff, the barber, Uncle Ulysses and Homer watched it with gaping mouths as it rattled around the town square once—twice—and on the third time slowed down and shivered to a stop right out front of Uncle Ulysses’ lunch room.

It wasn’t because this car was old, old enough to be an
antique;
or because some strange business was built onto it; or that the strange business was covered with a large canvas. No, that wasn’t what made Homer and the sheriff, and Uncle Ulysses, and the barber stare so long. It was the car’s
driver.

“Gosh what a beard!” said Homer.

“And what a head of hair!” said the barber. “That’s a two-dollar cutting job if I ever saw one!”

“Could you see his face?” asked the sheriff.

“Nope,” answered Uncle Ulysses, still staring across the square.

They watched the stranger untangle his beard from the steering wheel and go into the lunch room.

Uncle Ulysses promptly dashed for the door, saying, “See you later.”

“Wait for me!” the sheriff called, “I’m sort of hungry.”

Homer followed and the barber shouted, “Don’t forget to come back and tell me the news!”

“OK, and if I bring you a new customer I get a commission.”

The stranger was sitting at the far end of the lunch counter, looking very shy and embarrassed. Homer’s Aunt Aggy had already served him a blue plate special and was eyeing him with suspicion. To be polite Homer and Uncle Ulysses pretended to be busy behind the counter, and the sheriff pretended to study the menu—though he knew every single word on it by heart. They just glanced in the stranger’s direction once in a while.

Finally Uncle Ulysses’ curiosity got the best of him and he sauntered down to the stranger and asked, “Are you enjoying your lunch?—Is everything all right?”

The stranger appeared to be very embarrassed, and you could easily tell he was blushing underneath his beard and all his hair. “Yes, sir, it’s a very good lunch,” he replied with a nod. When he nodded a stray whisp of beard accidentally got into the gravy. This made him more embarrassed than ever.

Uncle Ulysses waited for the stranger to start a conversation but he didn’t.

So Uncle Ulysses said, “Nice day today.”

The stranger said, “Yes, nice day,” and dropped a fork. Now the stranger
really was
embarrassed. He looked as though he would like to sink right through the floor.

Uncle Ulysses quickly handed the man another fork, and eased himself away, so as not to embarrass him into breaking a plate, or falling off his stool.

After he finished lunch, the stranger reached into the pocket of his ragged, patched coat and drew out a leather money bag. He paid for his lunch, nodded good-by, and crept out of the door and down the street with everyone staring after him.

Aunt Aggy broke the silence by bouncing on the marble counter the coin she had just received.

“It’s good money,” she pronounced, “but it looks as though it had been
buried
for
years!
”

“Shyest man I ever laid eyes on!” said Uncle Ulysses.

“Yes!” said the sheriff. “My as a shouse, I mean, shy as a
mouse!
”

“Gosh what a beard!” said Homer.

“Humph!” said Aunt Aggy. “Homer, it’s time you started back to school!”

*    *    *

By mid-afternoon every man, woman, and child in Centerburg had something to gossip about, speculate on, and argue about.

Who was this stranger? Where did he come from? Where was he going? How long was his beard, and his hair? What was his name? Did he have a business? What could be on the back of his car that was so carefully covered with the large canvas?

Nobody knew. Nobody knew anything about the stranger except that he parked his car in the town parking space and was spending considerable time walking about town. People reported that he paused in his walking and whistled a few bars of
some strange tune, a tune nobody had ever heard of. The stranger was shy when grown-ups were near, and he would cross the street or go around a block to avoid speaking to someone. However, he did not avoid children. He smiled at them and seemed delighted to have them follow him.

People from all over town telephoned the sheriff at the barber shop asking about the stranger and making reports as to what was going on.

The sheriff was becoming a bit uneasy about the whole thing. He couldn’t get near enough to the stranger to ask him his intentions, and if he
did
ask the stranger would be too shy to give him an answer.

