“Come on,” was Fred’s reply to this speech. “What are you all standing here for? We’ve got to move the table and the chairs and all that junk before supper time.”
He started to run, and after him ran the other members of the Riddle Club. The pavements were wet from the stray snow flakes which had melted as fast as they fell, and Margy slipped once or twice, but she never complained. She, too, felt that getting to the barn and starting the moving was the most important thing to be considered. At a time like this, mere legs and feet were of little consequence.
They dashed into the three houses, to tell three mothers that they were home from school, and then dashed out again and made for the barn. As Ward complained, pantingly climbing the loft ladder, they acted as though the barn was on fire and they had to save their furniture from the flames.
“Well, it gets dark so soon that we have to hurry,” said Fred. “Hurry up and unlock the door, Ward.”
“I haven’t the key,” answered Ward. “It’s in my other pocket.”
“You mean the pocket of your other coat,” Artie corrected him.
“Well, isn’t that my other pocket?” argued Ward. “How could I have the same pocket in my other coat that I have in this one?”
“We don’t care about your other pocket or this pocket or which pocket is where,” broke in Fred. “Go get the key, Ward. And hurry. It isn’t going to be so easy taking this stuff down that ladder as it was to bring it up.”
Ward went off to get the key for the padlock, and the others sat down in the old, dry hay to wait for him.
“Why don’t we lower the table out of the window?” suggested Artie. “That’s the way they took the new safe into the lodge hall; they pulled it up to the second story on a rope. If you can take something in that way, why can’t you take it out?”