CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MRS. TABLETOE IS INA TIZZY

THE NEXT MORNING IN NEW TOWN, MRS. WORTH, THE baker’s wife, rang the doorbell of Mrs. Tabletoe, the hairdresser. “Hello, Mrs. Tabletoe,” she said. “How are things?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Worth, I’m terribly worried! My son still hasn’t written a word. Every time the bell rings, I think it’s the postman. Would you like me to do your hair?”

“No thanks. I just wanted to stop by and, well, I have a message for you.”

“Yes?”

“Emil says to say hello, and…”

“Good heavens! What happened to him? Where is he? What do you know?” shouted Mrs. Tabletoe. She was terribly upset and anxiously held up both her hands. “But he’s fine, dear. Very fine, in fact. He caught a thief. Just imagine! And the police gave him a thousand marks as a reward. What do you say to that? Hmm? And they want you to come to Berlin on the afternoon train.”

“But how do you know all this?”

“You sister Martha just called me at my shop. I talked to Emil for a bit as well. And you really should go! Now that you have so much money, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well, well…I suppose…” murmured a distraught Mrs. Tabletoe. “A thousand marks? For catching a thief? What on earth was he thinking? All he ever does is get into trouble!”

“But it was worth it! A thousand marks is a lot of money after all.”

“You can have your thousand marks!”

“Well, worse things have happened. So, are you going to Berlin?”

“Of course! I won’t have a moment’s rest until I see that boy again.”

“Well, then have a good trip! And have fun!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Worth,” said the hairdresser and closed the door, shaking her head.

That afternoon, sitting on the train to Berlin, Emil’s mother was in for an even greater surprise. Across from her a man was reading the paper. She looked nervously from one corner to the other, counted the telephone poles going by outside the window, and would have liked nothing more than to get out and push the train from behind. It was going much too slowly for her.

While she was fidgeting and turning her head this way and that, her eyes landed on the newspaper.

“Oh my God!” she shouted and ripped the paper out of the man’s hands. The man thought the woman had suddenly lost her mind and got scared.

“There! There!” she stammered. “This here…that’s my son!” She poked with her finger at a photograph on the front page.

“You don’t say!” said the man with relief. “So you’re the mother of Emil Tabletoe? You have a gem of a son. Hats off to you, Mrs. Tabletoe, hats off to you!”

“Well,” said the hairdresser. “You can leave your hat on, mister!” And she began to read the article. It had an enormous headline:

 

BOY DETECTIVE!

HUNDREDS OF BERLIN KIDS CATCH CRIMINAL

 

Then came a long and gripping report about everything Emil had experienced from the New Town train station to the police headquarters in Berlin. The blood drained from Mrs. Tabletoe’s face. And the newspaper trembled as if the wind were blowing through the compartment, even though the windows were shut. The man could hardly wait for her to finish reading the article. But it was quite long and took up almost the whole front page. Right in the middle was Emil’s picture.

At last she put the paper down, looked at the man, and said, “Hardly does he leave the house than he gets into trouble. If I told him once I told him a thousand times to keep an eye on that hundred and forty marks! How could he be so careless? He knows perfectly well we don’t have money for other people to steal!”

“But he got sleepy. Maybe the thief even hypnotized him. It can happen,” said the man. “But don’t you think it’s great how those boys handled the situation? They were amazing! Absolutely brilliant!”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Mrs. Tabletoe, flattered. “He certainly is a smart boy, my son is. Always the top student in school and a hard worker, besides. But what if something had happened to him! It makes my hair stand on end, even though it’s all over now. No, I can’t let him travel by himself ever again. I’d die of fear.”

“Does he look just like he does in the picture?” asked the man.

Mrs. Tabletoe looked at the photograph again and said, “Yes. Just like that. What do you think?”

“He’s great!” exclaimed the man. “What a guy. He’s got success written all over his face.”

“But he should have sat up straight for the picture,” Emil’s mother griped. “His jacket is all wrinkled. He should always button it up before he sits down. But he never listens!”

“Ha, with faults like that …!” laughed the man.

“It’s true, he doesn’t really have any faults, my Emil,” said Mrs. Tabletoe. She choked up and had to blow her nose…

Then the man got off the train.

He let her keep the newspaper, and she read Emil’s story over and over on the way to Frederick Street Station. Eleven times total.

