Ширли Мерфи - The Flight Of The Fox

"They always crowd around the lights in town," Charlie said. "Maybe because it's warm there. We could turn the lights on in the hangar when it starts to rain . . ."

"And if you could make them think you didn't want them," Rory repeated, "if you could put up some kind of barricade that looked like you wanted to keep them out . . ."

"We could hang canvas drop cloths," Charlie said. "We could leave them loose, and not cover the whole door."

"And then, when they were all in, slammo, you shut the hangar door and you've got yourself a whole mess of starlings."

"And the drop clothes would keep them from getting out so fast while we were closing the doors."

"Oh my," Crispin said. "Then what will you do with them, Charlie? What will you do with them after you've trapped them all?"

Charlie and Rory looked at each other. What could you do with a hangar full of starlings?"

"Well at least they'd be out of the way," Charlie said. "They couldn't bother anyone. Except—except, my dad still couldn't open his repair shop."

"Yeah, sonny. It's your dad's hangar they'd be trapped in."

"I'll have to call him," Charlie said.

"What will he say, sonny?"

"I don't know. My gosh, Rory, I never thought of that."

CHAPTER 19

Charlie made the phone call from his dad's bedroom. Though he didn't think he had to worry about Mrs. Critch prying, she'd been so nice and thoughtful lately. As Rory said, "Don't worry about what's wrong with her, sonny. Just enjoy it while you can. You don't get a break like that every day."

His dad was staying in a boarding house and had to be called to the phone. "Is that you, Charlie?" "Yeah, Dad, it's me." "I was going to call you. You okay?" "Sure. What were you going to call about?" "You first."

"Well, okay. See, I had this idea about how to get rid of the starlings. But I need your permission. I found out they like to get in under shelter when it rains. And they like electric lights, because they're always snuggling up to them in town. Well, there's a rain storm due, and I thought—well, if we could move the planes out of the repair hangar and turn on the lights and open the hangar door, I think we could trap them in there."

"What? Trap that flock of dirty birds in my nice, clean hangar?"

"Well, Dad, I—"

"And shut the hangar door with them inside?"

"Well, I—"

"Wow, Charlie! I think you've hit on something!"

"You mean you like the idea?"

"Like it? It's crazy. It's wonderful. But Charlie?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"What're you going to do with them after you catch them?"

"Well see, Dad, that's the rub. I don't know. Only —well, they'd be in there. We're bound to think of something."

"Can you get anyone to help you get the planes out?"

"I think so."

"Put them around back as far from where those starlings will be flying as you can. And cover that little skyhawk, it has its cowling off."

"Yes, I will, Dad. Wow! You like the idea!"

"Sure I like it, what did you think? But you'd better be thinking hard about what to do afterward. You can't shoot them in there, Charlie. The hangar would be a sieve."

"I know."

"Besides, there's something sneaky and unfair about shooting anything in an enclosed place, even starlings. And you . . . well, I'll leave it to you, Charlie. Sounds like you're onto something. Oh boy, my poor hangar. It'll look like a snowstorm hit it. Better get as much stuff into the office as you can, where it'll stay clean."

"Yes sir, I will. Engine parts and tools. We can hose the hangar down afterward. I'll go talk to the mayor. If you think of anything to do with the starlings when we've caught 'em, call me back, huh, Dad? And what were you going to call me about?"

"There's an air show up here in Allensville next weekend. They've asked me to serve as mechanic. I thought I'd run down and get you, if you'd like to go. Or you could take the train up."

"Well—well, yeah, Dad, I would like to," Charlie said hesitantly. Usually, there would be nothing he'd like better. But now . . . "If the starlings are all taken care of," Charlie said; and he thought, If Rory and Crispin get off on their cross-country all right. "Yeah, Dad, can I let you know later in the week, depending on the starlings?"

"Sure can. Let me know what happens."

CHAPTER 20

"but Charles, the town's last project to get rid of the starlings didn't work at all and I—"

"Charlie. I know, Mr. Leeper. It bombed out. But maybe this will be different. At least, it's worth a try. It won't be very much work, if we can get a couple of men to help me. And it isn't going to cost anything," Charlie added.

That part appealed to the mayor. A lot of expensive black paint had gone down the drain on the last project. Mayor Leeper considered, scowling down at Charlie. At last he scratched his ear. "All right, Chuck. I'll see what I can do. Maybe . . ."

"Charlie," Charlie corrected. "The pilots of the planes in the hangars would be the best ones to move them and get them tied down." Charlie didn't want a lot of bungling around and damage to the planes.

"You're right, Chet. Do you know any of those pilots?"

"Charlie! Sure, I know them all."

By one o'clock that afternoon every plane had been moved out of the repair hangar and tied down securely behind it. The skyhawk had been covered, and the tools and the engine parts had been moved into the little office, making it pretty crowded in there. According to the radio, the rainstorm was on its way. Already dark clouds were gathering over Skrimville as Charlie and the two pilots hung loose tarps over the hangar door. They left plenty of room between for the starlings to come in. Jerry wasn't much taller than Charlie, a slight, pale-haired man. He held Charlie's ladder while Charlie nailed up one end of a tarp and Joe, on the other ladder, nailed the other end. When they finished they settled down to wait for the rain. Joe and Jerry played poker with some cards from Charlie's dad's desk, and Charlie sat with his feet on the desk, thinking.

When he had gone home after seeing the mayor, he had discovered why Mrs. Critch had been so nice lately, and that needed thinking about.

He had heard the noise when he was still a block from home, a high-pitched wailing that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. By the time he reached his house it was giving him a headache. It was coming from his house all right. He had pushed the door open and looked in.

There was no one in the living room. The noise was coming from the back of the house. Charlie went on back, and there in Mrs. Critch's little room stood her nephew Mush, his cheeks puffed out, blowing on a flute. Charlie stared. Mrs. Critch rushed in from the kitchen looking guilty. Mush smiled sheepishly, blew one last writhing note, and was still.

Mrs. Critch must have planned very carefully, to keep this secret hidden. Charlie could tell she was afraid he'd phone his dad. She almost cried as she tried to explain to Charlie. "You see, Charlie, they wouldn't—his mother wouldn't—let him practice at home. She says it gives her migraine. But the music teacher says Mush has a very unusual style and— well, there wasn't anywhere else for him to practice. He tried to practice at my house, but my other sister Maggie, she said she might be coming down with migraine too, if he didn't stop, and . . ." Mrs. Critch was really upset. "And so I let him practice here when you were gone. You've been gone so much I didn't think you'd find out." Mrs. Critch stopped talking and stared at him. "What are you going to do, Charlie? It's not Mush's fault, I told him he could . . ."

It gave Charlie a fine sense of power to have Mush and Mrs. Critch strung with apprehension over what he might do to them. He let them stew for a minute, and the minute stretched into a long, pregnant pause.