The Mystery Thief by Paul Hutchens

Author:Paul Hutchens [Hutchens, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-57567-744-6
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 1946-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

7

Soon we came to Poetry’s lane, climbed over the fence, and started toward the lighted house. There were all kinds of car tracks in the lane and horse tracks also. Some of the parents probably had come in sleighs. A lot of cars were parked by the gate at Poetry’s house, as well as several sleighs, and we knew our parents and probably a lot of babies and girls of the neighborhood were there already.

We really had a wonderful time in Poetry’s new basement even though later on, when Mr. Black came, he made us feel that we had to be more quiet than we wanted to be.

The basement was all lighted with new electric lights—Poetry’s family was the only family in our neighborhood to have their own electric generator. It certainly would be a good place for the gang to play games and do things, I thought, when I saw the green-topped Ping-Pong table and its little white net and four new paddles and balls. The dartboard hanging on the cream-colored wall had the kind of backboard so that a mother wouldn’t care if your dart happened to miss the target and stick into it. Also it made me feel good when I saw the big lazy chairs to lounge in and a small radio and even the piano with songbooks on it. Poetry’s accordion was on top of the piano, and there was a fireplace and floor lamps and everything. The floor was made out of some kind of different-colored asphalt tile, Poetry told me, which made the old dark basement at our house look like nothing.

For a minute I was glad Mom wasn’t there, because it might start her to worrying a little bit about our basement. But Mom didn’t worry out loud as much as she used to, because she was a better Christian than she had been before Charlotte Ann was born.

Well, it was a great neighborhood gathering. Nearly every one of the gang’s parents was there, and a lot of the girls from Sugar Creek School, and also some babies who didn’t know how to keep quiet and some who did.

Everybody was standing up or sitting down and talking about this or that or somebody or somebody else, and everybody was talking to everybody with nobody listening to anybody. Sitting off in a corner, looking at pictures in a magazine by a floor lamp, was John Till in his old clothes, acting as though he was bored to death with what was going on.

Little Jim’s dad, who was the township trustee and always made everybody like him by being interested in them, went around from one lonesome-looking person to another, making them glad they had come. He didn’t have very much luck with old John, though.

It wasn’t until Little Jim was asked to play a piano solo on the program, which started pretty soon, that John Till showed any interest. Poetry and Dragonfly and I were sitting on the stairway that led up to their kitchen, at the top of which was a door leading out into their yard.

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