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www.it-ebooks.info
Python Data
Visualization Cookbook

Over 60 recipes that will enable you to learn how to

create attractive visualizations using Python's most
popular libraries

Igor Milovanović

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI

www.it-ebooks.info
Python Data Visualization Cookbook

Copyright © 2013 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher,
except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy of the
information presented. However, the information contained in this book is sold without
warranty, either express or implied. Neither the author, nor Packt Publishing, and its dealers
and distributors will be held liable for any damages caused or alleged to be caused directly or
indirectly by this book.

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and products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals. However, Packt
Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

First published: November 2013

Production Reference: 1191113

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

Livery Place
35 Livery Street
Birmingham B3 2PB, UK.

ISBN 978-1-78216-336-7

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Cover Image by Gorkee Bhardwaj ([email protected])

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 Credits

Author Project Coordinator

Igor Milovanović Rahul Dixit

Reviewers Proofreaders
Tarek Amr Amy Johnson
Simeone Franklin Lindsey Thomas
Jayesh K. Gupta
Indexer
Kostiantyn Kucher
Mariammal Chettiyar
Kenneth Emeka Odoh
Graphics
Acquisition Editor Abhinash Sahu
James Jones
Production Coordinator
Lead Technical Editor Shantanu Zagade
Ankita Shashi
Cover Work
Technical Editors Shantanu Zagade
Pratik More
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Copy Editors
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Janbal Dharmaraj
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Kirti Pai
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 About the Author

Igor Milovanović is an experienced developer with a strong background in Linux

system and software engineering. He has skills in building scalable data-driven
distributed software-rich systems.

He is an Evangelist for high-quality systems design who holds strong interests in software
architecture and development methodologies. He is always persistent on advocating
methodologies that promote high-quality software, such as test-driven development,
one-step builds, and continuous integration.

He also possesses solid knowledge of product development. Having field experience and
official training, he is capable of transferring knowledge and communication flow from
business to developers and vice versa.

I am most grateful to my fiance for letting me spend endless hours on the

work instead with her and for being an avid listener to my endless book
monologues. I want to also thank my brother for always being my strongest
supporter. I am thankful to my parents for letting me develop myself in
various ways and become the person I am today.
I could not write this book without enormous energy from open source
community that developed Python, matplotlib, and all libraries that we
have used in this book. I owe the most to the people behind all these
projects. Thank you.

www.it-ebooks.info
 About the Reviewers

Tarek Amr achieved his postgraduate degree in Data Mining and Information Retrieval from
the University of East Anglia. He has about 10 years' experience in Software Development.
He has been volunteering in Global Voices Online (GVO) since 2007, and currently he is the
local ambassador of the Open Knowledge Foundation (OKFN) in Egypt. Words such as Open
Data, Government 2.0, Data Visualisation, Data Journalism, Machine Learning, and Natural
Language Processing are like music to his ears.

Tarek's Twitter handle is @gr33ndata and his homepage is

http://tarekamr.appspot.com/.

Jayesh K. Gupta is the Lead Developer of Matlab Toolbox for Biclustering Analysis (MTBA).
He is currently an undergraduate student and researcher at IIT Kanpur. His interests lie in the
field of pattern recognition. His interests also lie in basic sciences, recognizing them as the
means of analyzing patterns in nature. Coming to IIT, he realized how this analysis is being
augmented by Machine Learning algorithms with various diverse applications. He believes
that augmenting human thought with machine intelligence is one of the best ways to advance
human knowledge. He is a long time technophile and a free-software Evangelist. He usually
goes by the handle, rejuvyesh online. He is also an avid reader and his books can be checked
out at Goodreads. Checkout his projects at Bitbucket and GitHub. For all links visit http://
home.iitk.ac.in/~jayeshkg/. He can be contacted at [email protected].

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Kostiantyn Kucher was born in Odessa, Ukraine. He received his Master's degree in
Computer Science from Odessa National Polytechnic University in 2012. He used Python
as well as Matplotlib and PIL for Machine Learning and Image Recognition purposes.

Currently, Kostiantyn is a PhD student in Computer Science specializing in Information

Visualization. He conducts his research under the supervision of Prof. Dr. Andreas Kerren
with the ISOVIS group at the Computer Science Department of Linnaeus University
(Växjö, Sweden).

Kenneth Emeka Odoh performs research on state of the art Data Visualization
techniques. His research interest includes exploratory search where the users are
guided to their search results using visual clues.

Kenneth is proficient in Python programming. He has presented a Python conference

talk at Pycon, Finland in 2012 where he spoke about Data Visualization in Django to
a packed audience.

He currently works as a Graduate Researcher at the University of Regina, Canada.

He is a polyglot with experience in developing applications in C, C++, Python, and
Java programming languages.

When Kenneth is not writing source codes, you can find him singing at the Campion College
chant choir.

