Читать книгу Roy Blakeley's Motor Caravan - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 8

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I guess you’ll say this story is a lot of nonsense, but anyway, those big fellows were worse than the rest of us. Harry said it didn’t make any difference if we were foolish, because even a dollar hasn’t as much cents as it used to have—that’s a joke. Anyway Harry had plenty of dollars that Mr. Junkum gave him for expenses. He told us the people who were buying the cars paid part of the money. And anyway, my patrol saved them some money on account of knowing all about camping and cooking and all that. Harry said it was more fun than if we stayed at hotels all the time. Gee whiz, I hate hotels—hotels and spinach. But once I went to a peach of a fire when a hotel burned down. That’s one good thing about hotels, anyway.

Now about noontime that day the road crossed the railroad station at a place called Squash Centre. It crosses it there every day, I guess, Sundays and holidays and all. Anyway, it crossed it there that day. Pee-wee was sitting on the seat beside Harry and he shouted, “Squash Centre; I like pumpkin better.” As soon as he saw the word squash right away he thought about pie.

There were only about six houses there and the railroad station. On the platform were a lot of funny looking people and they had a couple of big dogs tied by ropes. They had a lot of boxes and bags and things standing around them on the platform. Most of the squashes of Squash Centre were standing around a little way off laughing at them. The man that was holding the dogs had on a long black coat and a high hat and he needed to be shaved. His coat didn’t have any cloth on the buttons. He had long hair sticking out from under his hat.

Harry said, “Well, well, we sure are out west. Here’s poor old Uncle Tom’s Cabin, bag and baggage.” Then he called down to the man with the black coat and said, “How about you, old top? Stranded?”

Then all the squashes of Squash Centre set up a howl.

The man said, very dignified like, “Thank you, for your inquiry, young sir, and might I ask if you came through Jones’ Junction? Are there any trains running?”

By that time our whole caravan had stopped and all the squashes got around and began staring at us.

Harry said, “I don’t believe there are any trains except eastern trains. I don’t believe there’s anything that stops this side of Indianapolis. How far are you going? What’s the matter, didn’t you hit it right among the squashes?”

The man said, “The squashes are without art or patriotism. I thank you for your information, sir. We are both stalled and stranded. We have neither a train to travel on nor money to travel on it if we had. Our friends have not welcomed us as we hoped they would. We have a promising engagement at Grumpy’s Cross-roads some hundred miles distant, where we are under contract with Major Hezekiah Grumpy to give six performances at the Grand Army reunion there. Major Grumpy, sir, fought bravely to stamp out the evil which our play depicts with such pathos.” That was just the way he talked.

Harry said, “So they are having a reunion at Grumpy’s Cross-roads, are they?”

“A very magnificent affair, sir,” that’s just what the man said, “and the major has contracted with us for the presentation of our heart stirring drama with the view of having the dramatic part of the celebration appropriate.”

Geewhiz, it was awful funny to hear him talk.