Part 4 (1/2)
”I didn't chase after fire-engines. You said you'd watch my bag and----”
”I did watch it!”
”Oh, yes, fine! Let someone pinch it right under your eyes! I notice you managed to keep your own bag all right!”
”Oh, dry up!” growled Tom.
Silence ensued until a conductor appeared and demanded tickets. Yielding their transportation, the boys were informed that they were in a parlour car and must pay twenty-five cents apiece to ride to Brimfield. Tom laid hold of his bag with a sigh, but Steve unemotionally produced a quarter and so Tom followed suit. When the conductor had disappeared again through the curtain Steve said:
”Why didn't they tell us this was a parlour car? How were we to know?”
”They just wanted our money, I suppose,” replied Tom bitterly.
”Everybody in this place is after your money. I wish I was home!”
”So do I,” agreed Steve gloomily. More silence then, until,
”I don't see how he ever did it,” remarked Tom. ”I had both bags between my feet. He was certainly slick. I suppose when he told me to look at 'Four-Fingered Phillips' I sort of turned around and switched my legs away from the bags. But he must have been mighty quick.”
”Of course he was quick,” said Steve contemptuously. ”I warned you against that fellow.”
”That's all right, but I'll bet he'd have played the same trick if it had been you instead of me,” replied Tom warmly.
”I'll bet he wouldn't!”
”All right!” Tom shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window. They had the compartment to themselves, which, in view of the remarks which were pa.s.sed, was fortunate.
”It isn't all right, though,” pursued Steve. ”That bag had all my things in it: pajamas, brushes and comb and collars and handkerchiefs and--and everything! I'd like to know what I'm going to sleep in!”
”I dare say we'll get our trunks to-night,” said Tom soothingly. ”If we don't you can have my pajamas.”
”What'll you wear?” asked Steve more graciously.
”Anything. I don't mind. I say, Steve, let's see what's in the bag he left!”
”Would you?” asked Steve doubtfully.
”Why not? He's got yours, hasn't he?”
Steve lifted the suit-case to the seat beside him and tried the catch.
It was not locked and opened readily. There wasn't a great deal in it: a pair of lavender pajamas at which Steve sniffed sarcastically, a travelling case fitted with inexpensive brushes and things and marked ”A. L. M.,” a pair of slippers, a magazine, a soiled collar, one clean handkerchief and a grey flannel cap with a red B sewed on the front above the visor.
”Wonder whose they are,” mused Tom, as Steve spread the trousers of the pajamas out and viewed them dubiously. They were several sizes two large for Steve, but they might do if his trunk didn't come in time. ”I suppose that fellow swiped this bag, found there wasn't anything valuable in it and thought he'd swap it for another.”
”Maybe there was something valuable in it when he got it,” said Steve.
He tossed the things back and closed it again. ”It's a pretty good suit-case; better than mine. Do you suppose it would do any good to advertise?”
”I don't suppose so. Besides, that cop said that he'd have them search the p.a.w.nshops. If the police don't find it I guess an advertis.e.m.e.nt wouldn't do any good, Steve.”
”Well, I suppose there's no use crying over spilled milk,” replied the other, setting the suit-case back in its place. ”After all I can buy new things for five dollars or so and I guess father will send me the money when I tell him about it.”