“I’ll get somebody to help me bring up that trunk,” Blue decided, “and then for my papers—it’s almost time.”
“Don’t forget Caruso!”
“I declare! I had!” He dashed away, returning at once with the bird.
“Is she still asleep?” queried Doodles.
“Sure!” Blue nodded, and darted off again.
With the trunk actually in the kitchen, Doodles felt the violin to be less mythical. How wonderful it would be to have one of his very own! He was glad Blue did not urge the boy to stay, he was in haste to have the trunk opened. But the lock appeared to be an intricate kind, which Blue could not work, and he finally had to run off for his papers, leaving the trunk still closed.
Doodles was not slow to acquaint his mother with the happenings of the afternoon.
“That dancer!” she exclaimed, before he had scarcely begun his story. “Have you and Blue been down in that dancer’s room? What possessed you? I should never have let you go if I had been home.”
“I guess I comforted her,” replied Doodles in excuse. “She seemed to like my singing.”
“Well, I’d rather you wouldn’t go down again,” said Mrs. Stickney. “Nobody knows who or what she is, except that she sings and dances in some cheap theater. What was it about her fiddle?”