Pee-Wee Harris Adrift | Page 7

were heard in excited altercation,
there were long intervals of silence. The group had shrunken and
become compact. All were stooping. Their preoccupation seemed
intense. They had forgotten all about the lookout. Occasionally some
civilian passed along the distant alley and guilty instinct caused one or
another of the group to glance thither to give a hasty appraisal of his
mission and character. And so the wicked game went on. And the
sports of Barrel Alley never knew that their stronghold had been
invaded by the boy scouts.
Then around the distant corner appeared two figures in civilian clothes,
strangers in Barrel Alley. They were County Detectives Slippett and
Spotson. They strolled down the alley innocently. Keekie Joe, whose
activities were chiefly local, knew them not. But Pee-wee Harris, Scout,
knew them. On one of his long hikes he had seen them arrest a motorist
in Northvale. He had seen them loitering in the post office at Little
Valley.
They did duty in the various municipalities of the county where the
familiar faces of the local officials were a stumbling block to the
apprehension of wrongdoers. They were going to break up this ring of
gambling rowdies, and so forth and so forth and so forth . . .
Pee-wee's first impulse was to shout, but on second thought it occurred
to him that the army of invasion consisting of two, one of them might
make a flank move on hearing his warning voice, and that one detective
could thus drive the criminals into the very arms of the other, as they

passed through the back yard of Chin Foo's laundry. Chin Foo's back
yard was a sort of trap.
So instead of shouting he descended from the fence with lightning
agility and ran across the field as fast as his legs would carry him, and
pell-mell into the group.
"Two detectives are coming down the alley," he panted. "Beat it over
that way and then you'll sure not run into one of them because they've
got--got--a lot of strat--strat--strat--strat--egy--they have--you'd better
hurry up."
The time it required for the group to disperse can not be indicated by
any word in the English language. They were there and then they were
not there. As Pee-wee stood amid scattered coins and dice he was
conscious of distant forms scaling fences, wriggling through holes, and
of one pair of legs disappearing majestically over a dilapidated roof. As
a disorderly retreat it was a masterpiece.
It was not in Pee-wee's nature to run from anything or anybody. So
there he stood amid the telltale mementoes of the dreadful game while
Detectives Slippett and Spotson strolled into the field. They were just
in time to behold a fleeting vision of forms wriggling through fences,
gliding around buildings, and scrambling over roof tops.
County Detective Spotson was quick to sense the situation. Taking
Pee-wee roughly by the shoulder he demanded in that sophisticated
voice and manner which all detectives acquire and which sometimes
passes for shrewdness, "What's the big idea, huh? Tipped them on, did
you? Well, you're a very clever kid, ain't you?" He removed his big
hand from Pee-wee's shoulder and injected his fingers down the back of
the boy's neck, grabbing him by the collar and gathering it so that it
almost choked him.
This terrifying grip, which is always intended to be considered as the
preliminary of arrest, did not frighten Pee-wee as it would have
frightened Keekie Joe, but it touched his pride and enraged him, and he
wriggled frantically. There is no indignity which can be put upon a boy

like this bullying, official grip of his collar.
"You let me go," he said excitedly; "I wasn't playing here and you
didn't see me do anything wrong; you let me go, do you hear!" His utter
helplessness, despite every contortion, to free himself from this
degrading kind of grasp, drove him distracted and he kicked with all his
might and main. "You let me go, do you hear!" he shouted.
"Well, what were you doing here then, huh?" the officer asked gruffly.
"Yer gave'm the tip, didn't yer?"
"You let go, I'm not going to run away," Pee-wee said. "Do you think
I'm scared of you? You let me go!"
"Do yer know what an accessory is?" Detective Spotson demanded,
loosening his grip somewhat.
"It's something you buy to put on an automobile," Pee-wee said. "You
let go, I'm not going to run."
Detective Spotson, like Keekie Joe, trusted nobody. But since he had
no intention of arresting Pee-wee and since the diminutive captive
seemed rather angered than frightened, he released his hold. By a series
of wriggles and contortions, Pee-wee adjusted his clothing and settled
his neck in his stretched neckband. "Why don't--why--why don't you
take a--a--a feller your size?"