JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

BY LEO EDWARDS Author of THE JERRY TODD BOOKS, ETC.

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1921, by The Sprague Publishing Co. Detroit, Mich.

Copyright, 1924, by GROSSET & DUNLAP

JERRY TODD SAYS:

The mystery part of this adventure really started the day we got Mrs. Kepple’s letter saying she was shipping us her famous rose-colored cat, Lady Victoria. Professor Stoner declared on the spot there was no such thing as a rose-colored cat—only he called it a feline. But right there in front of our eyes was the letter. And just as plain as day it read: “rose-colored cat.”

So we were all excited and went to the depot in a body the morning the cat arrived. When we squinted into the box we got the surprise of our lives. And I imagine you’ll get something of a surprise when you read about it.

For the most part the people in Tutter regarded our cat troubles as a joke. We didn’t mind that. And you can snicker all you want to as you read down through these pages. If you like the story well enough to wish another like it, suppose you try my first book, JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY. In case you already have enjoyed the “mummy” story, there is still my third book, JERRY TODD [vi]AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE, and also JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING HEN, book number four. These are all stories about Scoop and me and Red and Peg. Full of mystery and packed with clean fun.

My fifth book, JERRY TODD AND THE PUZZLE ROOM MYSTERY, is about a haunted house. I guess this old house is the only one in the world having a puzzle room. Therein lay the mystery. There is a ghost, and heaps of fun. I imagine you’ll enjoy this book more than some of the others if you particularly like spooky stories.

Your friend, Jerry Todd.

OUR CHATTER-BOX

HERE again I am providing a “Chatter-Box” for a book (this is Leo Edwards speaking) that was published several years ago without a “Chatter-Box.” As I explained in the new “Chatter-Box” in Jerry Todd and the Whispering Mummy, “Our Chatter-Box,” a department open to all readers of my books, both girls and boys, began with my sixteenth book. Made up mainly of youthful contributions (letters, poems and so on) this department soon gained great popularity. More and still more young readers wrote to me, hoping to see their letters in print; and now my publisher has given to me the very pleasing job of incorporating many of these letters in brief “Chatter-Boxes” for all of my early volumes.

Writers of accepted poems will receive, as a reward, a free autographed copy of the book in which their poem appears. Many fine poems, featuring the characters in my books, are contained in the “Chatter-Boxes” in the new Trigger Berg books and also in Andy Blake and the Pot of Gold and Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief. It will pay you to read these poems. Then, if you wish, send me one of your own original poems.

The many thousands of letters that I receive yearly from my loyal young readers are a source of great inspiration to me. Boy, some of these letters are hot! And how I enjoy them. I’m glad, too, that readers of my books like long “Chatter-Boxes.” For that will give me a chance to use a lot of letters in the big “Chatter-Boxes” in my new books. If you haven’t written to me, please do so right away. We’re good buddies, you know. I want to hear from you. And I sure will try and find a place for your letter if it is interesting.

LETTERS

FIRST on the list is a letter signed by two boy pals (now Freckled Goldfish), [viii]Frank Johnson and Robert Dansby of Dallas, Texas.

“You sure must be a regular guy to write such swell boys’ books. We’d like them better, though, if Jerry had a dog. Is there such a town as Tutter? Are Jerry, Poppy, Scoop, Peg and Red real boys? In your book, Jerry Todd, Pirate, who opened and closed the door and started and stopped the clock in Al’s grandmother’s room? We certainly hope you’ll keep on writing books of this kind.”

As I’ve said before, I try to be a regular guy. I sure love boys and am with them a great deal, which, I suppose, explains why my stories seem so real to young readers. Boys liking dogs will particularly enjoy Jerry Todd, Caveman, in which Jerry’s new dog makes its first appearance. The majority of the characters that I write about are real, including Poppy, Red, Scoop, Peg, Al, Slats and Tail Light. Tutter is the town (it has another name) in which I was raised. The full explanation of who performed the “ghostly” movements in Jerry Todd, Pirate, is given on page 246.

“I would like to have Jerry and his gang play baseball against the Stricker gang,” writes Freckled Goldfish (No. 5069) George Ott (no relation to Poppy!) of Brooklyn, N. Y. “Also I’d like to have Trigger Berg and his gang play baseball against Tony Crooker’s mob for the town championship. I think Trigger is the cat’s whiskers, and almost as good as Jerry Todd. I notice in the Elephant book that you said Jerry collected stamps. I’m glad to see that, for stamp collecting is one of my hobbies.”