As Homer passed by the barber shop on his way home from school the sheriff called him in. “Homer,” he said, “I’m gonna need your help. This stranger with the beard has got me worried. You see, Homer, I can’t find out who he is or what he is doing here in town. He’s probably a nice enough fellow, just an individualist. But, then again, he might be a fugitive in disguise or something.” Homer nodded. And the sheriff continued, “Now, what I want you to do is gain his confidence. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of children, and you might be able to find out what this is all about. I’ll treat you to a double raspberry sundae.”

“It’s a deal, sheriff!” said Homer. “I’ll start right now.”

At six o’clock Homer reported to the sheriff. “The stranger seems like a nice person, Sheriff,” Homer began. “I walked down Market Street with him. He wouldn’t tell me who he is or what he’s doing, but he did say he’d been away from people for a great many years. He asked me to recommend a place for him to stay, and I said the Strand Hotel, so that’s where he went just now when I left him. I’ll have to run home to dinner now, Sheriff, but I’ll find out some more tomorrow. Don’t forget about that raspberry sundae,” said Homer.

“I won’t,” replied the sheriff, “and, Homer, don’t forget to keep me posted on this fellow.”

After Homer had gone, the sheriff turned to the barber and said, “Goll durnitt! We don’t know one blessed thing about this fellow except that he’s shy, and he’s been away from people for quite a spell. For all we know he might be a fugitive, or a lunatic, or maybe one of these amnesia cases.”

“If he didn’t have so much hair I could tell in a second what kind of a fellow he is,” complained the sheriff. “Yep! Just one look at a person’s ears and
I
can
tell!
”

“Well,” said the barber, “
I
judge people by their
hair,
and I’ve been thinking. This fellow looks like somebody I’ve heard about, or read about somewhere. Like somebody out of a book, you understand, Sheriff?”

“Well, yes, in a way, but I could tell you definite with a good look at his ears!” said the sheriff. “Here comes Ulysses, let’s ask him what
he
thinks.”

Uncle Ulysses considered a second and said, “Well,
I
judge a person by his
waistline
and his
appetite.
Now I’m not saying I’m right, Sheriff, because I couldn’t tell about his waistline under that old coat, but judging from his appetite, I’d say he’s a sort a person that I’ve read about somewhere. I can’t just put my finger on it. Seems as though it must have been in a book.”

“U-m-m,” said the sheriff.

Just then Tony the shoe-repair-man came in for a hair cut. After he was settled in the barber chair, the sheriff asked him what he thought about the mysterious stranger.

“Well, Sheriff,
I
judge everybody by their
feet,
and their
shoes.
Nobody’s worn a pair of gaiters like his for twenty-five years. It seems as though those shoes must have just up and walked right out of the pages of some old dusty book.”

“There!” said the sheriff. “
Now,
we’re getting somewhere!” He rushed to the phone and called Mr. Hirsh of the Hirsh Clothing Store, and asked, “Say, Sam, what do
you
think about this stranger? . . . Yes, the one bith the weard, I mean beard! . . . uh-huh . . . story-book clothes, eh? . . . Thanks a lot, Sam, good night.”

Then he called the garage and said, “Hello, Luke, this is the sheriff talking. What do you make of this stranger in town . . . Yes? . . . literature, eh? Durn’d if I kin see how you can judge a man by the car he drives, but I’ll take your word for it. Good night, Luke, and thanks a lot.”

The sheriff looked very pleased with himself. He paced up
and down and muttered, “Getting somewhere! Getting somewhere at last!” Then he surprised everyone by announcing that he was going over to the
library!

In a few minutes he was back, his mustache twitching with excitement. “I’ve solved it!” he shouted. “The librarian knew right off just what book to look in! It’s
Rip Van Winkle!
It’s Rip Van Winkle this fellow’s like. He must have driven up into the hills some thirty years ago and fell asleep, or got amnesia, or something!”

“Yeah! That’s it!” agreed the barber along with Uncle Ulysses and the shoemaker.