When she arrived in Berlin, Emil was standing on the platform. He was wearing his good suit in her honor. He gave her a big hug and exclaimed, “So, what do you think, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, you oaf!”

“Oh, Mrs. Tabletoe,” he said and took her arm in his, “I’m so happy you came!”

“Well, I can see catching criminals hasn’t done your suit much good,” said his mother. But she did not sound very angry.

“If you want, I can get a new suit.”

“From whom?”

“A department store wants to give the Professor and Gus and me new suits and put ads in the newspapers about how detectives like us only buy our suits from them. It’s marketing. Get it?”

“Yes, I get it.”

“But we’ll probably say no, even though we could each get a soccer ball instead of a boring suit,” Emil boasted. “We think all the commotion they’re making about us is pretty ridiculous, you know. The grown-ups are welcome to do whatever they want. They’re weird anyway. But kids shouldn’t bother.”

“Bravo!” said his mother.

“Uncle Robert locked the money away. A thousand marks. Isn’t that cool? The first thing we’ll buy is an electric salon dryer for you. And a winter coat with a fur lining. As for me? I’ll have to think first. Maybe I’ll get a soccer ball. Or a camera. We’ll see.”

“I was thinking it might be better to put the money away in a savings account. I’m sure you’ll have a need for it someday in the future.”

“No, you’ll get the dryer and the warm coat. We can put away what’s left, if you want.”

“Well, we can talk about it later,” said Emil’s mother and gave his arm a squeeze.

“Did you know that all the newspapers have pictures of me in them? And long articles about me?”

“I read one of them in the train. I was very upset at first, Emil! Did you get hurt?”

“Not at all. It was awesome! Well, I’ll tell you all about it later. But first you have to meet my friends.”

“Where are they?”

“Over on Schumann Street. At Aunt Martha’s. She made an apple pie yesterday, and we invited the whole gang over. They’re sitting at home making a big commotion.”

There really was a lot going on at the Heimbold residence. Everyone was there: Gus, the Professor, Crumbagel, the Middleday brothers, Gerold, Freddie the Great, Truegut, little Tuesday, and the rest. There were hardly enough chairs to go around. With a big pitcher in hand, Pony the Hat ran from one to the other, serving hot chocolate. Aunt Martha’s apple pie was poetry in a pan! And Grandma sat on the sofa, beaming and looking ten years younger.

When Emil and his mom came in, they all said hello and introduced themselves. Mrs. Tabletoe shook each boy’s hand in turn and thanked them for having helped her son. “So look,” Emil announced, “we’re not accepting the suits or the soccer balls. They’re not going to make commercials out of us. What do you think of that?”

“Right on!” shouted Gus and honked his horn so loud that Aunt Martha’s flowerpots rattled.

Then Grandma struck her spoon a few times against her gold-colored coffee cup, stood up, and said, “Listen up, troopers. I want to make a speech. Now, don’t let this business go to your heads! Personally, I don’t think what you did was so special. Other people may be driving you all bananas. But I’m not buying it. No, I just don’t buy it!”

The children fell completely silent and even stopped chewing.

“A hundred children chasing a thief and catching him like that,” Grandma went on. “Well, that’s not hard at all. Does it bother you that I’m saying this, boys? There’s one of you here, though, who would have been very happy to go tiptoeing after Mr. Groundsnow. He’d have liked nothing more than to snoop around the hotel dressed up as a bellhop. But he stayed at home because he took on a responsibility. That’s right, because he had a responsibility.”

Everyone looked over at little Tuesday. His face had gone brick-red, he was so embarrassed.

“That’s right, that’s right! I’m talking about little Tuesday,” said the old woman. “He spent two days sitting by the phone. He knew what his duty was. And he did it, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy it. That was amazing, you understand? What he did was amazing! He should be an example to all of you! So let’s all stand up and shout: Hurray for little Tuesday!”

The boys jumped to their feet. Pony the Hat held her hands to her mouth like a trumpet. Aunt Martha and Emil’s mother came out of the kitchen. And everyone shouted, “Hurray for little Tuesday! Hurray! Hurray!”

Then they all sat down again. And little Tuesday took a deep breath and said, “Thanks, guys. But you’re making a big deal out of it. You would’ve done the same thing, I’m sure! A real boy does what he has to do!”

Pony the Hat held up the big pitcher and yelled, “Hey folks, who needs more to drink? It’s time to toast Emil!”