THE CARNIVAL
The alarm clock in the boys' room went off at five o'clock the next
morning.
"Want any errands done before breakfast?" called Fred down the stairs.
Fred's mother was a wise woman, and she could, as her husband often
said, make the most of any situation. If the boys, who usually had
to be called at least twice, were awake at five and ready to give
practical help, what reason was there for waiting till eight o'clock
and breakfast time?
"I wish you'd go after some eggs, Fred," said Mrs. Williamson, perhaps
a little sleepily. "Get yourself some bread and butter and a glass of
milk and then you can walk out to the farm and back before breakfast."
"Let's go, too," whispered Polly to Margy.
The alarm had wakened the two girls, and now they jumped up and managed
to get dressed without disturbing Jess.
"Are you up?" said Fred, when they came into the kitchen where he and
Artie were getting their bread and milk.
"Did we wake you up?" Artie asked, staring round-eyed over his glass of
milk.
"Yes, to both questions," said Polly. "We thought we'd go out to the
farm with you. Hand me the bread knife, please."
"Where's Ward?" Margy demanded, pouring out a glass of milk for Polly
and one for herself.
"Sleeping," replied Fred, grinning. "He said he wasn't going to get up
early when he didn't have to."
"Well, I think myself it's kind of silly," Margy said frankly. "What
made you set the alarm for five o'clock?"
"Oh, I just thought I'd feel gay this morning, and I do," declared
Fred. "I think the carnival makes me a little skittish."
They all laughed, recognizing one of the pet words of Mrs. Pepper,
Carrie's mother.
"Come on, or we won't get back for breakfast," Fred urged. "Mother gave
me the egg money. Let's hurry."
Even Margy changed her mind about the silliness of an early rising hour
when they stepped outside the cottage and saw the sunrise over the
point of land that ran out beyond the fishing pier. A wonderful rosy
glow was over the world, and the ocean, which had not yet begun to
sparkle, lay smooth and dark.
"I can count three, four--no, seven, sails!" cried Margy.
"Fishing boats," Fred said. "Look--from here we can see eleven boats,
counting the sails and hulls."
Polly found another ship, barely visible, and Artie picked up another
and that gave them thirteen before they turned away to follow the road
that would take them back into the country.
"Say, I know a riddle!" exclaimed Artie. "Fred, why is the ocean never
a lonely place?"
"Why is the ocean never a lonely place?" repeated Fred slowly. "Because
it's full of fish, I guess."
"No," drawled Artie.
"I don't think that was a good answer," observed Margy. "Fish--horrid
old things--wouldn't keep any one, not even another fish, from being
lonely."
"What is the answer, Artie?" said Polly, after a little more thought on
the part of all. "We all give up."
"The ocean is never lonely because it is always filled with old Salts."
"Old salts?" queried Margy. "What does that mean?"
"Old Salts are old sailors, Margy," explained her brother impatiently.
"And the ocean is full of salt and the old Salts-- Well, I don't think
that's a very good riddle, Artie. No wonder we couldn't guess it."
"Maybe not," agreed Artie good-naturedly. "But lots of our riddles
aren't so very good."
"I wouldn't mind getting up at this time every morning," declared Fred,
who seemed to be unusually energetic. "What say, Artie, my lad?"
"Go on, if you like," Artie encouraged him. "But I am not going to get
up at five o'clock every morning--not if I know it."
"It's no fun getting up alone, so I'll have to stay in bed, I suppose,"
said Fred. "Well, if I am not famous for doing a day's work before
breakfast, you'll be the one to blame, Artie."
The farm where Mrs. Williamson bought eggs was some two miles from the
beach. The boys and girls were forced to walk in the middle of the
road, for the grass was wet with dew. Now and then a farmer's cart
rattled past them, but it was too early for the truck gardeners to be
out with their loads of green vegetables.
"Why don't we take the Riddle Club dues and buy a farm with 'em?"
suggested Artie, as they passed a particularly well-kept place which
apparently struck his fancy.
"The only reason," Fred returned, "is that if we took the dues out
of the bank, it would collapse. I don't want to be responsible for
wrecking the River Bend Bank--do you?"
Artie giggled and shook his head.
"I guess we won't add much to the account this summer," said Polly
seriously. "We have the dues for the last meeting, but even if we have
another meeting we won't be fussy about collecting. Mother said she
thought we should have our allowances to spend for vacation fun as long
as we were at the beach."
"I don't care if we don't add much to the amount in the bank," Fred
said. "But it does get me to have the boys always planning some way to
spend what we have. If Ward and Artie had had their way, we wouldn't
have a cent to show."
"Well, can't I even have ideas?" demanded the aggrieved Artie. "I
didn't say to buy a farm--I just asked why we couldn't."
"Isn't this where we turn in?" Polly suggested diplomatically.
They had reached the farm, and though Margy whispered that she didn't
believe the folks would be up, they found the farmer and his family
at breakfast. While the "farmeress," as Polly designated her, bustled
around and put three dozen eggs in a pail, her husband kept urging the
children to "pull up your chairs and have a bite to eat."
"We're going to have breakfast as soon as we get home, thank you," said
Polly, who was generally appointed spokesman by silent consent. "And we
had bread and milk before we started."
They found it a little difficult to get away, for the farmer's wife
liked to talk and did not often have visitors so early in the day. When
they finally were out on the road again, Artie announced that he had
changed his mind about buying a farm. He thought they could do better
with the money saved from their club dues.
