Parnassus on Wheels (10 page)

"No matter," he said. "I thought I heard a dog." But I noticed that
he quickened his pace.

"I was saying," he continued, "that I had really thought to have
lost Parnassus for good by this morning, but I'm tickled to death to
have a chance to see her again. I hope she'll be as good a friend to
you as she has been to me. I suppose you'll sell her when you return
to the Sage?"

"I don't know I'm sure," I said. "I must confess I'm still a little
at sea. My desire for an adventure seems to have let me in deeper
than I expected. I begin to see that there's more in this
bookselling game than I thought. Honestly, it's getting into my
blood."

"Well, that's fine," he said heartily. "I couldn't have left
Parnassus in better hands. You must let me know what you do with
her, and then perhaps, when I've finished my book, I can buy her
back."

We struck off into the lane. The ground was slippery under the trees
and we went single file, Mifflin in front. I looked at my watch—it
was nine o'clock, just an hour since I had left the van. As we
neared the spot Mifflin kept looking ahead through the birch trees
in a queer way.

"What's the matter?" I said. "We're almost there, aren't we?"

"We
are
there," he said. "Here's the place."

Parnassus was gone!

We stood in complete dismay—I did, at any rate—for about as long
as it takes to peel a potato. There could be no doubt in which
direction the van had moved, for the track of the wheels was plain.
It had gone farther up the lane toward the quarry. In the earth,
which was still soggy, were a number of footprints.

"By the bones of Polycarp!" exclaimed the Professor, "those hoboes
have stolen the van. I guess they think it'll make a fine Pullman
sleeper for them. If I'd realized there was more than one of them
I'd have hung around closer. They need a lesson."

Good Lord! I thought, here's Don Quixote about to wade into another
fight.

"Hadn't we better go back and get Mr. Pratt?" I asked.

This was obviously the wrong thing to say. It put the fiery little
man all the more on his mettle. His beard bristled. "Nothing of the
sort!" he said. "Those fellows are cowards and vagabonds anyway.
They can't be far off; you haven't been away more than an hour, have
you? If they've done anything to Bock, by the bones of Chaucer, I'll
harry them. I
thought
I heard him bark."

He hurried up the lane, and I followed in a panicky frame of mind.
The track wound along a hillside, between a high bank and a forest
of birch trees. I think the distance can't have been more than a
quarter of a mile. Anyway, in a very few minutes the road made a
sharp twist to the right and we found ourselves looking down into
the quarry, over a sheer rocky drop of a hundred feet at least.
Below, drawn over to one side of the wall of rock, stood Parnassus.
Peg was between the shafts. Bock was nowhere to be seen. Sitting by
the van were three disreputable looking men. The smoke of a cooking
fire rose into the air; evidently they were making free with my
little larder.

"Keep back," said the Professor softly. "Don't let them see us." He
flattened himself in the grass and crawled to the edge of the cliff.
I did the same, and we lay there, invisible from below, but quite
able to see everything in the quarry. The three tramps were
evidently enjoying an excellent breakfast.

"This place is a regular hang-out for these fellows," Mifflin
whispered. "I've seen hoboes about here every year. They go into
winter quarters about the end of October, usually. There's an old
blasted-out section of this quarry that makes a sheltered dormitory
for them, and as the place isn't worked any more they're not
disturbed here so long as they don't make mischief in the
neighbourhood. We'll give them...."

"Hands up!" said a rough voice behind us. I looked round. There was
a fat, red-faced villainous-looking creature covering us with a
shiny revolver. It was an awkward situation. Both the Professor and
I were lying full length on the ground. We were quite helpless.

"Get up!" said the tramp in a husky, nasty voice. "I guess youse
thought we wasn't covering our trail? Well, we'll have to tie you
up, I reckon, while we get away with this Crystal Pallis of yourn."

I scrambled to my feet, but to my surprise the Professor continued
to lie at full length.

"Get up, deacon!" said the tramp again. "Get up on them graceful
limbs,
if
you please."

I guess he thought himself safe from attack by a woman. At any rate,
he bent over as if to grab Mifflin by the neck. I saw my chance
and jumped on him from behind. I am heavy, as I have said, and he
sprawled on the ground. My doubts as to the pistol being loaded were
promptly dissolved, for it went off like a cannon. Nobody was in
front of it, however, and Mifflin was on his feet like a flash. He
had the ruffian by the throat and kicked the weapon out of his hand.
I ran to seize it.

