FAIR DAY DAWNS
As is the invariable custom with all thrifty farm folk, the Treat
family was astir as soon as the sun had begun his journey across the
sky. Just as the first bright streaks of light shot up from the horizon
in the east, Mr. Treat went to the stock barns to do his morning
chores, and his good wife was busy in her kitchen preparing the morning
meal. The boys were eager to lend a hand--an extraordinary state of
affairs, to say the least, but they were so brimming full of excitement
at the prospects of the day before them that finally they were banished
from the kitchen, their mother declaring them nuisances and far more of
a hindrance than a help.
As the sound of the clicking gate leading from the barnyard to the
vegetable garden at the rear of the house proclaimed Mr. Treat’s
return, his wife poured out the steaming, fragrant coffee and Tom was
summoned to carry the savory ham and eggs to the table. Mrs. Treat was
one of those women who realize that a farmer must dilly-dally at his
meals no more than any business man, and seldom indeed was this family
asked to wait for a meal.
“Looks like a fine day ahead of us,” Mr. Treat reported as he opened
the door. “The little fog in the valley is clearing fast, and by noon
it will be warm enough for our picnic dinner in the maple grove.”
“Evening red and morning gray
Sets the traveler on his way,”
quoted Mrs. Treat. “I was not worrying about the weather, for that sign
never fails.”
“Goody! Goody!” exulted Dick. “Let’s hurry, father.”
“Well, all the stock has been fed, and my work is done. If mother will
pack the lunch, we’ll be off within the hour. I’ve taken a look at the
automobile and everything is in shape for the start.”
“I’d much rather go in the carriage, with Browny,” remonstrated Mrs.
Treat nervously. “You know, father--”
“Oh, father, please don’t!” chorussed Tom and Harry in a breath.
“I’ll drive Browny!” cried cheery little Dick, always ready to
acquiesce to any plan.
“Now, mother,” wheedled Mr. Treat, “don’t you worry! That machinist
told me a lot of things about the auto, and you know I drove to
Springfield and back again last night after supper. I made the return
trip alone, too, and so nothing’s going to happen to-day. Boys,”
dismissing the subject, “help pack the hamper, and I’ll fill the
gasolene tank.”
Boys and girls who have lived all their years in the city have scant
idea of all the good things that went into the Treat hamper that
morning.
There was a crisp salad of celery, apples, nuts and lettuce, dozens
and dozens of sandwiches with a liberal filling of boiled ham,
pickles--tomato pickles, cucumber pickles, pickled pears, pickled
onions--cold chicken, sliced ham, baked beans, mince pie, pumpkin pie,
doughnuts, and a delicious cake.
The preparation of the lunch was Mrs. Treat’s special pride, and all
her housewifely art was exerted to make it the best her ovens could
produce. As she spread the snowy napkins over the top of the bountiful
feast, she said:
“This lunch basket is rather large, but it will set in that hamper on
the auto very easily. I’ve packed this basket tight, and the things
won’t jiggle at all. Now, Tom, you take hold of this side, and Harry,
you may take this, and tell your father to crowd in newspapers securely
about it so it can’t move an inch. I always think when I see an auto
go spinning by that the trunk’ll surely bump off when they go over the
thank-e-ma’ams on the hill.”
“Mama said to fix it tight,” cautioned Tom, as the basket was lifted to
its place in the larger hamper on the rack.
“I’ll do that, my son, and now run in and bring me some more papers.
This lunch must carry safely, or our day will be spoiled.”
“There!” sighed Mr. Treat, as he tested the hamper to see that no
amount of bumping would disturb the lunch, “that will do, but I will
let the lid be open, for mother’ll be sure to want to tuck in something
else at the very last moment. Come along, boys, we’ll get our hats and
then be off,” and they merrily trooped into the house.
Jealous Billy had not been idle all this time. Indeed, he had been
spying out the situation from a favorite hiding-place in the hay mow,
and now he descended to reconnoiter further.
“How am I ever to get to the Fair in that? There’s no place underneath
where I can hang on. I can’t get inside, for they’ll see me first
thing, and then I’ll be taken into the barn and securely locked up.
That was the treatment I received in the summer when the Circus came to
Springfield. I can’t ride anywhere that I can see.”
Once more he circled around the machine.
“If there was only a top to the machine, I might manage to ride on it.
To be sure, it might prove rather slippery, but I’d dig in my toes.
There would be one disadvantage, though. I’d receive the full benefit
of all the bumps on the road, perched up there.”
