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! Whatever 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.
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.
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.
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.