“A snake!” cried her mother.
“It wasn’t real,” Nan hastened to add, and Mrs. Bobbsey seemed to breathe easier.
“Well, you have had some excitement as well as fun,” observed Mr. Bobbsey.
“Excitement!” cried Bert. “Say, Daddy, you ought to have been there when the truck almost smashed through the bridge!”
“Oh, did that happen?” exclaimed Mrs. Bobbsey.
“No, but almost,” Bert went on.
“Well, it seems to me that everything ‘almost’ happened,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. “Flossie almost saw a snake, Freddie almost fell overboard and the truck almost broke the bridge.”
“Oh, the bridge really is broken,” Nan said. And she told about that accident. Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey had come to the picnic grounds by another road, and so had not seen the bridge that sagged in the middle.
“Well, all’s well that ends well, so they say,” remarked Mr. Bobbsey, “and we’re glad you are having a good time. Yes, Mr. Blake, what is it?” he asked, for Mr. Blake, had come to where Mr. Bobbsey was talking to the children, and had called aloud.
“Do you want to help the ladies dish out the ice cream?” asked Mr. Blake.
“Surely!” answered the twins’ father. “Wait until I take off my coat. Dishing out ice cream is rather messy work.”
He removed his coat, hanging it on the limb of a tree near the shed where the ice cream freezers had been placed. Mrs. Bobbsey also offered to help, and when it became known that it was time for the ice cream and cake treat the picnic children began gathering at the rustic shed.
Before the dainties could be served, however, there came from down the road, in the opposite direction from the broken bridge, a low, rumbling sound.
“I hope it isn’t going to rain,” said Mrs. Morris, as she held a plate of ice cream in one hand.
“What makes you think it is?” Mrs. Bobbsey asked.
“Didn’t you hear that thunder? I can’t see the sky, on account of the trees, but I’m afraid it’s clouding over.”
“No, the sun is shining,” said the twins’ mother.
“But I’m sure that is thunder,” went on Mrs. Morris.
There was a rumbling sound down the road, and there seemed to be some excitement there, for a number of children who had started toward the ice cream pavilion turned back.
“I wonder what it is,” mused Mrs. Bobbsey. “I hope no ‘almost’ accidents are going to happen.”
“I’ll go see what it is,” offered Bert.
He ran down the road, was gone a little while, and came back, his eyes shining with eagerness.
“Oh, it’s a big merry-go-round!” he cried.
“A merry-go-round?” repeated his mother, busy at the ice cream.
“Yes, a man has a big merry-go-round in pieces on three or four big wagons,” Bert reported. “Something’s the matter with the engine—it runs by a steam engine, and something’s the matter!”
“Bert, go call your father,” said Mrs. Bobbsey, for her husband had gone to the far side of the grove to get another ice cream tub from the truck on which they were brought to the picnic. “We don’t want any strange men setting up a merry-go-round here. Call your father!”
CHAPTER IV
A Missing Coat
Mr. Bobbsey came hurrying over to the ice cream pavilion, with Bert almost running beside him to keep up with his father.
“What’s all this, Mother?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, who, with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, was working hard to help the ladies at the Sunday school picnic. “What’s all this about a merry-go-round coming here?”
“I don’t know that it is coming here,” answered Mrs. Bobbsey, with a smile. “But some sort of affair is thundering along the road. You can see the crowd of children near it. A merry-go-round some one said. I thought perhaps some men owning one of those traveling affairs had heard about our picnic and had come here to set up a machine. We don’t want anything like that.”
“No,” agreed Mr. Bobbsey with a smile. “We don’t. I’ll go see about it,” and off he went, followed by Bert. Nan, with Flossie and Freddie, had already joined the group of children down near the road that extended along one edge of the picnic grove.
As Bert and his father neared the place, a loud, hissing sound was heard and a white cloud of steam shot into the air, while the little ones screamed and scattered.
“What’s that?” cried Bert.
