Far down the street they could see a large crowd had gathered and they hurried along, sure it must be caused by a wreck of the car in which Billy rode.
“Wait until I tell our truck driver to come around on the street and pick us up,” said one of the men as they ran. “We’ll get there that way quicker than by foot.”
What really had happened was this:
When the chauffeur came to his senses, he tried to slow down but he did not do so quickly enough and at a cross street he collided with a milk wagon, upsetting it and spilling out all the milk cans. The impact threw the chauffeur out of his car and stunned him for a minute. The truck carrying the men came up just then, they picked him up and put him in the truck, while one of them drove the auto back to the garage. No harm was done the car with the exception of scraping off a little paint, and, forgetting the loss of milk, the milk wagon suffered not at all. And now where was the cause of all this commotion, Mr. Billy Whiskers?
He was quietly drinking water from a crystal fountain in some private grounds, and I am glad to say that the swelling of his tongue was fast going down.
“Mercy! I believe I am tired! Guess I’ll just go over under those bushes and take a nap,” he thought.
This he did, but he slept much longer than he had intended, for when he awoke the sun was going down, and he decided to try to find Ruthie once more. He had just stepped out into the street, when who should he see driving down his way but Mr. Watson with Ruthie on his lap. They had hunted and hunted for Billy with no success at all and had finally decided to go home without the goat, getting the cart some other day. They were as glad to see Billy as Billy was to see them. Mr. Watson stepped out of his buggy and tied Billy under it, then driving slowly, they went home to the farm.
Thus ended a very exciting day for Billy.
CHAPTER XII
THE TWINS ARE STOLEN