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www.it-ebooks.info
 Table of Contents
Preface 1
Chapter 1: Preparing Your Working Environment 5
Introduction 5
Installing matplotlib, NumPy, and SciPy 6
Installing virtualenv and virtualenvwrapper 8
Installing matplotlib on Mac OS X 10
Installing matplotlib on Windows 11
Installing Python Imaging Library (PIL) for image processing 12
Installing a requests module 14
Customizing matplotlib's parameters in code 14
Customizing matplotlib's parameters per project 16
Chapter 2: Knowing Your Data 19
Introduction 19
Importing data from CSV 20
Importing data from Microsoft Excel files 22
Importing data from fixed-width datafiles 25
Importing data from tab-delimited files 27
Importing data from a JSON resource 28
Exporting data to JSON, CSV, and Excel 31
Importing data from a database 36
Cleaning up data from outliers 40
Reading files in chunks 46
Reading streaming data sources 48
Importing image data into NumPy arrays 50
Generating controlled random datasets 56
Smoothing the noise in real-world data 64

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Table of Contents
Chapter 3: Drawing Your First Plots and Customizing Them 71
Introduction 72
Defining plot types – bar, line, and stacked charts 72
Drawing a simple sine and cosine plot 78
Defining axis lengths and limits 81
Defining plot line styles, properties, and format strings 84
Setting ticks, labels, and grids 89
Adding a legend and annotations 92
Moving spines to the center 95
Making histograms 96
Making bar charts with error bars 99
Making pie charts count 101
Plotting with filled areas 103
Drawing scatter plots with colored markers 105
Chapter 4: More Plots and Customizations 109
Introduction 109
Setting the transparency and size of axis labels 110
Adding a shadow to the chart line 113
Adding a data table to the figure 116
Using subplots 118
Customizing grids 121
Creating contour plots 125
Filling an under-plot area 128
Drawing polar plots 131
Visualizing the filesystem tree using a polar bar 134
Chapter 5: Making 3D Visualizations 139
Introduction 139
Creating 3D bars 139
Creating 3D histograms 143
Animating in matplotlib 146
Animating with OpenGL 150

ii

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 Table of Contents

Chapter 6: Plotting Charts with Images and Maps 157

Introduction 157
Processing images with PIL 158
Plotting with images 164
Displaying an image with other plots in the figure 168
Plotting data on a map using Basemap 172
Plotting data on a map using Google Map API 177
Generating CAPTCHA images 183
Chapter 7: Using Right Plots to Understand Data 189
Introduction 189
Understanding logarithmic plots 190
Understanding spectrograms 193
Creating a stem plot 198
Drawing streamlines of vector flow 201
Using colormaps 205
Using scatter plots and histograms 210
Plotting the cross-correlation between two variables 217
Importance of autocorrelation 220
Chapter 8: More on matplotlib Gems 225
Introduction 225
Drawing barbs 225
Making a box and a whisker plot 229
Making Gantt charts 232
Making errorbars 237
Making use of text and font properties 240
Rendering text with LaTeX 246
Understanding the difference between pyplot and OO API 250
Index 257

iii

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Table of Contents

iv

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 Preface
The best data is the data that we can see and understand. As developers, we want to
create and build the most comprehensive and understandable visualizations. It is not always
simple; we need to find the data, read it, clean it, massage it, and then use the right tool to
visualize it. This book explains the process of how to read, clean, and visualize the data into
information with straight and simple (and not so simple) recipes.

How to read local data, remote data, CSV, JSON, and data from relational databases are all
explained in this book.

Some simple plots can be plotted with a simple one-liner in Python using matplotlib, but
doing more advanced charting requires knowledge of more than just Python. We need to
understand the information theory and human perception aesthetics to produce the most
appealing visualizations.

This book will explain some practices behind plotting with matplotlib in Python, statistics used,
and usage examples for different charting features we should use in an optimal way.

This book is written and the code is developed on Ubuntu 12.03 using Python 2.7,
IPython 0.13.2, virtualenv 1.9.1, matplotlib 1.2.1, NumPy 1.7.1, and SciPy 0.11.0.

What this book covers

Chapter 1, Preparing Your Working Environment, covers a set of installation recipes and
advices on how to install the required Python packages and libraries on your platform.

Chapter 2, Knowing Your Data, introduces you to common data formats and how to read and
write them, be it CSV, JSON, XSL, or relational databases.

Chapter 3, Drawing Your First Plots and Customizing Them, starts with drawing simple plots
and covers some of the customization.

Chapter 4, More Plots and Customizations, follows up from previous chapter and covers more
advanced charts and grid customization.

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Preface

Chapter 5, Making 3D Visualizations, covers three-dimensional data visualizations such as

3D bars, 3D histograms, and also matplotlib animations.

Chapter 6, Plotting Charts with Images and Maps, covers image processing, projecting data
onto maps, and creating CAPTCHA test images.

Chapter 7, Using Right Plots to Understand Data, covers explanations and recipes on some
more advanced plotting techniques such as spectrograms and correlations.

Chapter 8, More on matplotlib Gems, covers a set of charts such as Gantt charts, box plots,
and whisker plots, and also explains how to use LaTeX for rendering text in matplotlib.

What you need for this book

For this book, you will need Python 2.7.3 or a later version installed on your operating system.
This book was written using Ubuntu 12.03's Python default version (2.7.3).

Other software packages used in this book are IPython, which is an interactive Python
environment that is very powerful, and flexible. This can be installed using package
managers for Linux-based OSes or prepared installers for Windows and Mac OSes.

If you are new to Python installation and software installation in general, it is very much
recommended to use prepackaged scientific Python distributions such as Anaconda,
Enthought Python Distribution, or Python(X,Y).

Other required software mainly comprises of Python packages that are all installed using
the Python installation manager, pip, which itself is installed using Python's easy_install
setup tool.

Who this book is for

Python Data Visualization Cookbook is for developers who already know about Python
programming in general. If you have heard about data visualization but don't know where to
start, this book will guide you from the start and help you understand data, data formats,
data visualization, and how to use Python to visualize data.