Then Uncle Ulysses asked,
“But
how about that ‘what-ever-it-is’ underneath the canvas on the back of his car?”

“Now look here, Ulysses,” shouted the sheriff, “you’re just trying to complicate my deduction! Come on, let’s play checkers!”

*    *    *

Bright and early the next morning the Rip-Van-Winklish stranger was up and wandering around Centerburg.

By ten o’clock everyone was referring to him as “Old Rip,” and remarking how clever the sheriff was at deducing things.

The sheriff tried to see what was under the canvas, but couldn’t make head or tail of what it was. Uncle Ulysses peeked at it too and said, “Goodness only knows! But never mind, Sheriff. If anybody can find out what this thing is, Homer will do the finding!”

That same afternoon after school was dismissed Uncle Ulysses and the sheriff saw Homer strolling down the street with “Old Rip.”

“Looks like he’s explaining something to Homer,” said the sheriff.

“Homer’ll find out!” said Uncle Ulysses proudly. Then they watched through the barber shop window while the stranger took Homer across the square to the parking lot and showed him his car. He lifted one corner of the canvas and pointed underneath while Homer looked and nodded his head. They shook hands and the stranger went to his hotel, and Homer headed for the barber shop.

“Did he talk?” asked the sheriff the minute Homer opened the door.

“What’s his name?” asked Uncle Ulysses.

“What is he doing?” asked the barber.

“Yes, he told me everything!” said Homer. “It sounds just like a story out of a book!”

“Yes, son, did he get amnesia up in the hills?” asked the sheriff.

“Well, no, not exactly, Sheriff, but he did
live
in the hills for the past thirty years.”

“Well, what’s he doing here now?” the barber demanded.

“I better start at the beginning,” said Homer.

“That’s a good idea, son,” said the sheriff. “I’ll take a few notes just for future reference.”

“Well, to begin with,” Homer started, “his name is Michael Murphy—just plain Michael Murphy. About thirty years ago he built himself a small vacation cabin out in the hills, some place on the far side of the state forest reserve. Then, he liked living in the cabin so much he decided to live there all of the time. He packed his belongings on his car and moved out to the hills.”

“He cided ta be a dermit?” asked the sheriff.

“Not exactly, a
hermit,
” Homer continued. “But yesterday was the first time that he came out of the hills and saw people, for thirty years. That’s why he’s so shy.”

“Then he’s moving back to civilization,” suggested Uncle Ulysses.

“That comes later,” said Homer, “I’ve only told as far as twenty-nine years ago.”

“Can’t you skip a few years, son, and get to the point?” demanded the sheriff.

“Nope! Twenty-nine years ago,” Homer repeated firmly, “Mr. Murphy read in an almanac that if a man can make a better mouse trap than anybody else, the world will beat a path to his house—even if it is way out in the hills.

“So-o-o he started making
mouse traps.”

There was a pause, and then the sheriff said, “Will you repeat that again, son?”

“I said, Mr. Murphy started making
mouse traps.
He made good ones too, the very best, and when one of Mr. Murphy’s
traps caught a mouse, that was the end of that mouse for all time.”

The sheriff forgot all about taking notes as Homer continued, “But nobody came to buy the traps. But that was just as well, you see, because twenty-eight years ago Mr. Murphy began to feel
sorry
for the mice. He came to realize that he would have to change his whole approach. He thought and thought and finally he decided to build mouse traps that wouldn’t hurt the mice.

“He spent the next fifteen years doing research on what was the pleasantest possible way for a mouse to be caught. He discovered that being caught to music pleased mice the most, even more than cheese. Then,” said Homer, “Mr. Murphy set to work to make a
musical
mouse trap.”

“That wouldn’t hurt the mice?” inquired Uncle Ulysses.

“That wouldn’t hurt the mice,” Homer stated. “It was a long hard job too, because first he had to build an organ out of reeds that the mice liked the sound of, and then he had to compose a tune that the mice couldn’t possibly resist. Then he incorporated it all into a mouse trap . . . ”