“I hope those youngsters don’t go too near!” murmured Mr. Bobbsey. “The safety valve of his steam engine is blowing off. He’s got too much pressure on. It may be dangerous,” and Mr. Bobbsey broke into a run, which Bert imitated as well as he could with his shorter legs.
However, there was no great danger. As Mr. Bobbsey had said, the safety valve of a steam engine, on one of the trucks which carried the merry-go-round outfit, was blowing off, and a short, stout man, with a very red face, and a lanky boy, wearing ragged clothes, were working about the engine.
“Keep back, children! Keep back!” called Mr. Bobbsey, as he reached the road. “This merry-go-round isn’t going to be set up here. Keep back out of danger!”
“That’s what I wish they’d do, mister!” said the red-faced man in no very friendly voice. “They’re under foot, and some of ’em may get stepped on. I’ve got trouble enough without a bunch of kids getting in the way.”
He did not speak very nicely of children, Bert thought, and Nan was evidently of the same opinion from the way in which she looked at her brother. Flossie and Freddie thought nothing of this. They were too excited in looking at the merry-go-round outfit.
This fun-making machine was loaded on four large trucks, hauled by four sturdy horses each. On one truck was an engine, with a fire in it and smoke and steam coming from it. It was this that seemed to be causing the trouble which the red-faced man and the lanky boy were trying to make better.
Behind the engine truck, which was in the lead, were three other trucks, and the drivers of the horses kept to their seats, not offering to help the red-faced man.
The three trucks were piled high with the frame and roof of the merry-go-round. There were posts, boards, long iron rods, greasy cog wheels and all sorts of funny things. But what interested the children most were the wooden animals that made up the more showy part of the merry-go-round. There were horses, lions, tigers, camels, elephants, zebras, an ostrich and a cow.
“Oh, I want to ride on the cow!” cried Freddie.
“I’m going to get on the lion’s back!” exclaimed Flossie.
“No, I want the lion, you can have the cow!” yelled Freddie. “I want the lion!”
“I had him first! I choosed him first an’ he’s mine! Daddy, can’t I have the lion?” begged Flossie.
“Hush, children!” said Mr. Bobbsey, as Freddie opened his mouth to wail that he wanted the king of beasts. “The merry-go-round isn’t going to be set up here. No one is going to get a ride.”
“That’s what, mister!” exclaimed the red-faced man. “I’m not going to stop here. I’m on my way to the Bolton County Fair with this merry-go-round outfit. I’m going to be there for a week or more. Just had a little trouble with this engine. I got steam up on it while on the road to see what the matter was.”
“Is it fixed now?” asked Mr. Bobbsey.
“Yes, seems to be. Here, Bob,” he called to the lanky boy, “haul the fire now, and we’ll let her cool down. I guess she’ll work now. Got up a good steam pressure, anyhow.”
The ragged boy did something to the engine, when suddenly a burst of melody struck on the ears of all, and from an organ there was ground out a gay dancing tune.
“Oh, music!” cried Flossie.
“Where’s the hand organ monkey?” Freddie wanted to know.
“I’m going to get Grace and we can dance!” exclaimed Nan, for she and her chums did simple little dances at school.
“I want to see the monkey!” wailed Freddie again.
“There isn’t any monkey,”
Bert said. “It isn’t exactly a hand organ. It’s one that works by steam, I imagine,” he said. “It’s part of the merry-go-round.”
“That’s right. It’s a good organ, too,” said the ragged, lanky boy, who was working away at the engine, while the red-faced man had started for the front of the truck. Hearing the melody the red-faced man turned to the boy and angrily cried:
“Here! I didn’t tell you to turn that music on! Shut it off, do you hear!”
“My, what a cross man!” said Flossie, in what she meant to be a whisper.
“Hush!” her father said.
“Shut that organ off! What’d you turn it on for, Bob?” grumbled the man.
“I didn’t turn it on, Mr. Blipper. It turned itself on—too much steam, I guess.”
“Well, shut it off, do you hear! I don’t want to play music when I don’t get any money for it. Shut it off!”
