ALMOST A TRAGEDY
"Strike a light!"
"Are we off the rails?"
"No, you idiot. Don't you feel the car going just the same
as before? And he's wheeling her a mile a minute at that.
Hurry with that light, somebody!" commanded Billy.
At this moment they heard the sliding door of the manager's
stateroom come open with a crash.
"Now, here's trouble for certain!" muttered the Missing Link.
"The Boss is on deck."
"I guess my friend Teddy has got into trouble," said Phil
Forrest, slipping quickly from his bed on top of a pile of gaudy
circus posters. "Ted! Ted, where are you?"
There was no answer.
"What is all this row about?" thundered the manager, stalking
down the car, clad only in his pajamas.
"We do not know, sir. We are trying to find out. I am afraid my
friend has fallen out of bed and hurt himself," answered Phil.
"I hope it killed him!" bellowed Mr. Snowden. "The idea of
waking up the whole car at this time of the night! This nonsense
has got to stop, and right quick at that. Where's that light?"
Phil was groping about the floor, trying hurriedly to
locate Teddy. But no Teddy was to be found.
Finally a match flickered; after lurching about the car the man
with the match finally succeeded in locating the bracket lamp
near the end of the car.
Anxious eyes peered about them in the dim light.
"Look!" howled Rosie the Pig.
A pair of wildly kicking legs were seen protruding from one of
the big paste cans, these cans being made like the big garbage
cans that one sees in backyards in the city.
"It's Teddy! There he is!" cried Phil, springing forward.
"He's gone in the paste can head first!" yelled another of
the crew.
"Help me get him out; he has stuck fast!" shouted Phil, tugging
desperately at his companion's heels.
The car set up a roar of laughter at the ludicrous sight.
To Phil, however, it was no laughing matter. The paste can
was nearly full of paste and of about the same consistency
as dough in a bread pan. It was thick and wickedly blue,
for it had been mixed with bluestone to preserve it until
required by the billposters.
"Pull him out, you idiots!" bellowed the car manager. "If he
isn't dead now, he can't be killed. Pull him out and throw
him overboard!"
Phil flashed an indignant look at Mr. Snowden.
By this time others had come to his assistance. It required
their united efforts to rescue Teddy from his
perilous predicament.
They hauled him out and laid him on the door.
"Teddy, Teddy!" cried Phil, but Tucker made no reply. In the
first place his mouth was so full of paste that he could not
utter a sound. Again, he was half unconscious, nearly smothered
and still unable to breathe freely.
Phil grabbed off the jacket of his own pajamas and began wiping
the blue paste from the unfortunate lad's mouth, eyes and nose.
A happy thought appeared to strike the car manager. He dashed to
the sink, and, quickly filling a pail of water, ran back to the
spot where Teddy was lying.
Snowden turned the pail bottom side up, apparently intending to
douse the water into Tucker's face.
Instead, the contents of the pail landed on Phil Forrest's head,
spreading itself over his bare back, and trickled down in
rivulets over Teddy's face.
The water was almost ice cold.
"Wow!" howled Phil, springing to his feet. "Who did that?"
"I did, and I'll do it again," jeered the car manager.
"Get me another pail, but I'll do the spilling this time.
Don't you dare duck me again, or I'll settle with you after
I get through with my friend."
One of the crew grabbed up the pail to run for water. This time
the pail was handed to Phil who instantly began mopping the face
of young Tucker.
In a moment or so Teddy began to gasp. His dive had nearly been
the end of him.
"Get a net," he murmured as he slowly came to, whereat everyone
save the car manager laughed loudly. "Wha--what happened?
Did we run off the track?"
"No, you took a high dive into a can of paste," jeered Billy.
"You're the champion high diver of Car Three."
Mr. Snowden, stooping over, grabbed the luckless Teddy by the
collar and jerked him to his feet.
"Get up, you lummox!" he commanded.
Teddy blinked very fast. Mr. Snowden began to shake him.
Phil stepped forward quickly and pushed the car manager away.
"Wha--what!" growled Snowden, an angry light leaping into
his eyes.
"You let the boy alone," commanded Phil. "Because he has had an
accident is no reason why you should punish him!"
"You--you--you--"
Phil paid no heed to him, but led the unsteady Teddy to the far
end of the compartment.
"You get off this car, both of you!" yelled the manager.
"What, with the train running sixty miles an hour?" questioned
Phil, turning slowly.
"Yes; I don't care if it kills you both. Good riddance--good job
if it did."
"I think you have another guess coming, Mr. Car Manager," replied
Phil calmly.
Snowden glared at the Circus Boy who had thus defied him; then
turning sharply on his bare heel he strode back to his stateroom.
A broad grin appeared on the faces of the car crew.
"I guess that will be about all for this evening,"
announced Rain-in-the-Face.
"Is there a rope on this car?" asked Phil.
"Yes; what do you want a rope for?" replied Billy.
"He's going to complete the job by hanging the Boss from a brake
beam," spoke up Rosie.
"Not quite as bad as that, I guess," laughed Phil. "I am going
to tie my friend Teddy in his bed. There is no telling what may
happen to him, if I do not. Teddy, had we happened to be sound
sleepers you would in all probability be dead by this time."
Tucker shivered.
"That would please Mr. Snowden too much, you know."
"Then tie me in. I don't want to please him. Did he duck me
while I was asleep?"
"He tried to. As it chanced my bare back got most of the
ducking," answered Phil with a short laugh, for he believed the
car manager had purposely poured the water on him.
"But he shook me," protested Teddy.
"He did that," chorused the crew. "What are you going to do
about it?"
"Well," reflected Tucker; "I think he and I will fight a duel
tomorrow at sunrise."
Once more all hands turned in, Phil humorously making a pretense
of tying his companion to his "berth." As a matter of fact, Phil
did tie the rope about Teddy's wrist, wrapping the free end about
his own arm, and thus the boys went to sleep once more.
It seemed as if they had been asleep only a few minutes when they
were suddenly startled into wakefulness by a loud noise.
This time, however, it was not a yell, but a roar.
Phil sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Get up, you lazy good-for-nothings!" bellowed the car manager,
dancing up and down the aisle, still in his pajamas, his hair
standing up, his eyes wild and menacing.
"Is that all?" muttered Teddy, sinking back into a sound
sleep again.
Phil sprang from the pile of papers on which he had been
sleeping, landing lightly on the floor in his bare feet.
"Good morning, Mr. Snowden. I hope you had a good night's
sleep," greeted the Circus Boy.
Snowden glared at the lad, as if trying to make up his mind
whether or not Phil was making sport of him. But there was
only pleasantness in the face of Phil Forrest.
"Huh!" grunted the manager. Then he once more began racing up
and down the car, roaring at his men, threatening and expressing
his opinion of them in the way with which Phil already had
become familiar.
Teddy lay curled up, with one foot protruding from beneath
the covers. Whether or not he had done this purposely, it
was difficult to decide. Be that as it may, Mr. Snowden
caught sight of the pink foot. He rose to the bait like a
bass to a fly.
In another second he had pounced upon the foot. Grabbing it
with both hands he gave it a violent tug. Tucker responded.
He came slipping from the "berth," throwing the quilts before
him as he did so. The quilts landed over the car manager's head.
Then came Teddy Tucker.
Ted landed, full on Mr. Snowden's head, with a wild yell.
Down went the manager and the Circus Boy, with the latter on top,
in a writhing, howling, confused heap.