"He'll help us this time," Violet insisted, although she did not sound very sure. "Just watch the device. He'll send back a telegram any moment now."
"But what if he doesn't?" Klaus asked.
"Chonex," Sunny murmured, and wriggled closer to her siblings. She meant something along the lines of "Then we're all alone," which is a curious thing to say when you are with your two siblings, in the middle of a store so stuffed with merchandise you can hardly move. But as they sat closely together, looking at the telegram device, it did not seem curious to the Baudelaires. They were surrounded by nylon rope, floor wax, soup bowls, window curtains, wooden rocking horses, top hats, fiber-optic cable, pink lipstick, dried apricots, magnifying glasses, black umbrellas, slender paintbrushes, French horns, and each other, but as the Baudelaire orphans sat and waited for a reply to their telegram, they only felt more and more alone.
Chapter Two
Of all the ridiculous expressions people use-- and people use a great many ridiculous expressions--one of the most ridiculous is "No news is good news." "No news is good news" simply means that if you don't hear from someone, everything is probably fine, and you can see at once why this expression makes such little sense, because everything being fine is only one of many, many reasons why someone may not contact you. Perhaps they are tied up. Maybe they are surrounded by fierce weasels, or perhaps they are wedged tightly between two refrigerators and cannot get themselves out. The expression might well be changed to "No news is bad news," except that people may not be able to contact you because they have just been crowned king or are competing in a gymnastics tournament. The point is that there is no way to know why someone has not contacted you, until they contact you and explain themselves. For this reason, the sensible expression would be "No news is no news," except that it is so obvious it is hardly an expression at all.
Obvious or not, however, it is the proper way to describe what happened to the Baudelaires after they sent the desperate telegram to Mr. Poe. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny sat and stared at the telegram device for hours, waiting for some sign of the banker's reply. As the hour grew later and later, they took turns dozing against the merchandise of the Last Chance General Store, hoping for any response from the man who was in charge of the orphans' affairs. And as the first few rays of dawn shone through the window, illuminating all of the price tags in the store, the only news the children had received was that the shopkeeper had made some fresh cranberry muffins.
"I've made some fresh cranberry muffins," the shopkeeper said, peeking around a tower of flour sifters. He was wearing at least two pot holders on each hand and was carrying the muffins on a stack of different-colored trays. "Normally I would put them up for sale, between the phonograph records and the garden rakes, but I hate to think of you three children going without breakfast when there are vicious murderers on the loose, so have some for yourself, free of charge."
"That's very kind of you," Violet said, as she and her siblings each took a muffin from the shopkeeper's top tray. The Baudelaires, who had not eaten since they left the village, soon made short work--a phrase which here means "ate every warm, sweet crumb"--of the pastries.
"Goodness, you're hungry," the shopkeeper said. "Did everything go all right with the telegram? Have you received a reply?"
"Not yet," Klaus said.
"Well, don't worry your tiny heads about it," the shopkeeper replied. "Remember, no news is good news."
"No news is good news?" called out a voice from somewhere in the store. "I have some news for you, Milt. All about those murderers."
"Lou!" the shopkeeper called in delight, and then turned to the children. "Excuse me, please," he said. "Lou's here with The Daily Punctilio.''
The shopkeeper walked through a bunch of rugs hanging from the ceiling, and the Baudelaires looked at one another in dismay.
"What'll we do?" Klaus whispered to his sisters. "If the newspaper has arrived, the shopkeeper will read that we're murderers. We'd better run away."
"But if we run away," Violet said, "Mr. Poe won't be able to contact us."
"Gykree!" Sunny cried, which meant "He's had all night to contact us, and we haven't heard from him."
"Lou?" they heard the shopkeeper call out. "Where are you, Lou?"
"I'm over by the pepper grinders," the deliveryperson called out in return. "And wait till you read this story about the three murderers of that Count. It's got pictures and everything. I saw the police on the way here, and they said they were closing in. The only people they allowed in the area were me and those volunteer people. They're going to capture those kids and send them right to jail."
Kids?" the shopkeeper said. "The murderers are kids?"
Yep," the deliveryperson replied. "See for yourself."
The children looked at one another, and Sunny gave a little whimper of fear. Across the store they could hear the rustling of paper and then the excited voice of the shopkeeper.
"I know those kids!" he cried. "They're in my store right now! I just gave them some muffins!"
"You gave muffins to murderers?" Lou said. "That's not right, Milt. Criminals should be punished, not fed pastries."
"I didn't know they were murderers then," the shopkeeper explained, "but I sure know now. It says so right here in The Daily Punctilio. Call the police, Lou! I'll grab these murderers and make sure they don't escape."
The Baudelaires wasted no more time, and began to run in the opposite direction from the men's voices, down an aisle of safety pins and candy canes. "Let's head toward those ceramic ashtrays," Violet whispered. "I think we can exit that way."
"But what happens when we exit?" Klaus whispered back. "The deliveryperson said that the police were closing in."
"Mulick!" Sunny cried, which meant "Let's discuss that at a later time!"
"Egad!" The children could hear the shopkeeper's surprised voice from several aisles over. "Lou, the kids aren't here! Keep an eye out for them."
"What do they look like?" the delivery-person called back.
"They look like three innocent children," the shopkeeper said, "but they're really vicious criminals. Be careful."
The children ran around a corner and ducked into the next aisle, pressing themselves against a rack of construction paper and canned peas as they listened to the hurrying footsteps of the deliveryperson. "Wherever you murderers are," he called, "you'd better give up!"
"We're not murderers!" Violet cried in frustration.
'Of course you're murderers!" the shop- keeper answered. "It says so in the newspaper!"
"Plus," the deliveryperson said in a sneering voice, "if you're not murderers, why are you hiding and running?"
Violet started to answer, but Klaus covered her mouth before she could say anything more. "They'll be able to tell where we are by our voices," he whispered. "Just let them talk, and maybe we can escape."
"Lou, do you see them?" called the shopkeeper.
"No, but they can't hide forever," the deliveryperson said. "I'm going to look over by the undershirts!"
The Baudelaires looked ahead of them and saw a pile of white undershirts that happened to be on sale. Gasping, the children doubled back, and ran down an aisle covered in ticking clocks.
"I'm going to try the clock aisle!" the shopkeeper cried. "They can't hide forever!"
The children hurried down the aisle, sprinted past a rack of towel racks and piggy banks, and scurried around a display of sensible plaid skirts.
Finally, over the top shelf of an aisle containing nothing but different kinds of bedroom slippers, Violet spotted a glimpse of the exit, and silently pointed the way to her siblings.