The boy did something to the engine and the organ music died away in a sad wail.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Flossie.
“Now we can’t have any dance,” lamented Nan.
“How long are you going to stop here, Mr.—er—did I understand your name was Blipper?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, thinking he might arrange to have the organ played a little while for the children.
“Blipper is my name—Aaron Blipper,” answered the man. “Sole owner and proprietor of Blipper’s Merry-Go-Round which will exhibit for a week, and maybe more, at the Bolton County Fair.”
“My name is Bobbsey,” went on the father of the twins. “Your name and mine have the same first letter, anyhow. I was going to say that if you were going to remain here a while I’d give you a dollar to let the organ play for the children. This is a Sunday school picnic.”
“I guessed it was,” said Mr. Blipper. “Well, if you was to give me a dollar I’d have Bob turn the music on again. I think a dollar will pay for what coal I burn in the engine. The organ is worked by the engine. I can’t turn it by hand, or I’d let Bob do that. But I’ll play for a dollar.”
“Here you are then,” said Mr. Bobbsey, and he passed over a bill.
“Turn the organ on, Bob!” ordered Mr. Blipper. “And while we’re waiting here get a pail and water the horses. Might as well make yourself useful as well as ornamental.”
To the Bobbsey twins it seemed that Bob had been making himself busy, if not useful, ever since the merry-go-round had halted near the picnic grounds.
The boy turned a handle and once more the organ began grinding out music of one kind or another. It was not very good, of course, but it pleased the children. Soon Flossie and Freddie were dancing on the green grass beside the road, and Nan and many of the other children were also enjoying themselves in this way. Though it was a Sunday school picnic, such simple dances as the children did could not be found fault with by any one.
Bert and his especial chums did not dance. They walked about the trucks of the merry-go-round, looking at the wooden animals. Mainly, however, they were interested in the steam engine which not only turned the machine around, once it was set up, but also played the organ.
“I’d like to see this thing going,” said Charlie Mason.
“So would I,” agreed Dannie Rugg.
“Maybe my father will take me to the Bolton County Fair,” remarked Bert. “If he does I’ll have a ride.”
Then the ragged boy, who had been watering the horses, while the drivers dozed on their high seats, came up with an empty pail. He looked at the engine, changed the organ so that it played a different tune and let some hot water run out of a little faucet.
“Do you know how to run the engine?” asked Bert.
“Sure I do!”
“What’s your name?” asked Charlie.
“Bob.”
“Bob what?” Dannie wanted to know.
“Bob Guess.”
“Bob Guess! That’s an odd name,” remarked Bert.
“Well, it isn’t exactly my real name,” the ragged lad went on. “I’m an orphan. I haven’t had any real folks in a long time. I was taken out of the asylum by this man, so he says. He adopted me, I reckon, and he said he gave me that name ’cause he had to guess what my real name was. So I’m called Bob Guess.”
“A strange name,” murmured Bert. “But I’d like to know how to work a steam engine.”
“So’d I!” agreed the other boys.
“Pooh! It’s easy,” said Bob Guess, who seemed to like to show off. For he turned another little faucet, thereby sending out a cloud of steam, and causing Charlie Mason to jump back.
“Don’t be skeered! It won’t hurt you!” laughed Bob.
“Isn’t it hot?”
“Not after it comes from the boiler. Look, I can hold my hand right in it,” which Bob Guess did, letting a cloud of steam envelop both his rather dirty hands.
“Whew!” whistled Dannie, in amazement.
“I’m going to try it!” said Bert, rightly guessing that at a short distance from the faucet the steam cooled off; which was true, as you know if you have ever “felt” of the steam coming from a house radiator on a cold day.
But as Bert stretched out his hand to test the steam as Bob had done, Mr. Blipper called from where he stood talking to the driver of the last truck.
“Stop monkeying with that engine, Bob!” yelled the red-faced man. “You want to get it all out of kilter again!”
“I was only testin’ the steam gauge,” the boy answered.
“Well, you let it alone, do you hear, and water the horses.”
