THE PRIZE OFFER
Silence followed the crash and the excited call of Dinah. Mrs. Bobbsey
thought something serious might have happened, and she said to her
husband:
“Perhaps you had better go to see what it is.”
That it was nothing serious was made plain a moment later, even before
Mr. Bobbsey reached the place, for Dinah could be heard laughing,
and between her chuckles came the voice of Sam Johnson, her husband,
complaining:
“Git offen me now! Does yo’ heah? Git offen mah haid! Mah good lan’,
such goin’s on as dere am heah! Git off, Ah tells yo’!”
When the Bobbseys entered the kitchen they saw Sam dancing around and
trying to reach something on his head. This something proved to be
Snoop, the big black cat, who was clinging with his claws to Sam’s
thick, kinky, black, woolly hair.
“Snoop suah does know when he’s got a soft place!” chuckled Dinah, who
was laughing so hard that she could not go to the aid of her husband.
“Take him offen me! Take him off, Ah tells yo’!” begged Sam, dancing
about the kitchen.
“I’ll get him,” offered Nan, who had trained Snoop to do a few tricks.
“Stand still, Sam,” begged the little girl, “and I’ll get Snoop off for
you! How’d he get on your head?”
“He done jumped there--dat’s how he got,” explained Sam, with a rueful
face as he did what Nan advised and remained in one spot. Then the
little girl brought a chair over close to the colored man-of-all-work,
and, climbing up, lifted Snoop down. As soon as the cat felt himself in
the hands of Nan, the animal released his claws from their firm hold in
Sam’s wool. It was this grip of the cat’s claws that had prevented Sam
himself from lifting Snoop down. The more he pulled on the animal the
tighter Snoop clung, for he was afraid of falling.
“What happened, Dinah?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, who, with her husband,
stood in the kitchen doorway, laughing at Sam’s rueful face.
“Oh, I guess dat cat Snoop mus’ ’a’ had a birfday himse’f,” explained
Dinah. “He’s dat smart an’ libely he mus’ feel laik he’s about one yeah
old--jumpin’ ’round laik he was.”
“What did he do?” asked Bert.
“Oh, he jump up on a chair when I wasn’t lookin’!” went on Dinah.
“An’ his tail knock a dish offen de table an’ bruk it--bruk de dish
Ah means. Den I grabbed up de broom to make a swoop at Snoop an’ just
den Sam come in an’ I hit him ’stid ob hittin’ de cat. An’ dat scared
Snoop, I guess, ’cause he make a jump an’ he git right up on top ob de
do’ and den--den----”
But Dinah was laughing so heartily at the recollection of what had
happened that she could not go on with the story. So Sam continued it
by adding:
“Dat cat he jes’ jump right down offen de do’ right on top ob mah
haid, an’ dar he stuck laik a chestnut burr! Golly, but he suah did
stick his claws in mah ha’r!” and then Sam chuckled.
“Well, I’m glad it was no worse,” remarked Mrs. Bobbsey, with a smile.
“One broken dish doesn’t matter, especially on a birthday. But perhaps
you had better take Snoop out, Nan, so he won’t make any more trouble
for Dinah.”
“I’ll give him a ride in Flossie’s doll’s go-cart that she got for
Daddy!” laughed Nan.
“No, you will not!” protested the other Bobbsey girl. “I’m going to
give my doll a ride. Come on, Daddy,” she begged. “Let’s take a walk
and ride my doll.”
“And let’s have a catch with my ball--I mean the ball I gave you!”
cried Freddie.
“Maybe I’d better put on my new robe and wear my new birthday sweater
before I go doll-carriaging and ball-playing,” suggested Mr. Bobbsey,
with a laugh.
“Well, don’t take the new wallet I gave you,” warned his wife. “I put a
penny in, for luck, and you might lose it.”
But after again admiring the robe and the sweater, the gifts of Bert
and Nan, Mr. Bobbsey laid them aside and had a few catches with
Freddie, using the new ball. Then he wheeled Flossie’s folding go-cart,
giving the little girl’s best doll a ride.
After that the four twins went off by themselves to play with some of
their boy and girl chums in the twilight of the fading June day, while
Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey sat on the porch.
“Do you really think,” asked Mrs. Bobbsey of her husband, “that you
will take the children to Cloverbank for the summer?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “What do you think? Mr. Watson seems to
want to have us come. I know he has a large place there with plenty of
room in the house, and there is a big farm, an orchard, and woods near
by where the twins could play. There is also a creek and a little lake,
I believe.”
“It sounds like a wonderful place to spend the summer,” responded his
wife. “And we always go somewhere. Just where is Cloverbank?”
“It is outside the town of Hitchville,” was the answer. “It’s about a
day’s ride in the automobile. We could get there without much trouble.”
“Well, if you think they really want us, suppose you write and tell
Mr. Watson if he will take the whole family for the summer we’ll be
glad to come,” suggested Mrs. Bobbsey.
“I know the children will like it,” remarked their father.
Twilight faded into darkness and, tired with their evening of play,
the Bobbsey twins came slowly back home. Soon Flossie and Freddie were
undressed and in bed, with Bert and Nan getting ready to follow them a
little later. But first the two older twins wanted to know more about
the plans for the summer.
