CHAPTER XII

BLIND MAN’S BUFF WITH THE GIANT

The Pixie dropped in as usual after supper, and tried to act as if nothing had happened; “but he can’t get away with _that_,” said Wendell to himself.

“Hello, old sport,” said the Pixie in an offhand way. “How are the fractions?”

“Oh, they’re all there,” returned Wendell, “but, I say, what do you mean by sneaking off and leaving me this afternoon? I’d like to know that.”

“I _didn’t_ sneak,” said the Pixie indignantly. “I mentioned that I was going. I _never_ sneak.”

“I’d like to know what you call it then. You didn’t wait for me, did you?”

“Oh!” said the Pixie. “Why, I’m awfully sorry, old chap. I thought you weren’t ready to come home when I left.”

“Why didn’t you wait till I was, then?”

“Why, that would have seemed so like hurrying you,” explained the Pixie, gently. “No one can do a really artistic job with that being-waited-for feeling. By the way, did you make any headway? Get any line on the cloak?”

“Yes, I got it all right,” said Wendell. “But you might have waited to see.”

“I hope I didn’t seem rude,” said the Pixie, penitently. “Really, to be frank, I never did take much interest in the second-hand clothing trade; and perhaps I made it too evident that I was a bit bored. I’ll wait for you next time.”

“You can take it from me there won’t be any next time,” returned Wendell in a rude voice that was a sad contrast to the Pixie’s gentlemanly manner. “I’m going alone to-morrow. I guess the Cloak of Darkness will be worth several dozens of your old transformations. So there!”

“I am sure you will regret this hasty expression of feeling when you take time to think it over, my dear young friend,” said the Pixie, gravely yet kindly. “I think I would better leave you until you come to your better self.”

He instantly vanished from sight.

A few minutes later he put his head in at the door and said in a forgiving tone, “There are your fractions,” and shut the door again.

Wendell felt much aggrieved. He knew that the Pixie had treated him badly, and was now trying to make it appear that _he_ was at fault, and he resolved that he would really go all alone for the Cap of Thought and rely entirely upon the Cloak of Darkness for his success. So after school the next day, he rolled the Cloak of Darkness under his arm, made sure that he had enough money for carfare in his pockets this time, and took the car at Park Street for Brookline.

After he got off the car, Wendell adjusted the Cloak of Darkness, and walked on with entire assurance and a high spirit of adventure to the Giant’s house.

He went up the neat brick steps and tried the front door with great caution. But it did not yield. Then he went around to the back door, and that was much better, for the door was open, and he walked straight in and found the Cruel Stepmother and the Ugly Stepsister getting dinner in the kitchen.

“These grapes aren’t very good, Mummer,” remarked the young lady, “not nearly so good as the ones last week.”

“Naturally,” returned the witch, somewhat grimly. “I had to pay for these.”

“Oh, of course,” said her daughter. “You didn’t have your Cloak of Darkness when you went marketing to-day.”

“And the High Cost of Living is something awful when the market-man can see you every minute, and you can’t take a thing without paying for it,” complained her mother. “If I don’t find that Cloak soon, I just hope the government will get after those dishonest profiteers.”

“Mummer,” said her daughter, thoughtfully, after a moment.

“Well?”

“Wasn’t your Cloak in the bathroom closet?”

“Yes, but I’ve hunted all through and I’m sure it isn’t there.”

“But, Mummer,--I hate to think of it--but those plumbers yesterday--”

The witch gasped and sat down heavily. “My word! You’re right! That’s just where it’s gone!”

“And the Cap of Thought--was that with it?”

“No, I’m glad to say. That’s in my bottom bureau drawer.”

Wendell waited for no more. He tiptoed out and ran lightly upstairs. Now, which room was it? This front one, of course. He opened the lowest drawer of the bureau. Yes, there it lay, a little filmy cap of indescribable color.

The front door banged suddenly. Wendell picked up the cap and tiptoed into the hall and looked over the banisters. Ah! but he was thankful then for the Cloak of Darkness. For there stood the Giant. And while Wendell watched him, fascinated and secure, the Giant’s huge nose began to twitch like a rabbit’s, he sniffed, and then roared out,

“Fee, fi, fo, fum! I smell the blood--no, I _won’t_ be quiet!--of an Englishman. Be he alive--well, your cook’s _gone_, isn’t she? she can’t be any _goner_!--or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones--hold on! it smells just like that boy that was here yesterday. Where is he?” He bellowed out the question.

This roused tremendous excitement in the family. Both women talked at once:--“the little wretch!”--“positive he stole my Cloak”--“got away invisible”--“shan’t get away this time”--“Lock the doors, mummer!”--“but we can’t see him”--“I’ll soon sniff him out”--this last from the Giant.

Wendell stood transfixed at the head of the stairs, clutching the Cap. Did he dare descend? No, for the Giant growled out, “He’s upstairs, all right,” and started up the flight. Wendell fled before him and turned back into the front bedroom, the Giant sniffing close at his heels.

There was an open window in the room, but Wendell dared not risk a jump from the second story. There ran rapidly through his mind all the expedients that he could remember, from his reading of wild animal books, for throwing the hunter off the trail of the quarry. If he could double on his track,--but the track was too short. If he could climb to a height and break the scent by leaping off,--but the chiffonier was the highest thing in sight. If he could follow a stream of running water. He wondered whether there was anything to gain by making a dash for the bathroom. The Giant had adopted a horribly sure method. Crouching at the height of a boy, with hands outstretched to touch the wall on either side, he advanced slowly across the room. Wendell stood at bay in a corner, helpless, desperate, but still game.

Just then the telephone rang. The Giant paused to say, “If that’s for me, I can’t be bothered now. Take the number and say I’ll call ’em later,” and that one moment of interruption gave Wendell a chance to duck under the mighty monster’s arm and seek refuge in the other corner behind his back. But he knew that his respite was but momentary. Although the Ugly Stepsister had gone to answer the telephone, the Witch still blocked the door, and as the Giant reached the other wall fruitlessly, he sniffed intently and once more started across the room. Wendell felt sure that he stood face to face with his last moment of life. He jammed the Cap on his head to leave both hands free, drew out and opened his jackknife and prepared to sell his life dearly.