“It’s like being on a nellifunt’s back,” declared Trouble. “It goes up and down and jiggles.”
“It jiggles all right,” said his mother. “It jiggles too much for me. What’s that, do you suppose?” she said, as a crash sounded in the cabin. They were all out on deck at the time.
“Something fell,” replied Mr. Martin. “Perhaps you had better go see what it is. I can’t leave the wheel.”
Mrs. Martin went down, followed by the children. In the cabin they saw that a pile of valises, which had been stowed in one corner, had toppled over. With the valises had been placed the box sent back from New York by Mr. Portnay.
In falling this box had come out of the paper wrapping, and had opened. And when Mrs. Martin looked at the contents she exclaimed:
“The wrong box! It’s the wrong box!”
“What do you mean—wrong box?” called her husband.
“I mean Mr. Portnay sent you back his make-up box by mistake, and he has kept the box of albums! Look, here are his false wigs and paints. This is the wrong box!”
CHAPTER XXIV
TROUBLE’S PUSSY
Mr. Martin, hearing what his wife said, gave a quick look ahead across the stormy lake. Then, seeing no other boats in his course, he fastened the steering wheel, so the Pine Tree would keep on in a straight line, and down into the cabin he hurried. He saw just what the others had seen—the pile of valises and also the wooden box with the cover opened.