You will need to know some general programming concepts, and any kind of programming
experience will be helpful. However, the code in this book is explained almost line by line. You
don't need math for this book; every concept that is introduced is thoroughly explained in plain
English, and references are available for further interest in the topic.

Conventions
In this book, you will find a number of styles of text that distinguish between different kinds of
information. Here are some examples of these styles, and an explanation of their meaning.

www.it-ebooks.info
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 CHAPTER XXX
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK

Then suddenly, Robin Hood, liberated, bound toward him,

panting, triumphant. He had evidently broken loose in his excitement
as he had neared his goal, for the leash dangled after him.
And thus it was that the scouts came upon Emerson Skybrow who
stood with one arm around the little girl, while Robin Hood
clambered upon him. It was the kindly irony of fate that Emerson
was the first person to whom the dog had paid the slightest
attention.
“Well—I’ll—be——” Connie Bennett ejaculated, then paused in
speechless consternation. “What—do—you—know! It’s Arabella!”
“There’s Margie, too,” said Westy.
“What the dickens——” Dorry Benton began, but was unable to
say more.
Arabella was stroking the dog nervously and withdrawing slightly
as if to modify the vigor of the animal’s aggressiveness. He seemed
perturbed by a doubt of whether the dog was friendly or not. And
meanwhile, he tightened his arm about the little girl, his prize, while
she clung to him with a new and panic fear.
“It seems to be a great surprise,” said Emerson in his nice way, a
way which ill-accorded with his almost primeval look. “It’s very easily
explained,” he continued, backing and endeavoring by gentle
dissuasion to free himself from the dog’s insistence.
“He won’t hurt you,” said Toby.
“He’s rather rough,” said Emerson, using the word which, of all
words, was sure to arouse mocking ridicule. But only a dead silence
greeted his rather mincing phrase. And meanwhile, Robin Hood, the
scout, clambered upon him until he was drawn away by main force.
 “I want to go home,” wept the little girl. “I want to go home to my
mother; I’m afraid of him, he’ll bite me. You said you’d take me
home, I don’t want to play with all these boys.”
“I said I’d take you home and you can depend on me,” said
Emerson. She seemed to think she could, and ceased crying and
clung to him more tightly.
“How the dickens did you happen to get here?” Connie asked,
with anything but a flattering note of incredulity in his voice. The slur
of it was somewhat modified by Westy who asked, “Where in all
creation did you come from, Skybrow?”
It would have been tribute enough to Emerson to be called by his
first name; to be called by his last name was hardly believable. Self-
possession was always one of his strong points. He had never been
able to show it with these boys, because they would have laughed
him down with banter. But now he had them at a slight
disadvantage; they were so astonished that they would listen. One
of them (the fairest of the lot) had even surrendered to the extent of
calling him Skybrow. Emerson took advantage of the occasion, and
his appearance if not his manner of talk seemed to command
attention.
“Since you ask me,” said he, “I came here to find Margie Garrison.
I found her in the bottom of this cellar, or whatever it is. I suppose
every one of you fellows, scouts, I guess you all are, were in the
assembly this morning when that lady spoke about ivy and ruins. I
should think it might have occurred to you that maybe Margie
Garrison came out here to get some. Girls are always getting wild
flowers and such things to take to their teachers. I guess you’ve all
noticed that much,” he added, as a kind of side dig.
“So I came here and found her and jumped in and we had quite a
time of it getting out; I used a long plank from the bridge. I ’phoned
to your house, Harris, and told them you were out with the
searching party. I wish we could get an auto to take her home. I
don’t think there’s anything much the matter with her except she’s
pretty well shaken-up. You had a lot of running for nothing; it seems
a pity.”
 “I don’t want to go with them, I want to go with you,” cried little
Margie, clinging to him. “Because you’re not afraid.”
Exhausted, he sat down upon a rock, and Robin Hood, seeing his
chance, approached him again and laid his head upon the torn
trousers, looking up.
“Here, Rob,” said Roy.
“Let him alone,” said Pee-wee. It was the first word he had
spoken.
“He knows, all right,” said Westy.
“You bet he knows,” Toby boasted. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Robin Hood seemed to know indeed, for heedless of the gaping
boys, who were silent because they were all at sea and knew not
what to say, he wriggled his head up till it lay against the bare,
scratched shoulder of “Arabella” Skybrow. The boy did not stroke
him, for one hand held that of the little girl he had rescued, while
the other was pressed to his wounded, throbbing forehead. But the
dog seemed to be content.
And so for a moment, they all stood about in a kind of
awkwardness. And no one spoke, not even Pee-wee.
 CHAPTER XXXI
BOB, SCOUTMAKER