“I’m a great reader,” writes Bud Lovett of Cleveland, Ohio, “and in sleuthing May Company’s department store the clerk in the book section suggested that I read one of your books. I did. Since then I’ve invested almost ten bucks in your books. And do I ever love you for writing such peachy books! I think you have made some mistakes in your books. For instance, in the Whispering Cave Jerry dreamt about a cork tree. In the Bob-Tailed Elephant Uncle Jonah tells Jerry and Henny the same story, almost word for word. Some of your books are masterpieces and some seem not so good—more of an effort. That part is funny in the Talking Frog where the frog and the talking machine had a fight. It was funny, too, in another book (I think it was the Stuttering Parrot) where Jerry, with the arm of the law watching him, ate everything in sight, only to suffer later on when the stuff started playing leapfrog inside of him. Though your Trigger Berg books haven’t as much plot and mystery as your other books, I like [ix]the Bergs even better. Gee, Leo, I’ve always lived in the

city and never was in a gang or owned a boat or had pals or adventures, so you are my only hope. Please don’t stop writing! I wish that Jerry, Poppy, Andy, Trigger, Peg, Red, Scoop, Al, Henny, Bud, Chuck, Friday, Slats, Tail Light, Dynamite and all the rest were my honest-to-gosh pals.”

One time I wrote a short story called “Uncle Jonah’s Cork Tree.” Later I used a small part of this story in the Whispering Cave. But when I came to the Bob-Tailed Elephant I had a much better chance to use the story, so repeated it, giving all the interesting little details, figuring that the boys who missed the Cave book would enjoy the story in the Elephant book. Bud isn’t the first reader who has called my attention to this “mistake.”

I wish I had space for more general letters. But I have been told to confine these added “Chatter-Boxes” to about eighteen hundred words. But, as I say, we’re going to have some dandy big “Chatter-Boxes” in all of my new books. So get your letter in as soon as possible, and make it interesting.

FRECKLED GOLDFISH

OUT of my book, Poppy Ott and the Freckled Goldfish, has grown our great Freckled Goldfish lodge, membership in which is open to all boys and girls who are interested in my books. Thousands of readers have joined the club. We have peachy membership cards (designed by Bert Salg, the popular illustrator of my books) and fancy buttons. Also for members who want to organize branch clubs (hundreds are in successful operation, providing boys and girls with added fun) we have rituals.

To join (and to be a loyal Jerry Todd fan I think you ought to join), please observe these simple rules:

(1) Write (or print) your name plainly.

(2) Supply your complete printed address.

(3) Give your age.

(4) Enclose two two-cent postage stamps (for card and button).

(5) Address your letter to

Leo Edwards, Cambridge, Wisconsin.

LOCAL CHAPTERS

TO HELP young organizers we have produced a printed ritual, which any member who wants to start a Freckled Goldfish club in his own neighborhood can’t afford to be without. This booklet tells how to organize the club, how to conduct meetings, how to transact all club business, and, probably most important of all, how to initiate candidates.

[x]The complete initiation is given word for word. Naturally, these booklets are more or less secret. So, if you send for one, please do not show it to anyone who isn’t a Freckled Goldfish. Three chief officers will be required to put on the initiation, which can be given in any member’s home, so, unless each officer is provided with a booklet, much memorizing will have to be done. The best plan is to have three booklets to a chapter. These may be secured (at cost) at six cents each (three two-cent stamps) or three for sixteen cents (eight two-cent stamps). Address all orders to Leo Edwards, Cambridge, Wisconsin.

CLUB NEWS

IN SENDING for a ritual, for organization purposes, Freckled Goldfish (No. 2096) Franklin C. Massey of Philadelphia, Pa., writes: “I enjoyed Trigger Berg and His 700 Mouse Traps very much. I liked the part where Trigger got the dog better than any other part because I have a dog and know what they do.”

“Please enroll me as a member of the Freckled Goldfish lodge,” writes Russell A. Smith of Port Richmond, Staten Island, N. Y. “I am thirteen years old and have read all of your books, of which I like the Trigger Bergs the best. I’ve often wondered what Scoop’s real name was.”

Scoop’s name is Howard.

“Your Jerry Todd and Poppy Ott books are the best books I have ever read,” writes George B. Koelle of Philadelphia, Pa. “I wish, though, you would give them names that better fit the book. For instance, I think Jerry Todd, Pirate, should have been named Jerry Todd and the Oak Island Treasure. I particularly like the way in which Jerry tells the story himself. When I heard about your Freckled Goldfish lodge I immediately wanted to join, hence this letter.”

