THE RIGHT BOX
Hardly stopping to think why Trouble should claim as his the pussy that
was crying in the night, Mrs. Martin started out of the cabin. Her
husband, sleeping in the other cabin with Ted, heard her and asked:
“What’s the matter?”
“Trouble heard a cat crying. It’s out in the rain. He wants me to bring
it in,” his wife answered.
“A cat?” questioned Mr. Martin. Then with a little chuckle he added: “I
hope it isn’t a wildcat.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Ted, suddenly awakening. “A wildcat? Have we
got a gun to shoot it?”
“Now don’t get excited,” laughed his father. “This is a tame cat, I
guess. I’ll go out and get it.”
Slipping on his rubber coat, for it was still raining, Mr. Martin went
out on deck. Near the porthole, which was open a little way, but not
far enough to allow the cat to enter, was a crying, wet pussy, mewing
pitifully.
“You poor little thing!” exclaimed Mr. Martin, who was as fond of
animals as were his children. “We’ll take care of you. But I wonder how
you got here?”
The _Pine Tree_ was anchored some distance out from shore, and there
was no plank laid out on which the little cat might have crossed.
“I guess she fell into the lake and drifted down until she caught hold
of our anchor rope,” said Mr. Martin, as he brought the drenched pussy
down into the cabin. “She climbed up on the rope and so reached the
deck.”
“The poor little creature,” murmured Mrs. Martin.
“Let me have her--she’s my pussy!” demanded Trouble.
He wanted her in the bunk with him, but his mother said the wet fur of
the pussy would make the sheets damp.
“I’ll dry her off and give her some milk, and then you may have her,
William,” she said.
The little cat, warm and almost dry, was soon purring contentedly in
William’s arms and going to sleep with him, after lapping up some warm
milk, for Mrs. Martin, now that the boat was not pitching and tossing,
had lighted the gasoline stove.
Ted and Jan looked in at the sight of the stray pussy that had come to
their little brother out of the storm.
“Isn’t he cute!” murmured Jan.
“Who?” asked Ted, for she was looking at her little brother and the
cat--both asleep now.
“They’re both cute,” whispered Jan.
The remainder of the night passed quietly, and when morning came the
storm had passed and the river and lake gleamed in the sunshine.
“Now for another tour,” laughed Mr. Martin, as he and Ted hauled up the
anchor. “Back to the lumber camp!”
“And I hope we get the right box,” said Mrs. Martin.
They were going down the river the second day, and expected to reach
the lumber camp that afternoon when, as they turned a bend in the
stream, Ted and his father, who were out on deck, saw a small boat just
ahead of them. There were two little boys in the boat, and as the _Pine
Tree_ came into view the boys stood up and cried:
“Help! Help!”
“What’s the matter?” called Ted.
“Sit down, boys. Sit down!” ordered Mr. Martin. “You’ll upset!”
The little lads sat down, but they continued to cry for aid, and Mrs.
Martin and Jan came out to see what the trouble was.
“I guess they don’t know how to row, or else they’ve lost their oars
and don’t know how to get back where they came from,” said Mr. Martin,
as he slowed the _Pine Tree_ and guided her close to the small,
drifting craft.
His last guess proved correct. The boys were from a summer camp on the
river. They had set out in a boat, thinking they could manage to row,
but they knew little of how to do it. First one oar slipped overboard
and drifted away, and then the other. The little fellows were helpless
on the river, the current of which was carrying them away. So they
shouted for help when they saw the _Pine Tree_.
“I’ll tow them back to camp,” said Mr. Martin.
This he did, and received the thanks of the parents who had begun to
spread an alarm through the camp concerning the missing boys.
This turning back made the Curlytop family a trifle late, and it was
after dark when they reached the dock in the river alongside the lumber
camp.
“Hello, what brings you back so soon?” asked Mr. Teeter, as he came
down with a lantern to see who was tying up at his dock. “I thought
you’d be gone for a week longer.”
“We got the wrong box,” explained Mr. Martin. “Are the movie people
still here?”
“No, they’ve gone,” was the answer. “Left this morning.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Martin. “How unfortunate. Shall we ever get
those albums back?”
“When I say the movie people have gone, I mean all those have gone who
were here when you were,” went on Mr. Teeter. “But the head man is
here, Harry Portnay--the leading man I believe they call him. He’s here
with a couple of camera men. They’re going to make some pictures of
him alone.”
“Oh, if Mr. Portnay is here, he’s the very one I want to see,” stated
Mr. Martin. “I hope he has the right box.”
“He’s right over in that cabin,” said the lumberman who owned the tame
bears. “I guess he hasn’t gone to bed yet--there’s a light going.”
Mr. Martin, carrying the wrong box, hastened over to the cabin of the
movie actor. Mr. Portnay greeted the visitor, looked at the box the
Curlytops’ father held out, and exclaimed:
“That’s mine!”
“And I guess that’s mine!” exclaimed Mr. Martin, pointing to a box just
like it on the table. “Has that two old photograph albums in it?”
“Yes, it has,” answered the movie actor. “And has the box you have
there some wigs in?”
“It has,” answered Mr. Martin.
“Thank goodness! Now I can go on with my picture. I really need certain
wigs and false whiskers, because I used them earlier in the film, and
it would look strange to see me go into a room with one sort of beard
on and come out with quite another, which might happen. I am glad to
get my own box back again.”
“And I am glad to get back my right box, the one with the albums in
it,” said Mr. Martin, opening the second package and making sure the
Cardwell albums were within.
Then the actor explained how, in the hurry and bustle of getting to New
York and looking after matters there, one of his men had packed and
shipped the wrong box.
“I did not find it out until yesterday when I wanted to get ready to
finish making this picture,” said Mr. Portnay.
“And I did not open the box you shipped me by express, for of course
I thought it was the right one,” said Mr. Martin. “It was a series of
mistakes all around.”
“Well, I’m glad it has ended now,” said the actor.
The Martin family spent the next few days in the lumber camp, watching
pictures being made of Mr. Portnay in his false hair and beard, which
completely changed his appearance. But the making of these pictures was
not as interesting as the taking of those with the cowboys and bears in
them.
“Well,” announced Mr. Martin, a few days later, when Mr. Portnay had
packed his belongings and gone to join his moving picture company, “I
think we had better resume our tour. The new wheel has arrived for the
auto, and we’ll go on in that.”
“Whatever you do, be sure that you have the old albums in the right
box,” cautioned Mrs. Martin.
“I’ll not let them out of my sight again until I deliver them to Mr.
Cardwell,” declared Mr. Martin.
About a week later, after a jolly trip and some adventures, the touring
party reached Bentville and called on Mr. Cardwell.
“I’m glad to see you,” said Reuben, the brother of James Cardwell, who
had sent the albums. “I had a letter from Jim, and he told me you were
bringing these. But I was beginning to think you were lost.”
“The albums nearly were--more than once,” said Mr. Martin. “But I’m
glad you now have them.”
“So am I,” said the old man. “We think a great deal of these pictures,”
and he looked lovingly at the photographs of the twins and of the
sailor boy, lost at sea.
So the summer tour of the Curlytops came to a successful end. They
remained for a time in Bentville, and then started back home, reaching
there safely after some jolly adventures.
“It was the best summer we ever had,” declared Janet.
“Corking good times!” exclaimed Ted.
“But we didn’t see any nellifunts!” lamented Trouble.
“Never mind, maybe we shall next year,” said Janet, with a laugh.
THE END
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.