It was actually so! The instruments and batteries and everything, all packed up in boxes—Tom couldn't say how many boxes—had come by a late train, and Mr. Lyons had sent word over to his house last night, and he had been over there this morning by daybreak and had seen one of the boxes, and it was directed, all right, to the Crooked Creek Telegraph Company, and—
There was a good deal more intelligence, it appeared, but it wasn't easy to make it out, for Harry was asking fifty questions, and Kate was calling out from one of the windows, and Dick Ford and half-a-dozen other negro boys were running up and shouting to each other that the things had come. Mr. Loudon came out to see what all the excitement was about, and he had to be told everything by Tom and Harry, both at once; and Rob and Blinks were barking, and there was hubbub enough.
Harry shouted to one of the boys to saddle Selim, and when the horse was brought around in an incredibly short time—four negroes having clapped on his saddle and bridle—Harry ran into the house to get his hat; but just as he had bounced out again, his mother appeared at the front door.
"Harry!" she cried, "you're not going off without your breakfast!"
"Oh, I don't want any breakfast, mother," he shouted.
"But you cannot go without your breakfast. You'll be sick."
"But just think!" expostulated Harry. "The things have been there all night."
"It makes no difference," said Mrs. Loudon. "You must have your breakfast first."
Mr. Loudon now put in a word, and Selim was led back to the stable.
"Well, I suppose I must," said poor Harry, with an air of resignation. "Come in, Tom, and have something to eat."