“If he was locked in the box, why didn’t he make some kind of a noise when we called him?” questioned Jack.
“Let’s go and make sure!” cried Randy.
Regardless of the rain, the three boys hastened once again to the barn and rather sheepishly Aleck Pop followed them. A ludicrous sight met their gaze as they entered. Standing in the middle of the barn floor was Fred trying with a handkerchief to get a whitish substance from his face, and especially from his eyes and nose. He was spluttering and sneezing and coughing all at the same time.
“Goof! Goof! Kerchoo! I’m almost—kerchoo—dead with this—this stuff!” he spluttered. “Here, lend me a handkerchief or—kerchoo—something. I—I can’t get my breath!” and he continued to splutter for several minutes.
In the meantime Jack thumped him on the back and the others did what they could think of to relieve him. His clothing was covered with a fine, light, flour-like substance, and this had gotten into his ears and hair, as well as into his eyes and nose.
“I know what that is,” declared Randy. “It’s the new stuff Uncle Randolph bought for spraying in the garden. It takes the place of arsenic and things like that. It’s sprayed on dry, and then the rain does the rest.”
“My gracious, Randy, do you suppose it’s poisonous?” questioned Jack quickly.
“If dat stuff am poison, Fred am a dead boy,” prophesied Aleck solemnly. Now that he saw that what he had supposed was a ghost was really Fred he felt more like himself.
“I’m going to hunt up Uncle Randolph and find out about this,” said Randy, and ran off without further ado. A little later he came back to find the others dusting Fred off with a whiskbroom and a cloth.
“Uncle Randolph says he doesn’t think the stuff will do any harm,” Randy announced. “But he thinks Fred had better take a bath and change his clothing and be careful not to swallow any of the powder and not to breathe any of it up into his nose.”