It was Westy who spoke first. Just the same as it had been Westy
to speak for the others at the stricken home of this child whom
Emerson Skybrow had rescued. And what impelled Westy to break
the silence was the sight of Pee-wee gone to pieces, all his
boisterous enthusiasm ebbed away. A pitiable sight he was as he
stood there, trying bravely not to show his feelings. Of all the
botches he had ever made (and he had made many) this was the
worst. Within twenty-four hours the local paper of Bridgeboro would
have the name of Emerson Skybrow in glaring headlines. And he had
lost him. A deed worthy of the scout gold cross had been done by
this boy to whom a little girl and a noble dog paid the tribute of their
trust and love.
As by a miracle, the boy who had “treated him fine” in the city
was transformed into a rugged hero before his eyes. No wonder he
saw that scarred and ragged figure as through a haze! No wonder
the irrepressible Roy Blakeley kept his mouth shut. No wonder
Westy, always kind and thoughtful, had to speak for the “boss” of
the Raven Patrol. There is dignity in a boy’s last name and Westy
paid Emerson this tribute in addressing him.
“Some searching party,” he said, quoting Emerson’s own phrase.
“Some scouts, I’ll say! Skybrow, I’ll be hanged if I wouldn’t hide my
little old face in shame, if it wasn’t that I like to look at you. Give us
your hand, will you?”
“I’ll be very glad to,” said Emerson. “It’s pretty muddy, I’m afraid.
Is this a new member of your troop, Harris? I’ve often seen you with
the dog,” he added, addressing Toby. “They were lucky to find you.”
“What do you mean, new member?” Toby demanded. “Don’t pick
on me, I’m out of it. Put me on the waiting list if you want to.
There’s your scout, right there. Bob picked him out for you. You’ll
find me up at Hamburger Mike’s any time you want me. If I’m not
there, I’ll be talking to the girl over in the station.”
“That’s the talk,” said Westy. “Now we know you’re a scout and
you’ll get tagged before long. Before we go any further, let’s get this
thing settled. I hear a car coming, and I want to try to stop it and
see if they’ll take us back to Bridgeboro. You’re wished onto the
raving Ravens, you understand that, don’t you?” Westy asked
Emerson.
“Why—eh, I promised in a way——”
“Yes, well, you’re going to keep your word, aren’t you?” Westy
insisted. “If you’re willing to tie up with a bunch of simps like us.
What do you say, Skybrow? We can talk it all over afterward, but
just say the word now—on account of the kid.”
“I kept—I kept my—promise to you,” said Pee-wee, speaking with
difficulty. “Gee whiz, I should think you’d be willing to join us
because anyway, we’re not such terrible simps and anyway, maybe
you can sort of teach us, kind of.” The sound of an auto was heard
in the distance.
“Come on, Em, say the word,” said Connie.
“You’re very kind,” said Emerson.
“Is it yes?” demanded Artie.
“Why if, I’m sure——”
“Say yop,” said Pee-wee.
“Yop,” said Emerson Skybrow.
“Now to stop the auto,” said Westy. “Seems to be coming along
pretty fast; I bet he doesn’t pay any attention——”
“Leave it to me! Leave it to me!” Pee-wee thundered. “I know a
way to stop it! Leave it to me. Gee whiz, didn’t I even stop a circus
parade?”
“Oh, absolutely, positively,” laughed Roy.
“And don’t forget Queen Tut,” said Dorry Benton.
“Oh, posilutely not,” laughed Roy again.
“Don’t worry about the auto,” said Connie.
 “Leave it to Pee-wee,” laughed several voices in chorus.
“Safe in the hands of the fixer,” shouted Roy joyously. “Goooood
niiiiiiight.”
 CHAPTER XXXII
THE NEW SCOUT

From the adventure just narrated you might suppose Emerson

Skybrow rather than Pee-wee to be the hero of this faithful
chronicle. Such, however, is not the case. Emerson was in truth a
hero, but he was Pee-wee’s property by right of discovery.
“Didn’t I invent him?” Pee-wee demanded in a thunderous voice
of challenge.
Poor Emerson was in for it now and the next night he went up to
Pee-wee’s house to take his first lesson in scouting and to listen to
Pee-wee’s radio.
Since the unhappy episode of the Queen Tut costume, Pee-wee
and his sister had not been on cordial terms; indeed the relation was
so strained that our hero contemplated the prospect of having a boy
come to see him not without some trepidation. He selected the
following night (which was Wednesday) because he knew that Elsie
in a hastily devised Joan of Arc costume would be absent at the
masquerade. Queen Tut had died a sudden death and in her place
“The Maid of Orleans” had appeared as a sort of understudy.
Since Pee-wee’s brief illness a reform movement had been
instituted in his home looking to the avoidance of any more holidays
from school. A feature of this brutal program was the closing of the
pantry against late raids. “This continual eating, especially at night,
has got to stop,” Doctor Harris had said.
Pee-wee knew that neither of his parents would enforce this rule
and that it would presently become a dead letter. But he feared that
Elsie, capable of any atrocity now, would spy on him and shame her
indulgent parents into making good their resolution. Pee-wee could
“handle” his mother and father, but he could not in that critical time
“handle” his infuriated sister. If she heard him go downstairs at the
significant hour of ten or eleven she would balk his project,
appealing to the powers higher up, out of pure spitefulness.
All this was easily to be avoided by inviting the new hero on the
evening of the great masquerade, and thereby other adventures
ensued confirming Pee-wee’s right to the title of “fixer.” Queen Tut
was dead but the dreadful radio still lived.
“I’m sure I should be very glad to listen in,” said Emerson politely,
“and it’s very good of you to ask me.”
Emerson was the kind of boy who voluntarily wiped his feet
before entering a house, but even this defect could not dim his glory
now; he might be a little gentleman, but he was still a hero.
“I guess every one in town has gone to the masquerade to-night,”
he observed, pausing in his encounter with the doormat. “Shall I
hang my hat here?” he added, as he stepped in.
“Come ahead up into my room,” Pee-wee said, leading the way,
“and I’ll show you some things in the handbook; I’ll show you a
woodchuck skin too. I know a lot of things about scouting. Do you
know how to tell the time if you’re out in the woods a hundred miles
from anywhere?”
“By looking at my watch?” Emerson ventured.
“That shows how much you know about scouting,” Pee-wee said.
“Suppose the mainspring should break; then what would you do?
You can tell time by a nail if you know how.”
“Well, I’m in for it now,” said Emerson, looking curiously about
Pee-wee’s room. “I want to learn all there is.”
“The troop’s just crazy about you,” said Pee-wee. “But anyway, I’m
the one that discovered you. All these stones and things, and these
cocoons and everything, they all came from up around Temple Camp
—I picked ’em up in the woods. Gee whiz, we won’t bother with the
radio now, hey? Because they’re having a lecture about agriculture;
that man he talks every Wednesday night; he gets through at about
nine o’clock and after that to-night there’s a sympathy orchestra
——”
“You mean symphony?” Emerson asked.
 “Sure, and after that a man’s going to tell about how they catch
salmon but anyway what do I care about that? If I have a can
opener, that’s all I care about. But anyway, if I didn’t have one it
wouldn’t make any difference even if I was in the middle of the
Rocky Mountains, because I can use a pointed stone to open a can
but if I didn’t have a can of salmon I wouldn’t starve anyway; gee
whiz, I wouldn’t starve no matter what.”
It is a pity that the dissertation which Pee-wee gave Emerson on
the subject of scouting could not have been broadcasted. He found
Emerson a good listener and a likely pupil. The new boy, turning the
pages of the handbook thoughtfully, asked questions which showed
an intelligent interest and which Pee-wee was sometimes at
perplexity to answer. Here was a scout in the making indeed.
At about ten o’clock Pee-wee suggested refreshments, and, going
downstairs, presently reappeared with a dishful of cookies and a
couple of apples. And Emerson was forced to agree with Pee-wee’s
pronouncement that there was no likelihood at all of him starving.
 CHAPTER XXXIII
OVER THE RADIO