With a saucy side toss of his magnificent head, he paused suddenly to
chuckle:
“Ha, ha! Ho, ho! Just the very place for me! Ha, ha, ha!” and with one
light spring he was up beside the hamper.
“Plenty of room with a few of those papers out of the way,” so he
proceeded to dispense with them by eating them--not a very appetizing
meal, but goats are not the most epicurean of beasts. When they had
been disposed of in this manner, he stepped daintily inside the hamper,
though it was a very tight fit. Then his eyes popped open and a broad
smile lighted up his countenance, and he wiggled his chin whiskers, a
trick he had to express extreme pleasure.
“What luck for Billy! Breakfast all laid! And Mrs. Treat’s best
cooking, too.”
With a little flirt of his horns, wicked Billy brought the cover down
over himself and the lunch basket, and to all outward appearances
everything was very snug.
“Good thing this is so large,” ruminated Billy. “Really it is more of
a rattan trunk than a hamper. I suppose it is meant to do duty for a
trunk on short trips,” and he settled himself comfortably, and only
just in time, for Mr. Treat was even then calling in his hearty, jovial
way: “All aboard!” and was helping Mrs. Treat into the tonneau.
After an argument as to whom belonged the honor place--the seat beside
the driver--Tom was installed there, while the younger boys were
tucked in beside their mother, pacified by the promise that on the
return trip it would be turn-about.
In the excitement of getting off, Mr. Treat forgot all about the
unfastened hamper, and so with a few preliminary coughs and rumbles,
the machine glided smoothly out of the drive on to the highway--a
_six_-passenger car.
* * * * *
From the time the boys had been out of bed, they had been popping to
the front window in the kitchen at every noise made by passing vehicles.
“Mama, mama, there go the Ripleys!” they complained, eager to be off.
“We’ll never get there if we don’t start pretty soon,” they fairly
groaned.
“Never mind, never mind,” Mother Treat comforted. “We are going in the
automobile, you know, and we will overtake all those people before they
are so very many miles on their way.”
And now that they were skimming along so rapidly, they really began to
pass their neighbors in their slower, horse-drawn conveyances.
Farmer Treat honked merrily as he rolled up behind them and as horses
were turned to one side to give liberal passing room, the boys
answered the friendly greetings with happy shouts and waving caps.
“We will beat the whole township to the Fair,” predicted Tom, ever full
of confidence.
“B-b-b-b-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-r!” came a hoarse, grating sound from the
depths of the auto as they reached the first slight incline which began
the long, steady half-mile mount of Rex Hill.
Mr. Treat, full of fear at the unusual noise, put on the emergency
brake and brought the car to a standstill with a sudden jolt.
“Mercy me!” shouted Mrs. Treat, from the tonneau. “Let me out! I told
you something would happen and we’d all be killed. Let me out!” she
repeated, fumbling frantically at the door.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the boys, as they began to tinker with
spark plug, brake and lever.
“Let those be!” commanded Mr. Treat, not in the best of humor, and
trying in vain to conceal his uneasiness. “I’ll soon have it fixed,”
and he continued his search for the cause of the trouble.
“It isn’t the tires as I can see, and nothing’s wrong with the sparker,
either,” he said nervously. “And there comes the George Petersons, and
he’ll have a spell if he sees me in difficulty. He is always glad to
laugh at one in trouble. Besides, I know he’s wanted an auto for a long
time, and a chance to laugh at--Mother, come on! Climb in. It’s all
right. I must have fed the engine too much gasolene. Climb in and we’ll
be hustling along.”
All went well until they topped the hill and struck a new cinder road
when b-b-bu-ur-r-r-r! came the same dismal, warning sound.
“Land sakes! What_ever_ can be the trouble now? I am getting that
fidgety that I sha’n’t be able to enjoy anything at the Fair when we do
get there!” fretted Mrs. Treat.
“I’m pretty certain it is the gear,” said her husband, “or else the
carbureter.”
“Perhaps it is the spark plug,” offered knowing Tom.
“Mightn’t it be the batteries,” suggested Dick with a wise expression
in his great blue eyes, and a frown on his face.
“Or may be one of the differentials,” added Harry, eager to be of help
to his father.
“Well, I am pretty sure it is a judgment on us,” responded Mrs. Treat.
“I think we had better turn back and get old Browny and the surrey.
We’ll be sure to get there some time then. Now I don’t know that we
ever shall.”
