“Sandy and those fellows will have lots of fun hunting for us,” remarked Ned with a chuckle. “They’ll think we’ve been snowed under.”
“I see Sandy Merton, and two or three lads in a wagon, just before I met you chaps,” observed Jed. “They asked me if I’d met you, but I hadn’t—up to then. What’s up? Been playing jokes on each other?”
“They tried one on us, but I think it’s on them,” said Bart. “Well, here’s where I get off, fellows. Come over to-night, and we’ll have a talk,” and Bart was about to descend from the wagon, as his street was reached first.
“Hold on! Wait a minute! Don’t get down on that side!” cried Jed, earnestly.
“What’s the matter; is the step on this side broken?” asked Bart, in some alarm, as he hastily checked himself.
“No, but you started to get down with your left foot first,” explained the teamster. “That’s sure to bring the worst kind of bad luck on a fellow. My team might run away before I get two blocks further. It’s a bad sign to get out with your left foot first. Don’t do it.”
“Oh, Jed, you’re a regular old woman!” exclaimed Bart good-naturedly, for he and his chums were on familiar terms with the teamster. Nevertheless the lad did as requested, and changed his position, so as to leave the wagon in accordance with the superstitious notions of Jed.
“That’s better,” remarked the man, with an air of relief, as Bart descended. “Yes,” he added, as he drove on, “we’re going to have quite a storm.”
He was right, for that night the ground was covered with the white flakes, but the thermometer did not get down very low.
After supper Bart’s three chums called on him, and, a little later they received an unexpected visit from Sandy Merton and some of his friends. The latter were much worried when they had gone back to Oak Swamp, and had failed to find a sign of the candidates whom they had initiated into the “Shamma Shig” society.