TROUBLE’S PUSSY
Mr. Martin, hearing what his wife said, gave a quick look ahead across
the stormy lake. Then, seeing no other boats in his course, he fastened
the steering wheel, so the _Pine Tree_ would keep on in a straight
line, and down into the cabin he hurried. He saw just what the others
had seen--the pile of valises and also the wooden box with the cover
opened.
“It surely is the wrong box!” said the father of the Curlytops. He
noticed a collection of wigs, false beards and mustaches, together with
a number of tubes of colored paint such as actors use whether in the
movies or on the stage.
“Where are Mr. Cardwell’s albums?” Ted asked.
“I suppose they are back in New York in Mr. Portnay’s studio,” said his
father.
“Unless he has discovered his mistake by this time,” suggested Mrs.
Martin, “and has sent the right box on to us at the lumber camp.”
“He wouldn’t know we were at the lumber camp,” said her husband. “We
only stopped there by accident.”
“But Mr. Portnay knows that his company was there, making films,” went
on Mrs. Martin. “And he might think that they could tell where we were.
I say, let’s go back to the lumber camp and see if the right box isn’t
there.”
Mr. Martin thought this over a moment or two, while the Curlytops and
Trouble looked out of small windows, or portholes, in the cabin, noting
how rough the lake was growing. The storm was getting worse, and the
wind was howling loudly.
“There has been a mix-up and mistake about this box of albums from the
start,” said Mr. Martin. “I don’t see how Mr. Portnay could make a
mistake a second time and send us his paints and false wigs in place of
the old books.”
“The boxes look exactly alike,” said Mrs. Martin. “I guess these
movie people are so busy thinking about the parts they are going to
play that they don’t pay any attention to much else. Or perhaps Mr.
Portnay’s man may have caused the mix-up.”
“Well, it’s a mix-up all right,” her husband said. “And I think your
advice, to go back to the lumber camp, is the best thing we can do. As
you say, that movie man may come there or send the box there. We’ll go
back.”
“I’d like to be out of this storm,” went on Mrs. Martin. “It is getting
much worse.”
“Yes,” agreed her husband, “it is. I think I can turn back, though,
with safety if I use care.”
“But if we have the movie man’s things that he puts on his face to make
him look different in pictures, how can he act?” asked Ted.
“I guess he can easily get another make-up box,” replied his father.
“But it is impossible for us to get other Cardwell albums, and the
pictures of the twins, now dead, and the young boy lost at sea. We
simply must get back the right box. So I’ll go up and turn the boat
around. Better hold fast, everybody, for it will be rougher going the
other way.”
“I’ll come up on deck and help you steer,” offered Ted.
“No, Son, you’d better stay below with your mother, and help straighten
up the cabin,” suggested his father. “Pick up the valises and wrap up
that wrong box. Mr. Portnay will want it back, I think.”
The Curlytops helped their mother set things to rights, and then,
indeed, they had to hold on, for the _Pine Tree_ pitched and tossed
in the storm, much as might her namesake in a forest with a big wind
blowing.
Once it almost seemed that the boat was going to turn over, so far did
she tilt to one side. It began to rain, too, and Mr. Martin, up on
deck, had to put on his rubber coat. But he was a good sailor, and knew
how to manage the boat.
In the afternoon, following a hasty meal on cold victuals, for Mrs.
Martin did not want to light the stove in the storm, the boat seemed to
ride easier.
“I guess it’s going to clear off,” said Janet.
But it was not that. Mr. Martin was near shore now, and under the lee
of a big hill, which kept off some of the wind.
When evening came the touring Curlytops and their family were back
where they had started from--the place where the river ran out of the
lake.
“We’ll tie up here for the night, and when morning comes we’ll navigate
down the river,” said Mr. Martin. “We’ll get to the lumber camp more
quickly than we came away from it, for we shall be going downstream
instead of against the current.”
“Suppose the movie people are gone--what then?” asked Ted.
“Well, the men in the lumber camp will know where they went,” answered
his father. “We’ll find them sooner or later, and get back the right
box of albums.”
It was still raining hard, but the wind did not blow so fiercely in the
sheltered place where the _Pine Tree_ was anchored. Jan was glad of
this, for she did not like rough weather.
It was in the middle of the night, when the storm seemed to have
quieted down a bit, that Trouble awakened his mother by calling to her.
Mrs. Martin was ever on the alert for the calls of her children in the
night, and she had formed a habit of answering them when but half
awake herself. Usually it was only a drink that William wanted.
But this time, when Mrs. Martin became aware that he was calling to her
from his little bunk in the sleeping cabin, she did not hear him ask
for water.
“Mommie! Mommie!” murmured the little fellow.
“Yes, dear, what is it?” asked his mother sleepily.
“Why don’t you let the pussy in?” asked Trouble.
“What pussy, Trouble?” she asked, not yet quite awake. “There isn’t any
pussy here. You must be dreaming. Go to sleep again.”
“Yes they is a pussy!” insisted the little fellow, sitting up in his
berth. His mother could see him in the dim little electric light. “They
is a pussy and she’s mewing and she wants to come in out of the rain.
Bring her in, Mommie.”
Mrs. Martin thought Trouble was imagining all this, or that it was part
of a dream. Often he had dreams and went right on with them when he
awoke.
“I’ll get you a drink, and then you can go back to sleep again,” his
mother said, as she got up.
“Pussy wants a drink, too,” declared Trouble. “She wants a drink of
milk. There! Didn’t you hear her mew?”
There came a lull in the storm and, to her surprise, Mrs. Martin heard,
through a porthole opened for ventilation on the leeward side of the
boat, the mewing of a cat.
“Why, Trouble!” she exclaimed, “there _is_ a pussy out in the rain. The
poor thing!”
“It’s my pussy!” declared the little fellow. “Bring her in!”