“Repack! Why, what’s the matter with that packing? That wasn’t done the way Blossom does his—fill a pillowcase and hammer it down with a baseball bat—that’s all hand work.” He came nearer and whispered in Owen’s ear: “I don’t want it repacked. I put in a couple of old bottles that I picked up down back of Porter’s. There’ll be something doing when mother unpacks them.”
Donald came out of his bedroom. “Do you think it will go?” he asked of neither in particular, gazing doubtfully at the problem.
“Of course it will,” said Duncan, promptly, “if you put weight enough on it. Try it, Bob, and see what your hundred and eighty will do.”
“Hundred sixty-eight,” corrected Owen, as he mounted the incline. The lid sank to within four inches of its proper place.
“I’m afraid we’ve got to take some things out,” sighed Donald.
“If you take out anything, it will have to be that box of specimens,” remarked Duncan, shrewdly. The box of specimens was the one thing which Donald would not want to leave behind.
Donald meditated.
“Let’s try to snap it,” proposed Duncan. “Bob and I will get on one end and jump it down. You try to catch the fastening when it comes right. Then when we get one tight, we’ll down the other.”
This method actually proved effective. Donald caught the fastening at one end at the fourth attempt; the weight of all three brought the second fastening into place. The lid fortunately was strongly made and the hinges held. Donald locked the trunk and put the key in his pocket, while Owen and Duncan pulled the strap to a hole beyond the power of any porter to loosen. Then they drew long breaths and contemplated the work of their hands.
“It’s like a bale of hay,” said Duncan in triumph. Donald, however, seemed not wholly satisfied.