“Our club,” writes William Hadley of Uxbridge, Mass., “would like to buy a big framed picture of Poppy’s goldfish to put in our club-room. Also we’d like to buy a big picture of you, our favorite author. Everything is fine so far as the club is concerned, but I’m out of luck myself—I’ve got the chicken pox. Let me know if you can furnish the pictures and how much they will cost.”

Sorry, Bill, but I can’t supply you with an enlarged picture of Poppy’s goldfish. Why don’t you make a cutout of a goldfish, or draw a picture of one? You can do that. My publisher will send you one of my pictures if you send ten cents in stamps to Grosset & Dunlap, 1140 Broadway, New York, N. Y.

“I am sending you the minutes of the tenth meeting of [xi]our Goldfish club,” reports Norman Wengert of Milwaukee, Wis. “Meeting started at 7:30 P.M. Dues were collected, giving us a total in the treasury of more than four dollars. Members voted to attend the ‘Sky Hawk’ at a local theater.”

There is a great deal more to Norman’s report. This certainly is an active club. It holds checker and horseshoe tournaments and has its own baseball nine. Recently the club raffled off a book, selling tickets only to club members. Club leaders who sometimes wonder “what to do” will do well to write for suggestions to Norman Wengert, 1019 Grant Blvd., Milwaukee, Wis.

OUR SCHOOL CLUB

HAVE you heard about our School Club? Here’s the idea: Just as my Jerry Todd, Poppy Ott and Trigger Berg books are written primarily to fill the lives of boys with clean, natural fun, so also would I like to have my young readers share this book fun of theirs with others. Which can be done individually if you will prevail upon your teacher to read one of my Todd, Ott or Berg books aloud. That will be fun for the whole room. I might mention, too, that these books are written to read aloud.

If your teacher, through your personal efforts, reads one of my books to the school, you automatically become a member of our “School Club,” and should so notify me. Your name will be published in a later “Chatter-Box.” At the end of each year names of all members (who haven’t already drawn prizes) are put “into the hat.” Not less than ten names (sometimes twenty or thirty) are drawn at random. And each of these ten (or more) boys or girls will receive an autographed copy of my latest book.

A more complete announcement of the club was given in the “Chatter-Box” in Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief.

LEO EDWARDS’ BOOKS

Here is a list of Leo Edwards’ published books:

THE JERRY TODD SERIES

Jerry Todd and the Whispering Mummy Jerry Todd and the Rose-Colored Cat Jerry Todd and the Oak Island Treasure Jerry Todd and the Waltzing Hen Jerry Todd and the Talking Frog Jerry Todd and the Purring Egg Jerry Todd in the Whispering Cave Jerry Todd, Pirate Jerry Todd and the Bob-Tailed Elephant Jerry Todd, Editor-in-Grief Jerry Todd, Caveman Jerry Todd and the Flying Flapdoodle Jerry Todd and the Buffalo Bill Bathtub Jerry Todd’s Up-the-Ladder Club

THE POPPY OTT SERIES

Poppy Ott and the Stuttering Parrot Poppy Ott’s Seven-League Stilts Poppy Ott and the Galloping Snail Poppy Ott’s Pedigreed Pickles Poppy Ott and the Freckled Goldfish Poppy Ott and the Tittering Totem Poppy Ott and the Prancing Pancake Poppy Ott Hits the Trail Poppy Ott & Co., Inferior Decorators

JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

CHAPTER I THE FELINE REST FARM

Did you ever hear of a feline rest farm? We never did till the day we came across Professor Ellsworth Stoner at the Rock Island depot. Till that time we had always thought a cat was a cat, but the professor, after telling us that he was an authority on cats, having studied them all his life along what he termed scientific lines, told us that a cat was a “feline.”

I guess Peg Shaw and I would have particularly noticed the professor even if Scoop Ellery hadn’t pointed him out to us. He was a noticeable man. I don’t mean he was distinguished-looking, like some of the professors and doctors in our college on the hill. What made him noticeable [2]was his odd appearance and queer actions.