"You son of Satan!" said the valiant Redbeard. "Thought you could
bully us, did you? Miss McGill, you were as quick as Joan of Arc.
Hand me the pistol, please."

I gave it to him, and he shoved it under the hobo's nose.

"Now," he said, "take off that rag around your neck."

The rag was an old red handkerchief, inconceivably soiled. The tramp
removed it, grumbling and whining. Mifflin gave me the pistol to
hold while he tied our prisoner's wrists together. In the meantime
we heard a shout from the quarry. The three vagabonds were gazing up
in great excitement.

"You tell those fashion plates down there," said Mifflin, as he
knotted the tramp's hands together, "that if they make any fight
I'll shoot them like crows." His voice was cold and savage and he
seemed quite master of the situation, but I must confess I wondered
how we could handle four of them.

The greasy ruffian shouted down to his pals in the quarry, but I did
not hear what he said, as just then the Professor asked me to keep
our captive covered while he got a stick. I stood with the pistol
pointed at his head while Mifflin ran back into the birchwood to cut
a cudgel.

The tramp's face became the colour of the under side of a fried egg
as he looked into the muzzle of his own gun.

"Say, lady," he pleaded, "that gun goes off awful easy, point her
somewhere else or you'll croak me by mistake."

I thought a good scare wouldn't do him any harm and kept the barrel
steadily on him.

The rascals down below seemed debating what to do. I don't know
whether they were armed or not; but probably they imagined that
there were more than two of us. At all events, by the time Mifflin
came back with a stout birch staff they were hustling out of the
quarry on the lower side. The Professor swore, and looked as if he
would gladly give chase, but he refrained.

"Here, you," he said in crisp tones to the tramp, "march on ahead of
us, down to the quarry."

The fat ruffian shambled awkwardly down the trail. We had to make
quite a detour to get into the quarry, and by the time we reached
there the other three tramps had got clean away. I was not sorry, to
tell the truth. I thought the Professor had had enough scrapping for
one twenty-four hours.

Peg whinneyed loudly as she saw us coming, but Bock was not in sight.

"What have you done with the dog, you swine?" said Mifflin. "If
you've hurt him I'll make you pay with your own hide."

Our prisoner was completely cowed. "No, boss, we ain't hurt the
dog," he fawned. "We tied him up so he couldn't bark, that's all.
He's in the 'bus." And sure enough, by this time we could hear
smothered yelping and whining from Parnassus.

I hurried to open the door, and there was Bock, his jaws tied
together with a rope-end. He bounded out and made super-canine
efforts to express his joy at seeing the Professor again. He paid
very little attention to me.

"Well," said Mifflin, after freeing the dog's muzzle, and with
difficulty restraining him from burying his teeth in the tramp's
shin, "what shall we do with this heroic specimen of manhood? Shall
we cart him over to the jail in Port Vigor, or shall we let him go?"

The tramp burst into a whining appeal that was almost funny, it was
so abject. The Professor cut it short.

"I ought to pack you into quod," he said. "Are you the Phoebus
Apollo I scuffled with down the lane last night? Was it you skulking
around this wagon then?"

"No, boss, that was Splitlip Sam, honest to Gawd it was. He come
back, boss; said he'd been fightin' with a cat-o'-mountain! Say,
boss, you sure hit him hard. One of his lamps is a pudding! Boss,
I'll swear I ain't had nothin' to do with it."

"I don't like your society," said the Professor, "and I'm going to
turn you loose. I'm going to count ten, and if you're not out of
this quarry by then, I'll shoot. And if I see you again I'll skin
you alive. Now get out!"

He cut the knotted handkerchief in two. The hobo needed no urging.
He spun on his heel and fled like a rabbit. The Professor watched
him go, and as the fat, ungainly figure burst through a hedge and
disappeared he fired the revolver into the air to frighten him still
more. Then he tossed the weapon into the pool near by.

"Well, Miss McGill," he said with a chuckle, "if you like to
undertake breakfast, I'll fix up Peg." And he drew the horse-shoe
from his pocket once more.

