"I get it," Perkins told him, and turned to Dumbrosky. "You got a call from the city hall, didn’t you? So you sent Dugan down to do the dirty work. What I don’t get is why you sent Dugan. I hear he’s so dumb you don’t even let him collect the pay-off on his own beat."
"That’s a lie!" put in Dugan. "I do so—"
"Shut up, Dugan!" his boss thundered. "Now, see here, Perkins—you clear out. There ain’t no story here."
" ‘No story’?" Perkins said softly. "The police force tries to arrest a whirlwind and you say there’s no story?"
"Now?" said Clarence.
"Nobody tried to arrest no whirlwind! Now scram."
"Then how come you’re charging Pappy with obstructing an officer? What was Dugan doing— flying a kite?"
"He’s not charged with obstructing an officer."
"He’s not, eh? Just what have you booked him for?"
"He’s not booked. We’re holding him for questioning."
"So? Not booked, no warrant, no crime alleged, just pick up a citizen and roust him around, Gestapo style." Perkins turned to Pappy. "You’re not under arrest. My advice is to get up and walk out that door."
Pappy started to get up. "Hey!" Lieutenant Dumbrosky bounded out of his chair, grabbed Pappy by the shoulder and pushed him down. "I’m giving the orders around here. You stay—"
"Now!" yelled Perkins. Clarence’s flashbulb froze them. Then Dumbrosky started up again.
"Who let him in here? Dugan—get that camera."
"Nyannh!" said Clarence and held it away from the cop. They started doing a little Maypole dance, with Clarence as the Maypole.
"Hold it!" yelled Perkins. "Go ahead and grab the camera, Dugan—I’m just aching to write the tory. ‘Police Lieutenant Destroys Evidence of Police Brutality.’ "
"What do you want I should do, Lieutenant?" pleaded Dugan.
Dumbrosky looked disgusted. "Siddown and close your face. Don’t use that picture, Perkins— I’m warning you."
"Of what? Going to make me dance with Dugan? Come on, Pappy. Come on, Clarence." They left.
"OUR FAIR CITY" read the next day. "City Hall Starts Clean Up. While the city street cleaners were enjoying their usual siesta, Lieutenant Dumbrosky, acting on orders of Hizzoner’s office, raided our Third Avenue whirlwind. It went sour, as Patrolman Dugan could not entice the whirlwind into the paddy wagon. Dauntless Dugan was undeterred; he took a citizen standing nearby, one James Metcalfe, parking lot attendant, into custody as an accomplice of the whirlwind. An accomplice in what, Dugan didn’t say—everybody knows that an accomplice is something pretty awful. Lieutenant Dumbrosky questioned the accomplice. See cut. Lieutenant Dumbrosky weighs 215 pounds, without his shoes. The accomplice weighs 119.
"Moraclass="underline" Don’t get underfoot when the police department is playing games with the wind.
"P. S. As we go to press, the whirlwind is still holding the 1898 museum piece. Stop by Third and Main and take a look. Better hurry—Dumbrosky is expected to make an arrest momentarily." Pete’s column continued needling the administration the following day: "Those Missing Files. It is annoying to know that any document needed by the Grand Jury is sure to be mislaid before it can be introduced in evidence. We suggest that Kitten, our Third Avenue Whirlwind, be hired by the city as file clerk extraordinary and entrusted with any item which is likely to be needed later. She could take the special civil exam used to reward the faithful—the one nobody ever flunks.
"Indeed, why limit Kitten to a lowly clerical job? She is persistent—and she hangs on to what she gets. No one will argue that she is less qualified than some city officials we have had.
"Let’s run Kitten for Mayor! She’s an ideal candidate—she has the common touch, she doesn’t mind hurly-burly, she runs around in circles, she knows how to throw dirt, and the opposition can’t pin anything on her.
"As to the sort of Mayor she would make, there is an old story—Aesop told it—about King Log and King Stork. We’re fed up with King Stork; King Log would be welcome relief. "Memo to Hizzoner—what did become of those Grand Avenue paving bids?
"P. S. Kitten still has the 1898 newspaper on exhibit. Stop by and see it before our police department figures out some way to intimidate a whirlwind." Pete snagged Clarence and drifted down to the parking lot. The lot was fenced now; a man at a gate handed them two tickets but waved away their money. Inside he found a large circle chained off for Kitten and Pappy inside it. They pushed their way through the crowd to the old man. "Looks like you’re coining money, Pappy."
"Should be, but I’m not. They tried to close me up this morning, Pete. Wanted me to pay the $50-a-day circus-and-carnival fee and post a bond besides. So I quit charging for the tickets—but I’m keeping track of them. I’ll sue ’em, by gee."
"You won’t collect, not in this town. Never mind, we’ll make ’em squirm till they let up."
"That’s not all. They tried to capture Kitten this morning."
"Huh? Who? How?"
"The cops. They showed up with one of those blower machines used to ventilate manholes,
rigged to run backwards and take a suction. The idea was to suck Kitten down into it, or anyhow to grab what she was carrying." Pete whistled. "You should have called me."
"Wasn’t necessary. I warned Kitten and she stashed the Spanish-War paper someplace, then came back. She loved it. She went through that machine about six times, like a merry-go-round. She’d zip through and come out more full of pep than ever. Last time through she took Sergeant Yancel’s cap with her and it clogged the machine and ruined his cap. They got disgusted and left."
Pete chortled. "You still should have called me. Clarence should have gotten a picture of that."
"Got it," said Clarence.
"Huh? I didn’t know you were here this morning, Clarence."
"You didn’t ask me."
Pete looked at him. "Clarence, darling—the idea of a news picture is to print it, not to hide it in the art department."
"On your desk," said Clarence.
"Oh. Well, let’s move on to a less confusing subject. Pappy, I’d like to put up a big sign here."
"Why not? What do you want to say?"
"Kitten-for-Mayor—Whirlwind Campaign Headquarters. Stick a 24-sheet across the corner of the lot, where they can see it both ways. It fits in with—oh, oh! Company, girls!" He jerked his head toward the entrance.
Sergeant Yancel was back. "All right, all right!" he was saying. "Move on! Clear out of here." He and three cohorts were urging the spectators out of the lot. Pete went to him.
"What goes on, Yancel?"
Yancel looked around. "Oh, it’s you, huh? Well, you, too—we got to clear this place out. Emergency."
Pete looked back over his shoulder. "Better get Kitten out of the way, Pappy!" he called out. "Now, Clarence."
"Got it," said Clarence.
"Okay," Pete answered. "Now, Yancel, you might tell me what it is we just took a picture of, so we can title it properly."
"Smart guy. You and your stooge had better scram if you don’t want your heads blown off. We’re setting up a bazooka."
"You’re setting up a what?" Pete looked toward the squad car, unbelievingly. Sure enough, two of the cops were unloading a bazooka. "Keep shooting, kid," he said to Clarence.
"Natch," said Clarence.
"And quit popping your bubble gum. Now, look, Yancel—I’m just a newsboy. What in the world is the idea?"
"Stick around and find out, wise guy." Yancel turned away. "Okay there! Start doing it— commence firing!"
One of the cops looked up. "At what, Sergeant?"
"I thought you used to be a marine—at the whirlwind, of course."
Pappy leaned over Pete’s shoulder. "What are they doing?"