“What did I do?” questioned Mr. Treat as the engine began to respond to
his vigorous cranking. “I’ve cranked and cranked and _cranked_, and why
it should begin now and not ten minutes ago is beyond my comprehension.”
If the driver had been of an inquiring turn of mind and had conducted
his investigations a little further, he might have located the real
cause of all his difficulties.
In the course of the last half hour, Billy Whiskers had been feasting
himself upon the pies and cakes and other delicacies stored in the
hamper.
“My, what would Browny think if he could see me now!” he thought. And
it was his roar of delight that resulted in the first consternation of
the inexperienced chauffeur.
“Deary me!” thought the goat when the auto brought up with a violent
jerk. “I wish Mr. Treat would be more careful. I’ll surely be caught
now, and he will be the death of me if he finds me in here,” and a
nervous shiver or two ran down his spine. But when all quieted down and
the machine was making good time over the country roads, Billy resumed
his repast, only to be interrupted once or twice by his chuckles of
bubbling good nature.
At last, even his appetite being fully satisfied, he began to lay
further plans for his outing.
“In the first place,” he mused, “how am I ever to get out of this box?
My legs are cramped, and I ache in every bone from remaining so long in
such an awkward position. I’ll stretch a bit and see where we are, at
the same time,” and he cautiously raised the hamper lid with his head.
“Well, well! If there isn’t the gate to the grounds. How glad I am to
see it. I’ll crouch down here and ride right in with the family.”
But the flowers on Mrs. Treat’s hat proved his undoing, for they waved
so temptingly near, Billy could not resist one little nibble to see
if they were as delicious as they looked. Feeling the twitch as his
teeth fastened upon them, that lady turned suddenly, and Billy, making
a hurried effort to escape her eye, dodged down behind. Unfortunately,
he lost his balance and fell into the dust, and it was only due to the
fact that the hamper was strapped on securely that he did not carry
that along. He rolled over and over in the deep dust of the unpaved
roadway until his beautiful white coat was soiled and grimy.
[Illustration]
Regaining his footing with a bound, he shook himself to free his coat
of the dirt and to express his disgust.
“’Twill never do to let a trifle like this keep me from the Fair. I
must gain an entrance somehow,” and he ran as fast as his fleet legs
could carry him.
[Illustration]
He made a desperate effort to overtake the automobile, now almost at
the gate, but just as the machine rolled past the entrance and into
the enchanted territory, Billy dashed up, only to be confronted by the
gateman, who nimbly swung the wide gate back into place--and Billy was
outside!
“Beaten!” he gasped, gazing wrathfully after the fast disappearing
automobile. “How can I get inside of that high fence?”
The gateman threw a few stones at Billy to chase him away, and so he
sadly and slowly began to patrol the fence, searching for some place
that would offer easy entrance. Two or three times he was half way
under, squirming his way in like a common dog, but a crowd of boys
found him and, taking advantage of his helpless position, threw sticks
and stones, and forced him to withdraw.
Coming to a high bluff that overlooked the grounds, he climbed it and
lay down for a few moments of rest, to rearrange his disordered plans.
[Illustration]
He could see the tops of the many tents and the roof of the grandstand,
dazzlingly white in its new coat of paint, and the long, curving course
of the race track stretching before it. All of these things he quickly
recognized from the descriptions he had heard the boys give, and then,
too, it resembled the Circus to a striking degree.
About the tents and buildings he could see the crowds beginning
to surge. He could hear the barking of many dogs, the cackling of
chickens, the lowing of the cows, the baaing of the sheep, the
squealing of the pigs, and the confused murmur of the people,--a great
hubbub down there, but just a faint murmur at this distance.
“Oh, if only I were there! It must be glorious. See that beautiful
horse trotting around the track at the far side--and there, there is
our auto, I’m sure of it! I wonder what Mrs. Treat will say when she
discovers that something has happened to her fine lunch. But here, I
must gain entrance to these grounds by hook or by crook.”
He thought a long time, but one plan after another was cast aside as
being too foolhardy, or unworthy his prowess, or beneath his dignity.
At last, just below him, he spied little Dick coming along beside his
mother.
“Ah, there is my playfellow!” and with no thought but to join him, he
bounded over the forbidding fence.
“Oh, Billy, Billy!” shouted surprised Dick. “I’m so glad to see you,”
but Billy needed just one quick glance at Mrs. Treat’s face to realize
that it was wise for him to keep his distance and away he scurried,
free as when on his native hills in far-away Switzerland.