"Did you hear that man?" he asked. "He said he gets up at four o'clock
the year around. Gee, in winter it's pitch dark at four o'clock! Why, I
wouldn't get up at four o'clock in winter for--for anything."
They brought tremendous appetites home with them for breakfast, but
Mrs. Williamson was ready for them. So was Jess, who scolded roundly
because the other girls had not wakened her. The morning sped by on
wings, for there was the prospect of a lively afternoon before them
to lend zest even to the tasks of putting their rooms in order and
sweeping off the porches before they went swimming.
"That's the only trouble with all these balconies," Margy confided
to Polly. "You have to sweep 'em off, just as though they were really
porches. I think there is such a thing as having too many balconies."
Sometimes the children sat about on the sand in their bathing suits and
found the hot sun so pleasant after their baths that they over-stayed
their time and one of the mothers had to come out and ring a huge
old-fashioned dinner bell to remind them that it was time to come in
and get dressed. However, this morning they cut their water sports
short and were dressed before lunch was ready.
"I see that nothing is to prevent our trip to town this afternoon,"
remarked Mrs. Larue, smiling, as they sat down at the table. "All I ask
is, please do not expect me to ride on the merry-go-round."
"We'll watch and let the youngsters do the wild things," Mrs.
Williamson said, ladling out the delicious clam chowder she had made
for them. "I dare say the carnival will be too full of motion for us."
"Oh, but, Mother, they have movies!" said Margy eagerly. "You like
moving pictures, Mother! You know you do!"
"Yes, I do," Mrs. Williamson admitted. "Well, we can see them and
then find a quiet place to sit while you investigate the rest of the
carnival."
There was a neat little bus that ran from one end of the beach to
the other and through the town. This passed Meeker Cottage on a side
street, and the mothers voted to ride to the carnival grounds. As
soon as the lunch dishes were out of the way, they started, and when
Artie saw the bus coming toward them with a huge sign fastened on the
front, reading "TO THE CARNIVAL," he almost ran to meet it. Or so Fred
declared.
"Here it is!" cried Artie, when they came in sight of the tents. "They
have a band! I hear it!"
"A band does certainly affect Artie," Mrs. Larue declared. "We'll have
to watch him or he might follow it as the children did the Pied Piper."
Artie scarcely heard what they were saying. His eyes were shining and
his feet were tapping merrily and he looked so happy and so thoroughly
alive that every one who passed him turned to smile.
"Let's go to movies first," suggested Margy. "Mother likes them."
The moving pictures were shown in a large tent. It was not as large
as it looked, for it was set over another tent, and in this darkened
inner place were the seats for the people who came to see the pictures.
If you think it is hard to find your way down the aisles of a dark
theater--especially if you are staring at the screen as you walk, so as
not to miss any of the picture being shown--you ought to try to find
your way into a tent as the Riddle Club members and their mothers did
that afternoon.
The chairs were fastened together in rows of six, and if the people in
them happened to be excitable when something happened on the screen
they were apt to jerk or twist about in their seats and in time this
moved the rows closer together or sent them sideways. As a result, some
of the rows were closed, some were open, a few were bunched so closely
together that it was impossible to walk between them, and at least one
row was completely overturned.
Margy and Polly made this discovery in a rather painful manner by
falling over the chairs.
"Ow--oh!" wailed Margy, in the darkness. "What was that?"
"Sh!" Polly warned her, trying not to laugh. "We walked into something.
Come on."
Jess grabbed Margy and dragged her along in the darkness until Fred
managed to find them an unoccupied row of seats into which they filed.
He had not counted enough, and he and Artie found themselves "left
over," as Ward expressed it.
"We'll go further down," Fred whispered.
"Wait for us at the door, will you, when you go out?"
The others promised him to wait, and Fred and Artie went down the
aisle, trying to find two more vacant seats.
"There's two," Artie said, in a shrill whisper, and darted ahead of
Fred.
He slipped into a row and sat down. Some one large and impressive
rose and shook him from her lap as though he had been a small and
troublesome lap dog.
"I sat on a lady," Artie explained, rejoining Fred, who laughed and
guided him into another row with better success.
The moving pictures were a great success, from Artie's point of view,
because they displayed a wonderful raft in one of the stories. It was
a trick raft, so Fred insisted, but Artie chose to believe that any
well-constructed raft could behave as well.
"I'm going to build a raft and then you'll see," he whispered to Fred.
"Better let Larry put in a motor for you," Fred counseled him. "Then
you can make better speed. I think a motor raft would be a wonder,
Artie."
"I'd rather pole it along," said Artie earnestly. "Motor boats are
always breaking down. Larry had engine trouble the other day."
"When he was coming from Blackberry Island?" said Fred. "Yes, I heard
about that. But Larry always fixes his engine. He's a dandy mechanic."
Then the people about them said "Sh!" and the boys turned their
attention to the picture which was delighting Margy, but which did not
have the appeal for Fred and Artie the raft picture had had, because it
was, to quote them, "all girls and clothes."
Ward blinked as they came out into the sunlight, after staying till the
intermission.
"Bet you were asleep!" Jess accused him.
"I was not!" he flashed back indignantly. "But I couldn't see very
well because a tall wide man sat in front of me. Let's go on the
merry-go-round."
"I hear it stopping now," Jess cried. "We'd better hurry."