Part 9 (1/2)
”Same to you, sir. But, say, what happened to that little package I handed you for mother?”
”I put it on the table before retiring last night,” replied Mr.
Prescott. ”It must be there--but it isn't, is it?”
”Honest, now, dad, this isn't a joke, is it?”
”Not on my part, anyway,” replied the elder Prescott rather blankly.
”Now, I suppose that you're both playing a little joke on me, trying to make me curious and impatient,” laughed d.i.c.k's mother.
”But where is the package?” demanded d.i.c.k, exploring all around. His father lent a helping hand in the search.
”Oh, never mind, d.i.c.k, dear,” urged his mother. ”My surprise is bound to turn up. It couldn't have walked out of these rooms. Look at your own package, my boy.”
d.i.c.k turned to glance eagerly at a not very large box, against which rested a card bearing his own name. He saw, at a glance, that the box bore the imprint of one of the Gridley jewelers.
”I can guess!” cried d.i.c.k. ”I know what's in the box!”
”Suppose you made a wrong guess?” laughed his mother teasingly. ”Better open it and make sure.”
d.i.c.k picked up the box with trembling fingers.
”Mighty light, whatever it is,” he murmured. Then he took off the cover.
”What's this?” choked d.i.c.k. ”O-o-o-h!”
For all he saw resting in the box was a slip of white paper on which had been poorly printed, in lead pencil, the words:
”Merry Christmas, Master b.u.t.t-in!”
”Some of Dad's fooling,” laughed d.i.c.k a moment later.
”Not much it isn't,” retorted Mr. Prescott, taking a quick step forward.
”Let me see that paper.”
d.i.c.k handed it over, and his father read the words.
”What on earth does this mean?” he demanded. ”What we put in that box was your first watch, d.i.c.k. A silver-cased watch and a very neat gold-plated chain.”
One look at his father and a swift glance at his mother convinced the boy that they had not been parties to any joke. Yet where were the watch and chain?
”Who could have left this slip of paper here?” asked Mrs. Prescott.
”Hardly any one outside of the family,” replied Mr. Prescott. ”I don't understand this at all.”
”And mother's gift, too?” pondered d.i.c.k aloud, growing more puzzled every instant.
”Well, certainly no one else has been in this flat,” went on Mrs.
Prescott.