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Authors: Joseph Helgerson
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it?"
"Well"—I pressed an eye against the hole and searched around some—"pretty close to all of it. But mostly I got a view of the big table in front of me."
"Perfect. And are you comfortable?"
"Tolerably." I skipped over mentioning the salt or the height or how cramped it was.
"If a pillow and blanket will square things, we'll get 'em for you. And anything else that'll make that shelf feel homey. You just name 'er and it's yours."
"Oka-ay," I drawled, puzzled-like. "But why would you want me to feel at home on a pantry shelf?"
"Oh that's not a pantry shelf," Chilly corrected.
"It's not?" I squirmed around to see if I might have missed something. But no matter how hard I scouted her over, it still stacked up as a plain old wooden shelf.
"No sir," Chilly boasted. "That there's our new telegraph office."
CHAPTER TEN
L INED UP AGAINST THE OTHER WONDERS of St. Louis, that new telegraph office was a considerable letdown. I put a brave face on my misgivings, not wanting Chilly to think me some ungrateful little carp, but my disappointment must have showed through, 'cause Chilly laid down the law.
"Now see here, Zeb, can't everyone go expecting to start at the top. That ain't the way things work in this here world."
"Expect not," I mumbled.
"Come along now," Chilly ordered.
And he jerked me off that shelf and marched me out of the kitchen, and back around to the parlor, where he stood me right before the wall shared with the pantry. As walls go, it weren't anything more special than some rough-cut old lumber that was pegged together. A long time back somebody had splashed Spanish brown wash over it. There were two pictures hanging on it, one of George Washington, all noble, the other of King Louis something or other, doing a bang-up job looking important too, though I wasn't in any mood for admiring them, not as sore as my arm felt after Chilly's roughhousing. If I'd been back home, my brother James would have been making crimpy baby faces at me, the way he did whenever I was about to cry. Just thinking of that made me want to blubber all the more, so I bit my lip and did my best not to snivel.
"Now where do you reckon you were looking through this wall?" With a sweep of his hand, Chilly invited me to check things over.
Well, the whereabouts of that peephole was a champion mystery. I couldn't find it anywhere, not in George Washington's or King Louis' eyes, nor any of the knotholes to be found here and there, which were all plugged solid.
"Check that lower corner there." Chilly pointed me toward the frame around President Washington.
Painted all gold and green and blue-purple, that frame was crawling with curlicues and carved vines and clustered grapes that looked more artful than the picture itself. After a minute or two of snooping, I found the hole I'd been peering through. The bottommost grape in a ripe-colored cluster had been punched clean out, not that you'd have ever noticed without putting your nose right up to it. The pantry on the other side was shadowy as Pa's smokehouse, so there wasn't any light leaking out.
"You see?" Chilly said. "Won't anyone know you're there at all."
If that's what Chilly thought was souring me, he was way past wrong. What had me so puckered up was that I'd just caught a whiff of something, maybe a rat.
"I'm kind of wondering," I said, picking my words with care, "what I'll be doing back there?"
"Why, helping rich men share their bounty," Chilly explained. "Here, let me show you something."
He set Goose Nedeau down in the chair nearest the portrait of President Washington. Pulling out a deck of playing cards, he fanned five of 'em out in Goose's hand. "Sit still," he ordered Goose before parading me back to the pantry and waving me onto the shelf again. When I put my eye to the hole, I found myself looking over Goose Nedeau's right shoulder. He was holding two nines, a king, a ten, and a six.
"That's the news you'll be spreading over the telegraph," Chilly said.
"Ain't
"Well"—I pressed an eye against the hole and searched around some—"pretty close to all of it. But mostly I got a view of the big table in front of me."
"Perfect. And are you comfortable?"
"Tolerably." I skipped over mentioning the salt or the height or how cramped it was.
"If a pillow and blanket will square things, we'll get 'em for you. And anything else that'll make that shelf feel homey. You just name 'er and it's yours."
"Oka-ay," I drawled, puzzled-like. "But why would you want me to feel at home on a pantry shelf?"
"Oh that's not a pantry shelf," Chilly corrected.
"It's not?" I squirmed around to see if I might have missed something. But no matter how hard I scouted her over, it still stacked up as a plain old wooden shelf.
"No sir," Chilly boasted. "That there's our new telegraph office."
CHAPTER TEN
L INED UP AGAINST THE OTHER WONDERS of St. Louis, that new telegraph office was a considerable letdown. I put a brave face on my misgivings, not wanting Chilly to think me some ungrateful little carp, but my disappointment must have showed through, 'cause Chilly laid down the law.
"Now see here, Zeb, can't everyone go expecting to start at the top. That ain't the way things work in this here world."
"Expect not," I mumbled.
"Come along now," Chilly ordered.
And he jerked me off that shelf and marched me out of the kitchen, and back around to the parlor, where he stood me right before the wall shared with the pantry. As walls go, it weren't anything more special than some rough-cut old lumber that was pegged together. A long time back somebody had splashed Spanish brown wash over it. There were two pictures hanging on it, one of George Washington, all noble, the other of King Louis something or other, doing a bang-up job looking important too, though I wasn't in any mood for admiring them, not as sore as my arm felt after Chilly's roughhousing. If I'd been back home, my brother James would have been making crimpy baby faces at me, the way he did whenever I was about to cry. Just thinking of that made me want to blubber all the more, so I bit my lip and did my best not to snivel.
"Now where do you reckon you were looking through this wall?" With a sweep of his hand, Chilly invited me to check things over.
Well, the whereabouts of that peephole was a champion mystery. I couldn't find it anywhere, not in George Washington's or King Louis' eyes, nor any of the knotholes to be found here and there, which were all plugged solid.
"Check that lower corner there." Chilly pointed me toward the frame around President Washington.
Painted all gold and green and blue-purple, that frame was crawling with curlicues and carved vines and clustered grapes that looked more artful than the picture itself. After a minute or two of snooping, I found the hole I'd been peering through. The bottommost grape in a ripe-colored cluster had been punched clean out, not that you'd have ever noticed without putting your nose right up to it. The pantry on the other side was shadowy as Pa's smokehouse, so there wasn't any light leaking out.
"You see?" Chilly said. "Won't anyone know you're there at all."
If that's what Chilly thought was souring me, he was way past wrong. What had me so puckered up was that I'd just caught a whiff of something, maybe a rat.
"I'm kind of wondering," I said, picking my words with care, "what I'll be doing back there?"
"Why, helping rich men share their bounty," Chilly explained. "Here, let me show you something."
He set Goose Nedeau down in the chair nearest the portrait of President Washington. Pulling out a deck of playing cards, he fanned five of 'em out in Goose's hand. "Sit still," he ordered Goose before parading me back to the pantry and waving me onto the shelf again. When I put my eye to the hole, I found myself looking over Goose Nedeau's right shoulder. He was holding two nines, a king, a ten, and a six.
"That's the news you'll be spreading over the telegraph," Chilly said.
"Ain't
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