“I have watered ’em!”
“Well, water ’em some more! I’m not going to stop again till I get to the Bolton County Fair if I can help it.”
“He’s sort of cross, isn’t he?” asked Charlie, as Bob moved off.
“More than that—he’s mean!” declared the ragged lad.
Bert and his chums stood looking at the steam engine and listening to the organ, while Nan and the smaller children danced. Then up came Mr. Blipper.
“I guess this is a dollar’s worth of music,” he announced.
“I believe so,” agreed Mr. Bobbsey, with a smile. “The children have enjoyed it. Thank you!”
“Um!” grunted Mr. Blipper. “Here you, Bob!” he roared. “Come and shut off this steam. We’re going to travel!”
He climbed up on the seat, and Bob, after hanging the water pail on a hook beneath the truck, shut off the engine. The organ ceased playing, and the trucks containing the merry-go-round lumbered off.
“Good-by!” called the Bobbsey twins.
“Good-by!” echoed Bob Guess.
“I wonder if we’ll ever see him again,” murmured Bert.
And he was to see the strange lad again, under strange circumstances.
“Come, children, your ice cream will get cold!” called Mrs. Bobbsey, who had come from the pavilion to summon the little guests.
“Ice cream get cold! Ha! Ha!” laughed Grace Lavine.
“I like mine cold,” chuckled Dannie Rugg.
Back across the fields ran the merry, laughing children. The Sunday school picnic, in spite of the danger at the bridge, had turned out most wonderfully.
Soon the caravan of the merry-go-round was but a series of faint specks down the dusty road. It was taking a route that would not take it across the broken bridge.
The Bobbsey twins and their friends sat about eating ice cream and cake, and some of them talked about the strange boy and the organ that was played by steam.
“I’m going to have an organ like that when I grow up,” said Freddie.
“An’ I’m goin’ to help you play it, an’ ride on a lion,” added Flossie, and the others laughed.
Picnics, however delightful, cannot go on forever, and this one came to an end as the afternoon shadows were falling. Mr. Bobbsey had been very busy helping his wife and the other ladies, and now, as the time came for him to go home in the small auto in which he and his wife had ridden to the grove, he rolled down his sleeves, and looked about him.
“My coat. I hung it on a tree limb right here, I thought.”
“Yes, I saw you,” said Nan.
“But it isn’t here now!” her father went on.
“Here’s some sort of coat,” announced Bert, picking up one from the ground under a tree near the ice cream pavilion.
“That’s where I hung my coat,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “And this coat isn’t mine. Mine was a good, new one. This is an old, ragged one. Dear me! I hope my coat hasn’t been stolen! It had some money in one pocket, and also some papers I need at the lumber office! Where is my coat?”
CHAPTER V
Sam Is Worried
While fathers, mothers, and other relatives were gathering up their own children, or children of whom they had charge, to see that they were safely loaded into the two big trucks to go home from the picnic, the Bobbsey twins—at least Bert and Nan—were searching for their father’s coat. Flossie and Freddie were too small to pay much attention to anything of this sort. The smaller twins were talking about the merry-go-round and starting over again the dispute as to who should ride on the wooden lion.
“Are you sure you left your coat hanging on the tree limb?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey.
“I’m certain of it,” her husband answered. “And this old coat never was mine—I wouldn’t own it!”
He dropped to the ground the ragged garment that had been found lying beneath the tree.
“I thought maybe you had hung your coat over by the ice cream shed,” went on Mrs. Bobbsey. “You may have done that and have forgotten about it.”
“No, I didn’t do that,” said the father of the Bobbsey twins. “I remember hanging my coat on the tree, for I recall noticing what a regular hook, like one on our rack at home, a broken piece of the branch made. My coat was here. But it’s gone now, and this old one is left in place of it.”
There was no question about that. Search as Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey and the children did, over the picnic grounds, the lumberman’s coat, with money in one pocket and papers in another, was gone.
“Who do you s’pose could have taken it?” asked Nan, as her father looked about him with a puzzled air.
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