I am a great hand to study people’s faces. When I see a man with a kindly face I am naturally attracted to him. Where a man has a mean face I make it a point to keep out of his way. The tall, thin stranger, I noticed, had an unusually kindly face. I knew right off that here was a man who wouldn’t harm a flea. But even in my respect for him I had to smile as I regarded him closely, taking in the big-rimmed spectacles that rested loosely on his big nose, and the old-fashioned collar and necktie. He had on a black suit and a black soft hat. From his general appearance I took him to be a minister. He was mixed up in the crowd of Chicago people who were leaving the train, headed for the Walkers Lake Sanitarium.

Spider Phelps, who drives a summer bus between Tutter and the sanitarium, had his outfit backed up against the depot platform. His homely face screwed all out of shape, he was yelling into the crowd:

“Right over here, ladies and gents. Here’s the bus for the sanitarium. Goin’ right out.”

Walkers Lake is about three miles south of Tutter and the sanitarium built on its shore is a [3]pretty swell joint. It is a cluster of buildings, the largest of which contains fully two hundred rooms. I guess it costs a lot of money to stay there and that is why the guests are mostly rich people from Chicago and Peoria—Tutter being situated about half way between these two cities. The visitors come and stay for two or three weeks at a time, not so much because they are sick but because they are tired and want to rest up in a fashionable way. It’s something of a fad, I guess, for rich people to patronize places like the Walkers Lake Sanitarium.

“Gee, fellows, lamp the deacon,” Scoop cried, pointing to where the man with the funny spectacles had paused on the platform, glancing about him uncertainly. He had no suit-case or traveling bag like the other passengers—just a covered basket, which he carried on his right arm. Scoop laughed and jabbed Peg in the ribs with his elbow. “Why don’t you go over,” he suggested, “and carry the basket? You’ll get a tip—maybe.”

Peg had a reflective look on his face.

“Queer,” said he out of his thoughts.

“What’s queer?” Scoop wanted to know.

“That he should be going to the sanitarium. It’s a pretty lively place for a minister.”

[4]Scoop laughed.

“Maybe he’ll get the shock of his life when he sees the way they dance and carry on. I guess they play cards, too.”

I didn’t say anything. But I had the feeling that the stranger wasn’t heading for the sanitarium as Peg and Scoop imagined. I don’t know what gave me that thought unless it was the uncertainty and bewilderment pictured in the man’s thin face.

Red Meyers, who is the fourth member of our gang, was helping a big fat lady with black earrings carry a couple of fuzzy-haired dogs and a big traveling bag from the train to the bus. She looked as though she might be worth a lot of money. Anyway Red had picked her out as likely to give him a good tip.

While we were watching, the baggage man came down the platform with a truck piled high with trunks and boxes. He accidentally ran into the man with the big spectacles, causing the latter to drop his basket. The basket rolled along the platform and bumped against Red, who was having an awful time trying to carry the two dogs and the big traveling bag at the same time. When the basket struck his legs the cover flopped back and out popped a frightened coal-black cat.

[5]Gee-miny crickets! It was as good as a circus to see the way those two dogs got into action when they spied the cat. Red tried to hang onto them but they clawed and scratched till he had to drop them. When they landed on the platform they gave a wild yelp and started pell-mell for the cat. Around and around the platform they went, making a fearful racket and commotion. Women screamed and ran for the bus. Peg and I and Scoop pretty nearly yipped our heads off we were so tickled.

The fat lady with the black earrings got excited when she saw her dogs hotfooting it after the black cat. She danced around and scolded Red who dropped the traveling bag and tried to grab the dogs. He yelled for us to help him. By this time everybody on the platform was yelling except the stranger with the big spectacles.

“Dear me! Dear me!” the tall man said slowly, looking on in a bewildered way. Picking up his hat, which had been jostled from his head, he dusted it carefully with his handkerchief and then reached for the basket. When he noticed that the basket was empty he gave a startled cry and stared helplessly into the faces about him.

Red was skidding around the platform grabbing at the dogs. They were small dogs, but for [6]their size they made a lot of noise. He managed to get hold of one by the tail. It turned and snapped at his fingers, which made him mad. It doesn’t take much to make Red mad. His temper is as fiery as his hair. When the fat lady began scolding him for pulling her dog’s tail he told her she could catch her own dogs for all he cared.

Then some one yelled to forget about the dogs and rescue the cat. Scoop saw it heading his way and grabbed it just in time to save its tail from being snapped off by one of the dogs. After that the fat lady had no difficulty rounding up her pets. She cuddled them in her arms and I thought for a moment she was going to kiss them. The last we saw of her she was indignantly climbing into the bus, a dog under each fat arm, Spider Phelps following with the traveling bag.

Scoop ran up to the man with the big spectacles.