A brief inspection of Parnassus satisfied me that the thieves had
not had time to do any real damage. They had got out most of the
eatables and spread them on a flat rock in preparation for a feast;
and they had tracked a good deal of mud into the van; but otherwise
I could see nothing amiss. So while Mifflin busied himself with
Peg's foot it was easy for me to get a meal under way. I found a
gush of clean water trickling down the face of the rock. There were
still some eggs and bread and cheese in the little cupboard, and an
unopened tin of condensed milk. I gave Peg her nose bag of oats, and
fed Bock, who was frisking about in high spirits. By that time the
shoeing was done, and the Professor and I sat down to an improvised
meal. I was beginning to feel as if this gipsy existence were the
normal course of my life.

"Well, Professor," I said, as I handed him a cup of coffee and a
plate of scrambled eggs and cheese, "for a man who slept in a wet
haystack, you acquit yourself with excellent valour."

"Old Parnassus is quite a stormy petrel," he said. "I used to think
the chief difficulty in writing a book would be to invent things to
happen, but if I were to sit down and write the adventures I'd had
with her it would be a regular Odyssey."

"How about Peg's foot?" I asked. "Can she travel on it?"

"It'll be all right if you go easy. I've scraped out the injured
part and put the shoe back. I keep a little kit of tools under the
van for emergencies of all sorts."

It was chilly, and we didn't dawdle over our meal. I only made a
feint of eating, as I had had a little breakfast before, and also
as the events of the last few hours had left me rather restless. I
wanted to get Parnassus out on the highway again, to jog along in
the sun and think things over. The quarry was a desolate, forbidding
place anyway. But before we left we explored the cave where the
tramps had been preparing to make themselves comfortable for the
winter. It was not really a cave, but only a shaft into the granite
cliff. A screen of evergreen boughs protected the opening against
the weather, and inside were piles of sacking that had evidently
been used as beds, and many old grocery boxes for tables and chairs.
It amused me to notice a cracked fragment of mirror balanced on a
corner of rock. Even these ragamuffins apparently were not totally
unconscious of personal appearance. I seized the opportunity, while
the Professor was giving Peg's foot a final look, to rearrange my
hair, which was emphatically a sight. I hardly think Andrew would
have recognized me that morning.

We led Peg up the steep incline, back into the lane where I had
strayed, and at length we reached the main road again. Here I began
to lay down the law to Redbeard.

"Now look here, Professor," I said, "I'm not going to have you tramp
all the way back to Port Vigor. After the night you've had you need
a rest. You just climb into that Parnassus and lie down for a good
snooze. I'll drive you into Woodbridge and you can take your train
there. Now you get right into that bunk. I'll sit out here and drive."

He demurred, but without much emphasis. I think the little fool was
just about fagged out, and no wonder. I was a trifle groggy myself.
In the end he was quite docile. He climbed into the van, took off
his boots, and lay down under a blanket. Bock followed him, and I
think they both fell asleep on the instant. I got on the front seat
and took the reins. I didn't let Peg go more quickly than a walk as
I wanted to spare her sore foot.

My, what a morning that was after the rain! The road ran pretty
close to the shore, and every now and then I could catch a glimpse
of the water. The air was keen—not just the ordinary, unnoticed air
that we breathe in and out and don't think about, but a sharp and
tingling essence, as strong in the nostrils as camphor or ammonia.
The sun seemed focussed upon Parnassus, and we moved along the white
road in a flush of golden light. The flat fronds of the cedars
swayed gently in the salty air, and for the first time in ten
years, I should think, I began amusing myself by selecting words to
describe the goodness of the morning. I even imagined myself writing
a description of it, as if I were Andrew or Thoreau. The crazy
little Professor had inoculated me with his literary bug, I guess.

And then I did a dishonourable thing. Just by chance I put my hand
into the little pocket beside the seat where Mifflin kept a few odds
and ends. I meant to have another look at that card of his with the
poem on it. And there I found a funny, battered little notebook,
evidently forgotten. On the cover was written, in ink, "Thoughts
on the Present Discontents." That title seemed vaguely familiar. I
seemed to recall something of the kind from my school days—more
than twenty years ago, goodness me! Of course if I had been
honourable I wouldn't have looked into it. But in a kind of
quibbling self-justification I recalled that I had bought Parnassus
and all it contained, "lock, stock, barrel and bung" as Andrew used
to say. And so....