The latter part of the evening was given over to the radio, and the
two sat listening in with the receivers on their ears.
O.U.J. was furnishing a varied program that evening. Pee-wee
liked O.U.J. for the performers were a happy, bantering set, seeming
to make the distant listener one of their own merry party. Moreover,
O.U.J. was a night owl pursuing its wanton course of song and
laughter after other stations had said good night and gone to bed.
Evidently Plarry Blythe who sang songs and jollied the silver-tongued
announcer had no home; at least he never went to it.
Emerson had never listened to a radio and he found it novel and
entertaining. The ear pieces did double duty for they not only
transmitted the voices of the night to Emerson but they effectually
shut off Pee-wee’s voice as well. He talked but Emerson did not hear
him.
It must have been nearly midnight and time for all respectable
broadcasting stations to be home and in bed. Certainly it was time
for Pee-wee to be in bed. But O.U.J. kept it up, and as the hour
grew later they sang the latest songs. Lateness was their middle
name. At last the Jamboree Jazz Band struck up. This outlandish and
earsplitting group, compared with which the noises of a boiler
factory were like a gentle zephyr, usually heralded the conclusion of
the program. Pee-wee liked the Jamboree Jazz Band. Emerson,
educated to good music, listened with rueful amusement.
Suddenly, in the very midst of the Jumping Jiminy One Step, the
Jamboree Jazz Band ceased to play. For a few moments a holy calm
seemed to have fallen upon the still night. Then came a series of
weird squeaks and plaintive wails as if the spirits of the air were
uniting in an uncanny chorus. One of these spirits seemed to have
gone completely out of its head, shrieking uncontrollably.
Schooled to such a contingency, Pee-wee’s hand sought the little
knob by which the unseen performers might be lured back to their
duties.
But the weird voices only screamed the more discordantly. Then
they ceased altogether. With both hands Pee-wee tried desperately
to find the music but his frantic efforts were of no avail. The
Jamboree Jazz Band was as silent as the grave. The Jumping Jiminy
One Step had stepped away altogether.
“What’s the matter?” Emerson asked.
“Wait a minute,” Pee-wee said, frantically preoccupied with the
mechanism.
But the Jumping Jiminy One Step had evidently jumped too far
and he could not overtake it.
“They stopped right in the middle,” said Emerson.
Then suddenly Pee-wee caught the friendly, ingratiating voice of
the announcer at O.U.J. Nothing could ruffle that gentlemanly tone.
He would have announced the end of the world in a voice of soft
composure.
“Listen!” said Pee-wee, “he’s saying something.”
He was certainly saying something. He had evidently begun
saying it before Pee-wee had succeeded in arresting that soft voice.
From the rather startling nature of his announcement (or such of it
as our listeners-in heard) it seemed likely that the Jamboree Jazz
Band had been summarily silenced in the interest of this important
matter. The boys listened attentively, Pee-wee spellbound as the
voice continued:
“... and the police department of New York will be glad of any
information that might be helpful in running down this car.”
“Listen!” Pee-wee gasped in a tragic whisper. “He’s finished, we
missed it,” said Emerson. But the announcer continued, hesitating
now and then, as if putting into his own words a request made from
some other source, “Every effort is being made to head off this car
in Westchester County in this state but it is thought not unlikely that
the thieves may have crossed one of the Jersey ferries with it,
probably an uptown ferry, and be heading through northern New
Jersey. If the car was stolen by gypsies, as is suspected——”
Here the announcer’s voice was drowned in a riot of irrelevant
sounds characteristic of Pee-wee’s radio set, and when our hero
succeeded in catching the voice again, the announcer was
concluding his thrilling appeal to listeners—in New Jersey. “The car
was a Hunkajunk six touring car thought to be occupied by gypsies,
the license number is 642-987 N.Y. but the number may have been
obscured to prevent identification. Any information concerning this
car should be telephoned at once to the police authorities where the
car was seen. This is station O.U.J., New York City. Please stand by
for continuation of our regular program.”
 CHAPTER XXXIV
THE SHORT CUT

