they began to Ransack the floor; beds away from walls, tore clothes off hooks in the closets (pull)
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pulledbeds away from walls, tore clothes offhooks in the closets, pulled suitcase andboxes off shelves. One of them found anoldzitherthat Roy had won in a pooltournament. ‘Looky here, Joe,’ he said,strumming it with a big paw. The copnamed Joe took it and turned it over.‘What is it?’ he asked me. ‘It’s an old zitherourguinea pigused to sleep on,’ I said. Itwas true that a pet guinea pig we once hadwould never sleep anywhere except on thezither, but I should never have said so.Joe and the other cop looked at me a longtime. They put the zither back on a shelf.‘No sign o’ nothing’, said the copwho had first spoken to mother, ‘Thelady seems hysterical.’ They all nodded,but said nothing; just looked at me. Inthe small silence we all heard a creakingin the attic. Grandfather was turningover in bed. ‘What’s that?’ snapped Joe.Five or six cops sprang for the attic doorbefore I could intervene or explain.I realized that it would be bad if theyburst in on grandfather unannounced, oreven announced. He was going through aphase in which he believed that GeneralMeade’s men, under steady hammeringby Stonewall Jackson, were beginning toretreat and even desert.When I got to the attic, things wereprettyconfused.Grandfatherhadevidently jumped to the conclusion thatthe police were deserters from Meade’sarmy, trying to hide away in his attic. Hebounded out of bed wearing a long flannel10th English_Book.indb3226-02-201916:24:06
33nightgown over long woolen pants, anightcap, and a leather jacket around hischest. The cops must have realized at oncethat the indignant white-haired old manbelonged to the house, but they had nochance to say so. ‘Back, ye cowardly dog!’roared grandfather. ‘Back t’ the lines yegoodaam Lily-livered cattle!’ With that,he fetched the officer who found the zithera flat – handed smack alongside his headthat sent him sprawling. The others beat aretreat,butnotenough;grandfathergrabbed zither’s gun from its holster andlet fly. The report seemed to crack therafters; smoke filled the attic. A cop cursedand shot his hand to his shoulder.Somehow, we all finally got downstairsagain and locked the door against the oldgentleman. He fired once or twice more inthe darkness and then went back to bed.‘That was grandfather’, I explained to Joe,out of breath. ‘He thinks you’re deserter.’‘I’ll say he does,’ said Joe.The cops were reluctant to leavewithout getting their hand on somebodybesides grandfather; the night had beendistinctly a defeat for them. Furthermore,they obviously didn’t like the ‘layout’;something looked – and I can see theirviewpoint – phony. They began to pokeinto things again. A reporter, a thin-faced,wispy man, came up to me. I had put onone of mother’s dress, not being able tofind anything else. The reporter looked atme with mingled suspicion and interest.