"Maybe he could," agreed the old sailor. "I'll ask him."
As it happened, the agent kept a cat in the station on account of the mice, and that day he had brought a little milk for his pet—more milk than Choo-Choo, as he called his cat, wanted.
"I'll give you some for your pussy," said the agent, after he had telegraphed for the snow shovelers.
I wish you could have seen Fluff lap up the milk, which was warmed for him and put in a saucer on the floor of the automobile. He was hungry—was the little stray kitten that had come down out of the evergreen tree—and his little sides seemed to swell out like balloons as he lapped up every drop of milk.
"I hope your cat Choo-Choo won't get hungry," said Jan, as the last of the milk disappeared.
"I can get him some more," said the agent. "Anyhow, he isn't as hungry as your pussy was."
"Good-bye!" called Uncle Toby, as he started off once more. "I hope the stalled passengers will soon be shoveled out."
"I guess they will be," the agent said.
It was almost dark when the big automobile reached the village of Pocono where Uncle Toby lived.
"Now we'll soon be snug and warm," he told the children. "I have more of a load than when I started, but I'm glad I found you two," he said to Mary and Harry. "You're going to have a good time with my Curlytops."