But Pee-wee did not “stand by” for continuation of the regular
program. The Jamboree Jazz Band had no more charms for him.
He had heard and read of startling announcements being made
over the radio, of interruptions in deference to appalling S.O.S. calls,
of appeals for cooperation and assistance from the constituted
authorities here and there. But never in his wildest dreams (and his
dreams were the wildest) had he, Walter Harris, ever been asked,
directly and indirectly to cooperate in the apprehension of a fugitive
criminal. He felt now that in a way he had been appointed a member
of the great metropolitan police force and that a terrible
responsibility had been placed upon him.
“That’s very interesting,” said Emerson, unmoved by the dramatic
character of the announcement.
“Interesting?” roared Pee-wee. “Do you call it interesting if—if—if
a lot of gypsies steal a car and we have to be on the lookout for
them? Do you call it interesting, just kind of, if we have to hurry out
of here to circumspect thieves?”
“Do you mean circumvent?” Emerson asked.
“I mean foil!” Pee-wee shouted. “Come ahead, we have to catch
them, hurry up, where did I leave my cap?”
“I don’t know,” said Emerson, arising dutifully but reluctantly. “You
said scouts always know where they leave things.”
“In the woods I said,” roared Pee-wee. “If a scout hides
something in the woods he can always find it. Caps are different,” he
added, instituting a frantic search for his ever elusive cap.
“I should think the best place to keep it would be on your head,”
Emerson commented, “then you’d always know where to find it.
Mine’s downstairs on the hat rack.”
 Pee-wee presently apprehended his cap on the top of the
bookcase and then hurried downstairs intent on apprehending the
fugitives from New York. Emerson followed with a calmness quite
disproportionate to the dramatic character of their errand. He had
just begun thoroughly to enjoy the broadcasting and was listening in
with quiet interest when suddenly he found himself launched again
upon the sea of adventure.
Having accustomed himself to the clamor and turmoil of the
Jamboree Jazz Band and begun to enjoy the novelty of the distant,
unseen entertainment, he would have preferred to let well enough
alone. But he was beginning to learn that one who followed Pee-wee
must be prepared for anything or must be willing to do anything
whether he is prepared or not.
“What are we going to do?” Emerson asked as they hurried along
the dark street.
“We’re going to take a short-cut to the state road,” Pee-wee
answered, “because that’ll surely be the road they’ll take.”
“Why will it?” the reasonable Emerson asked.
“Because it will be. We’re going to lie in ambush along the road
just where it leaves town where we can see every car that comes
along. Do you know where Lanky Betts keeps his frankfurter stand in
the summer? We’re going to hang out there. That little shack is
open,” Pee-wee panted as they ran, “and we can wait inside of it
because the door is broken and we can get in and it’ll be all right
because I know Lanky because I buy lots of frankfurters from him
when the shack is open and root beer too—you get great big ice
cream cones there.”
Emerson was not too hopeful of a triumphant sequel to their
midnight excursion into the detective field; he felt that it was a long
call between the rather unconclusive information of the broadcaster
and the actual halting of the criminals in this neighborhood. But the
mention of frankfurters touched a responsive chord in his nature, for
the night was chill and raw and even the lowly frankfurter appealed
to him.
“It’s a pity we can’t get something to eat there now,” he observed.
“We’re not supposed to be thinking of eats now,” panted our hero.
This was rather odd, coming from Pee-wee.
 CHAPTER XXXV
“DANGER”