“We have about decided to go to Cloverbank,” said Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Oh, goodie!” exclaimed Nan. “Then I can take out Baby May--I mean Baby
Jenny.”
“I hope there’s a place where I can swim and catch fish,” murmured Bert.
“Are you going to swim after the fish and catch them?” asked Nan, with
a laugh.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” he answered. “I can’t do both at the same
time, of course. Though once, when Danny Rugg and I were in swimming, a
fish brushed its tail against my legs and I almost caught it, only I
wasn’t quick enough.”
“I think there will be plenty of swimming, fishing, and other fun at
Mr. Watson’s Cloverbank place,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “And now I think you
and Nan had better see which of you will be first asleep,” he went on,
for it was getting late. Supper had been delayed longer than usual
because of the birthday celebration, and the children had been allowed
to stay up a little later than was customary.
“Oh, won’t we have fun in Cloverbank!” whispered Nan to her brother, as
they went up the stairs.
“I just guess we will!” he answered. “I can hardly wait for the time to
come!”
“Me either. Good-night!”
“Good-night!” answered Bert, as he went softly into the room where he
slept with Freddie. Nan slept with Flossie. Both the small twins were
sound asleep. So were Bert and Nan a little later.
School had not yet closed for the summer. There was about another
week of classes before the long vacation. And the morning after their
father’s birthday the Bobbsey twins started for the schoolhouse soon
after the first bell began ringing.
“Hello, Danny!” called Bert when he saw the Rugg boy coming up the
street. “Don’t you wish you had another snowball to break a church
window with?” and Bert laughed as he recalled what had happened in the
winter, when Danny had broken a stained-glass window and had blamed
Bert for it. But the truth had come out, through the loss of Danny’s
gold ring, and Danny had begged Bert’s pardon, so the boys were good
friends once more.
“Yes, a pile of snow would feel good just about now,” agreed Danny. “It
sure is a hot day! I’ll be glad when school closes.”
“So’ll I,” assented Bert. “Where you going this summer?”
“Down to the seashore, I guess,” Danny answered.
“We’re going to the country,” went on Bert. “To a place called
Cloverbank. It’s near Hitchville.”
“Oh, that’s a swell place!” cried Danny. “I know a fellow who went
there. There’s dandy fishing in the creek!”
“I’m glad of it,” said Bert. Then the boys and girls passed into the
schoolhouse. I cannot say that any one was much interested in lessons
that day. It was too hot to study much. Realizing this, the teacher in
the room where Bert and Nan sat had an idea. She was trying to get the
children to write a “composition,” which, as most of you know, isn’t
easy work.
“You children will find it much easier to write compositions,” Miss
Skell said, “if you will take as subjects something you know about.
Instead of trying to write about the stars, as some of you did last
week, try to write about something on earth. You don’t know much about
the stars--no one does. But you may know a great deal about a nest that
some birds have built in your apple tree. So write about those birds.
“And while I am talking about compositions,” the teacher went on, “I
want to say that I am going to offer a prize to the boy or girl who,
during the vacation, will write the best story, or composition, about
something that happens to him or her this summer. Write about something
real, in the best way you can, and bring the story back to school when
it opens again in the fall.
“The best compositions will be read before the class, and I will decide
who is to get the prize, which will be a set of books. The winner may
choose the books from a list I will have on my desk.”
Murmurs of delight and surprise were heard about the room. This was
something new--a prize for a summer composition! At once the children,
who had been dull and listless because of the heat, seemed bright and
cheerful. Miss Skell smiled at the success of her plan.
“Now we will have some practice work in writing compositions,” she went
on. “You will be better able to do the work this summer when there is
no school if you practice a bit now. So we will begin!”
Every boy and girl was most eager now, especially Nan Bobbsey. She was
always good at composition work--perhaps not the best in the room, but
certainly better than Bert, though he tried. But, really, Bert cared
more about playing games than about writing compositions.
“Oh, if I could only win that prize!” thought Nan. “It would be
wonderful! I wonder what I can find to write about? Perhaps something
may happen while we are at Cloverbank.”
Danny Rugg raised his hand, indicating that he wanted to ask a question.
“What is it, Danny?” inquired the teacher.
“How long must the composition be?” the boy asked. “I mean how many
pages?”
“Oh, as many as you like,” was the reply. “But it must not be too
short!” went on Miss Skell quickly. “I want more than a few sentences.
Try to make a story about what happens to you this summer--a story such
as you might read in a book. Who knows--perhaps some of you, when you
grow up, may write books. I hope you will.”
“I’d love to write a book!” murmured Nan to Nellie Parks, who sat with
her.
“I’d rather read books than write them,” whispered Nellie.
“Quiet now, children, if you please,” suggested Miss Skell, for she had
allowed a little whispering following her announcement of the prize
offer. “Now we will begin our composition work. You may each write me
a short one on the subject of what happened to you yesterday after
school--in the afternoon, evening, or night!”
Just as Bert Bobbsey was settling himself to his task, the door opened
and a girl from one of the higher classes entered with a note which she
gave to Miss Skell. The teacher read it quickly, and then said in a low
voice:
“Mr. Tarton wants to see you in his office, Bert.”
What could this mean? Mr. Tarton was the principal of the school.
Usually it was not very pleasant to have to go to his office.
Bert slowly left his seat. He, too, was wondering what could have
happened.