Leo Edwards

Jerry Todd and the Bob-Tailed Elephant

Warsaw 2019

Contents

CHAPTER I. THE HAUNTED HOUSE

CHAPTER II. HALLOWE’EN

CHAPTER III. UNCLE JONAH

CHAPTER IV. CHRISTMAS EVE

CHAPTER V. UNCLE JONAH’S CORK TREE

CHAPTER VI. THE MYSTERY BEGINS

CHAPTER VII. HENNY’S DISAPPEARANCE

CHAPTER VIII. RED’S BIRTHDAY PRESENT

CHAPTER IX. A BUSY AFTERNOON

CHAPTER X. IN HAPPY HOLLOW

CHAPTER XI. RED FINDS A REFUGE

CHAPTER XII. WHAT THE DETECTIVE TOLD US

CHAPTER XIII. THE VANISHED TAIL

CHAPTER XIV. THE EMPTY SHED

CHAPTER XV. STARTLING DEDUCTIONS

CHAPTER XVI. THE TELLTALE HAIR

CHAPTER XVII. THE GHOST IN THE BERRY PATCH

CHAPTER XVIII. UP THE CREEK

CHAPTER XIX. HOW BINGO LOST HIS TAIL

CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION

CHAPTER I. THE HAUNTED HOUSE

Boy, did we ever have fun with that peachy little elephant. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. And having seen the comical pictures in this book I dare say that the elephant is the thing you want to hear about first.

But this is going to be a long story. Starting at Hallowe’en it doesn’t end till the following summer. And before I can tell you about the elephant I’ve got to tell you about Henny Bibbler, the boy who disappeared so mysteriously.

Henny lived on a little farm just north of town in Happy Hollow. He’s the kid who used to wear the little red hat to Sunday school. Boy, that was some hat. Every chance we got we tipped it up behind and slid it down on his nose, which may explain why he never was much of a hand to mix with us.

So I was a long time getting acquainted with him. I found out, though, when we did get together, that he was a swell kid. Full of pep, with a lot of original ideas. And just before his amazing disappearance he and I got real chummy. So much so, in fact, that Red Meyers got jealous.

I dare say you remember Red. For he appears in the most of my books. His temper is as fiery as his hair. And eat? Say, he has a stomach like a goat. I never saw that kid when he wasn’t hungry. His mother tells the story that he asks for pie in his sleep. Mrs. Meyers is nice. Still, I’ve never forgotten the mean things that she said about our elephant. As though it was any discredit to Bingo that he mistook her imported porch rug for a hay sandwich. Good-night! The poor little animal had to eat. And it was a grass rug. I think he showed intelligence. For everybody knows that grass and hay are the same thing.

Red has beautiful freckles parked all over his face like pimples on a pumpkin. But if he’s little in size he sure makes up for it in gab. Bla! bla! bla! Dad laughingly calls him the little squirt with the big squawk.

Another recent addition to our gang is Rory Ringer, a little English kid. He calls owls “howls” and eagles “heagles.” Gee! He sure is a card. At school the teacher hardly ever dares to call upon him to read aloud. For you can imagine what a class of lively boys do if one of their number got up and dished out a lingo like this:

“Once upon a time there was a ‘ermit who ‘ad a trained ‘awk. And the trained ‘awk’s name was ‘Enery. One day the ‘ermit took ‘Enery the trained ‘awk into the woods to ‘unt. That day ‘Enery the trained ‘awk brought down two heagles and a howl. But the ‘ermit could not heat heagles and howls. So ‘Enery the trained ‘awk caught for ‘is master the ‘ermit a brace of ‘ares.”

And so on and so forth.

Other members of our gang, as you’ll recall, are Scoop Ellery and Peg Shaw. In fact Scoop has long been our leader. And a bully good leader he is, too. Smart? Well, I hope to snicker he’s smart. But then he should be. For Mr. Ellery is one of the keenest business men in Tutter. And how lovely for us that he has a candy counter in his store. Um-yum-yum! Scoop is a big asset to our gang, all right.

Peg Shaw is a great big guy with cast-iron muscles, like the blacksmith in the chestnut-tree poem. But though we differ in size we’re practically the same age. Peg may be a month or two the oldest. But not much. His folks shoved a lot of husky grub into him, I guess. And it turned into muscle. I never saw him pick a scrap in my life. He isn’t that kind of a kid. But don’t get the foolish notion that you can shove him around. I guess not. He knows how to take care of himself. And he knows how to help his pals, too, good old scout that he is.

Now, as I say, Henny Bibbler had been admitted into our gang. And he and I were together a great deal. In fact we shared the same double seat at school, with Red and Rory just ahead of us. Scoop and Peg sat across the aisle. So you can see how easy it was for the six of us to pass notes and otherwise make outside plans. Sometimes Henny would play games with me after school. And other times I’d go home with him. Then, too, we frequently stayed all night with each other.

He never was much of a hand to talk about family affairs. And I used to wonder why his pa and ma didn’t live together as a pa and ma should. Mr. Bibbler lived in a little cabin on one side of the winding creek, as it threads its way through their small farm, and Mrs. Bibbler lived in the farmhouse on the other side of the creek. Henny sort of divided his time between the two places, having two birthdays and two Christmases. One day when he was playing at my house I overheard Mother and Dad talking about him. They looked at him kind of sober-like and said it was ridiculous for his pa and ma, good Methodists that they were, to let a little thing like dyed hair and jet earrings break up the peace of their home. It was bad for Henny, they said. For he was just at the age where he needed a combined father’s and mother’s care and not a half-and-half substitute.

Dyed hair and jet earrings! That didn’t make sense to me. And I came right out and asked Henny what my folks meant. I kind of wished I hadn’t, though, when I saw the blood rush to his face. Gee! I could tell, too, that something was hurting him inside. And when he answered me his voice was as stiff as a poker.

“Sometimes I get all out of patience with ma and pa. And I’d like nothing better than to take them across my knee and give them a good paddling.”

“You’d look funny,” I grinned, “paddling your big pa. Maybe in the end you’d get the worst of it. But it’s none of my business,” I added hastily. “I didn’t mean to butt in, Henny. Just forget what I said.”

“No,” he waggled, kind of determined-like. “I’m going to tell you all about it. Not that I want to run down my folks. No boy should do that. But now that you come out to my house so often I think you ought to know just how silly they are. Kids quarrel and get over it. They don’t let it make them mean and sour inside. But parents as old as mine ought to set a better example.”

“Have they been quarreling?” I inquired curiously.

“They did before pa built the new cabin and went there to live. But now they don’t even speak to each other.”

“What did they quarrel about?” I further inquired.

“That’s the silly part,” his face flushed again. “It makes me feel foolish to tell you about it. Ma’s earrings started it.”

“Earrings?” I looked at him with added curiosity.

“Sure thing. You’ve seen her wear them. Those big black ones. Pa got mad one day (you know how he flares up over a little of nothing) and wanting to say something mean, like people do when they lose their temper, he told her that it wasn’t civilized for women to wear earrings. And he called her a barbarian.”

“Gee!” I grinned. “I can imagine what she told him.”

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