“I’ll tell you what we could do,” he said, as he stopped Nicknack and let the goat eat the sweet grass that grew beside the road.
“What?” asked Janet.
“We could let whoever wanted to ride hold Trouble on his lap. Then he wouldn’t take up any room.”
“That’s so. But maybe they wouldn’t want to hold him. Trouble is awful heavy sometimes, and he does wiggle and squirm a lot!”
“Well, if some of ’em didn’t want to hold him they could pay a penny more and Trouble could sit in a seat by himself.”
“That’s so!” cried Jan. “Then we’d make a little extra money out of Trouble.”
“That’s it!” agreed her brother. “And if they wanted to hear him, Trouble could sing his funny little song for them.”
Janet laughed at this. Mother Martin had taught the little baby a queer mixture of Mother Goose verses, and Trouble sang these in a funny, squeaky voice—that is, he sang when he wanted to.
“But it would be just like him not to sing if someone asked him to,” sighed Janet. “Then we’d have to let them ride free if they didn’t want to hold the baby.”
“If Trouble won’t sing he can’t ride,” decided Ted. “Here, Trouble!” he called to his little brother. “Will you sing the Crumpled-Cow-Jack-Horner-Pie-song if I let you ride?”