“I didn’t tell you all I’m going to do,” said Pee-wee darkly. “I didn’t
tell you all the plans I have.”
This rather startling pronouncement prompted Emerson to say,
“You’d better tell me the worst.”
“You’ll see,” said Pee-wee.
On arriving at Lanky Betts’ deserted shack, Emerson was
somewhat caught by the spirit of their adventure. Pee-wee had at
least brought him to a good waiting place. The rough, little
refreshment stand had that forlorn look which all such roadside
dispensaries have during the closed season. But the spirit of the
frankfurter haunted it and it soon became evident to the patient
Emerson that here Pee-wee was on familiar ground.
“Maybe you didn’t know I was here last Saturday,” said Pee-wee.
“I was here with Lanky when he brought his stove and a lot of
things and I helped him to bring them. Do you see that can? That’s
got red paint in it so as he can paint his signs. Do you know why he
uses red paint?”
“So he can paint his signs,” said Emerson.
“He paints ’em in red so everybody’ll know the frankfurters are
hot; gee whiz, he knows how to make you hungry, that feller does.”
“He’s made me hungry already,” said Emerson.
“Are you hungry?”
“I think it makes you hungry being out in the chill air, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” said Pee-wee; “gee whiz, I’m always hungry. But
don’t you care, because afterwards we’ll get something to eat. Do
you know what I’m going to do? Now you’ll see all the ideas I had.
I’m going to paint the word Danger on a board, good and big, in red
letters. See, I got my flashlight to work by; a scout has to remember
things. So hurry up, you open the can while I get a board.”
There is reality in action. And such desperate action as Pee-wee’s
was bound to be convincing.
Even the quiet Emerson could not fail to be captivated by the
situation, and all of Pee-wee’s frantic preparations for his epoch-
making coup had the true ring of adventure. It was not like sitting
home talking about catching bandits. Here they were in a little,
deserted, rough board shack on the outskirts of town, bordering the
likeliest exit from the metropolitan area. And this within ten or
fifteen minutes of the sensational appeal broadcasted from station
O.U.J., New York.
Surely, Emerson felt bound to acknowledge, it was not at all
unlikely that the gypsies in the stolen car might pass here, and if he
and Pee-wee could but stop them a great triumph would be theirs. A
great triumph was Pee-wee’s already, for his enthusiasm and
concentrated efforts proved contagious. Picking up an old rusty
knife, Emerson proceeded to dig a hole in the top of the can of red
paint while Pee-wee hauled forth an old board which was part of the
detachable architecture of the shack.
“Now while I paint Danger on the board,” said Pee-wee excitedly,
“you take that old chair and stand it in the middle of the road and
then we’ll stand the board against the back of the chair.”
Within five minutes Lanky Betts’ rickety old kitchen chair in which
he was wont to sit tilted back against the shack waiting for trade
was cast in the heroic role of easel for a board on which the
arresting word Danger was painted in huge red letters. So liberally
had the paint been used in Pee-wee’s frantic haste that the letters
had pendants of dripping red below them, imparting an artistic effect
to Pee-wee’s handiwork.
But the whole thing looked like business and the general effect of
something impending was heightened by the appearance of Pee-wee
himself lurking in the doorway of the shack clutching in one hand
the rusty knife, dripping red, with which Emerson had opened the
paint can, and in his other hand another weapon equally dangerous,
which he had rescued from a grocery box under the counter. This
was an ice-pick used in the good old summer-time to reduce the ice
to fragments in the genial freezers containing chocolate, vanilla and
raspberry cream. But now it was to be used for a purpose less
kindly.
“Now I’ll tell you the way we’ll do,” said Pee-wee. “We’ll sit inside
here all quiet like and every car that stops we’ll see if it’s a
Hunkajunk six, and if it is and it’s got gypsies in it, I’m going to
sneak around in back of it and jab this ice-pick into one of the rear
tires and then run. While I’m doing that—do you see that house up
off the road? There’s no light in it but you can see it.”
“I see it,” said Emerson.
“As soon as I sneak around in back of the car you run up to that
house for all you’re worth and ring the bell and bang on the door
and everything and wake them up no matter what and tell them to
’phone down to Chief Shay that we stopped some bandits stealing a
car. I’ll come running up to the house by a roundabout way and I’ll
meet you there. See? They won’t be able to drive the car, not very
fast anyway, and before they could change a tire or drive half a mile
the Bridgeboro police will be here.”
This plan seemed sound and scientific. Nobody whose armament
was limited to an ice-pick could have planned better. There was at
least an even chance that the auto thieves would come this way and
unless they were very near-sighted or very reckless they would
certainly pause before Pee-wee’s flaunted warning. If Emerson had
been skeptical at first he was now convinced that the chances were
at least fair and that the plan of campaign was masterly.
In short there was not the slightest reason why the moon should
have smiled down upon these brave preparations. But the moon did
smile. Pee-wee did not smile, however. He scowled. He scowled the
scowl of a hero as he laid aside the knife dripping with gore, and felt
tenderly the point of the deadly ice-pick.
Perhaps it was a wonder the moon did not laugh out loud.
 CHAPTER XXXVI
PEE-WEE TRIUMPHANT

