“Yes, I think he will do very nicely now,” Ted heard the doctor saying.
The doctor and Ted’s mother came out of the room where the sick man had been put to bed.
“Hello there, Curlytop!” cried Dr. Whitney to Ted, as he ruffled up the tangled curls of the little fellow. “Well, where have you been, in swimming?” the doctor asked with a laugh, as he noticed the mud on the boy and the wet clothes.
“I—I wasn’t swimming,” said Teddy. “I fell in—off the raft.”
“Dear me, Theodore Martin!” cried his mother. “What do you mean? What raft?”
Of course Teddy had to tell all about it then, but he hurried over the accident in the water as fast as he could, for he had other news.
“What do you think?” he exclaimed, before his mother could say anything about his having fallen off the raft. “Miss Ransom’s store was robbed and she’s gone after Constable Juke, and maybe Tom Taylor’s house is robbed, too, and the burglars took a queer box from Miss Ransom that her brother brought from away off and Tom and me—I mean Tom and I are going to——”
Teddy stopped just then. There were a number of reasons for this. One was that he was out of breath, from having talked so fast.
Another was that he thought, just in time, that he had better not say he and Tom were going to try to find the burglars—for that is what Ted had on the tip of his tongue to say next. Another reason for stopping so quickly was that his mother held up her hand, just as a policeman at a busy street crossing holds up his hand to stop the automobiles. Whenever Mrs. Martin did that, Teddy knew he must calm down. And he did this time.
“Theodore Baradale Martin!” said his mother slowly, “what does all this talk mean about burglars?”