In a little while the boys were rewarded by the appearance of a

pair of headlights coming around the bend in the road.
“You be ready to run up to the house and wake them,” whispered
Pee-wee, clutching his ice-pick.
“Suppose they haven’t a ’phone,” said Emerson.
“They have,” said Pee-wee; “a scout has to notice things. Don’t
you see the wire branching over that way?”
Emerson thoroughly liked Pee-wee but now he was beginning to
have a wholesome respect for his friend’s prowess and resource.
Why should the fugitives not come this way? And if they did, had not
Pee-wee provided for all contingencies? Had he not even taken note
of the ’phone wire stretched from the main lines along the highway
to the distant house? And his disinclination to arouse the occupants
of that house till necessary suggested both self-reliance and
consideration for others. Yes, to be sure, thought Emerson, he was
in the hands of a bully little scout.
“I think you’re very clever,” said Emerson.
“Even I’ll get you something to eat afterwards too,” said Pee-wee,
“because you know Schmitt’s Bakery on Main Street. By the time we
leave here the bakers will be starting to work in the cellar and I
know them and I know how to get in the back way and they’ll give
us some hot rolls. Do you like hot rolls? Do you like buns? Shhh,
here comes the car.”
The car proved to be a roadster and the driver of it was not a
gypsy. Pee-wee removed the sign with a few words of explanation
and the car went ahead. Another car came, and still another, then a
long interval with no cars.
“Gee whiz, I’m hungry too, I’ll say that,” said Pee-wee.
 “Don’t say it,” said Emerson.
Pretty soon they were rewarded by the sight of another pair of
headlights coming around the bend. As the car approached its
dimmed lights suddenly flared up and set two bright columns
straight against the warning sign.
Slowly, with its great nickel headlights glaring, the big machine
moved forward toward the obstruction. It stopped, then advanced
very slowly a few feet more. Then, with heart thumping, Pee-wee
beheld something which made his blood run cold—a bright-colored
shawl with spangles that shone brilliant in the moonlight and a
dusky woman with a bandage around her forehead.
But this was not all. For sitting at the wheel was the most
villainous looking man that Pee-wee had ever seen, a man with a
mustache of a pirate or a Spanish brigand. There was murder in his
slouch hat and the scarf which was knotted about his throat (when
taken in conjunction with this hat and his atrocious mustache)
suggested a man who would not be satisfied with murder; who
would be satisfied with nothing less than torture and massacre. He
was Bluebeard and Captain Kidd and all the thieving, kidnaping
gypsies of the world rolled into one horrible, appalling, brutal
spectacle!
And then Pee-wee realized that he was face to face with the
escaping gypsies and the Hunkajunk car. He was terrified, trembling.
But he would not shirk his perilous duty now.
“Run to the house,” he whispered to Emerson; “try not to let them
see you; crawl on the ground for a ways. Hurry up.”
Scarcely had he said the words when he lowered himself to the
ground and, crawling through the tall grass which bordered the
road, came around to the back of the car. The pulsating engine
helped to drown the slight sound of his cautious movements but his
heart beat against his chest like a hammer until he had emerged
from his concealment and stood trembling but unseen except by the
little red eye of the tail-light. Then, his hand shaking, but his resolve
unweakened, he raised his arm and with all the furious vigor of an
assassin plunged his deadly ice-pick to the very heart of the
innocent cord tire which immediately began breathing its last in a
continuous hissing sound while our hero started to run.
“Goodness me we’ve got a flat!” called the merry voice of Pee-
wee’s sister, Elsie.
She was nestling in the rear seat between Carmen and Napoleon
and on the front seat sat Charlie Chaplin close by the terrible gypsy
brigand so as to make room for Martha Washington. Elsie was very
sweet in her Joan of Arc costume, far too sweet to have had as an
escort the gypsy king whose kindly task of taking the party to their
several homes the champion fixer had so effectually baffled.
Sssssssssssss, went the tire.
“We’ve got a puncture,” said Napoleon.
“Sure as you live,” said Charlie Chaplin.
“That was a new tire, too,” said Harry Bensen, the gypsy king, as
he got out to inspect the damage.
“Isn’t it exasperating!” said Carmen alias Ruth Collins.
“Now I suppose we’ll simply never get home,” chirped Martha
Washington alias Marjorie Dennison. “And I want you all to stop at
my house for a cup of coffee, it’s so chilly.”
Slowly, fearfully, the mighty hero retraced his steps. The hurrying
Emerson, too, had heard the merry voice of Elsie Harris and then the
others and he paused midway between the road and the dark
house, and then returned curiously.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Elsie asked of the abashed
hero. “And Emmy Skybrow too! You both ought to be home in bed.”
“I—we—we got an—a call over the radio,” Pee-wee stammered.
“It was broadcasted that a stolen car with gypsies in it was maybe
coming this way so we laid keekie for it and I thought Harry Bensen
was a gypsy like the announcer said so that shows anybody can be
mistaken so I punched a hole in the tire with an ice-pick because
then if it had been stolen—the car—we’d have caught them,
wouldn’t we? So I jabbed a hole in it with an ice-pick but anyway I
was mistaken. But anyway if you’re going to Marjorie Dennison’s for
hot coffee we’ll go with you, and we’ll help you change the tire too,
because, gee whiz, we’re good and hungry.”
 We need not recount the comments of the several members of
the masquerade party, particularly the rather pithy observations of
Pee-wee’s sister Elsie who had previously suffered at his hands. It
will be quite sufficient to say that Harry Bensen, the gypsy king, was
a good sport and a staunch admirer of Pee-wee. They put on a
spare tire and then took the unhappy heroes into the car and made
good speed for the Dennison place in East Bridgeboro.
But in fact Pee-wee was not unhappy, only Emerson was unhappy.
For Pee-wee was, as usual, triumphant. He sat on the front seat
wedged in between Harry Bensen, the gypsy, and Martha
Washington. Charlie Chaplin sat upon the top of the door to make
room for him.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d fix it for you?” Pee-wee demanded of
Emerson who squatted unobtrusively on the floor in back. “Didn’t I
say I’d get you some eats? Now you’re going to have hot coffee and
cake maybe and everything. Didn’t I say I’d fix it for you? Gee whiz,
if a scout says he’ll do a thing he does it.”
“Even if he has to use an ice-pick,” said Harry Bensen, the gypsy
king.
“I’d like to be a scout,” said Ruth Collins.
“Gee, it’s great being a scout,” said Pee-wee.
“It’s not so great being a scout’s sister,” said Joan of Arc.
“Joan of Arc carried a sword,” said Harry Bensen, nudging Pee-
wee, “and a scout carries an ice-pick. I don’t believe you could use
an ice-pick with such deadly skill.”
“The way I feel now I would like to use an axe with deadly skill if
I had one,” said Elsie.
“What a bloodthirsty family,” laughed Harry Bensen.
“Are you hungry?” Pee-wee asked, looking around and peering
down at the silent Emerson. “Now you’re going up to Dennison’s and
I fixed it for you and you’re going to have eats just like you wanted,
so gee whiz, you can’t say I’m not a fixer.”
“Fixer is right,” laughed Harry Bensen.
END
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEE-WEE HARRIS:
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