The room was decked out with colored bunting and twisted crepe-paper streamers. And at one end of the dance room, Chow had rigged up a model of a Western chuck wagon.
"Real atmosphere!" Tom said admiringly. "Chow, you've done us proud!"
"Thanks, boss." The cook, who had asked especially to take charge of the decorations, glowed at the praise. Then he became serious. "But what's keepin' that dad-blamed fiddler?"
The guests soon began to stream in, but half an hour went by, and Lester Morris and his fellow musicians had not arrived.
"I'd better phone his house," Tom decided worriedly.
Mrs. Morris answered. She seemed surprised at Tom's call. "Why, my husband's playing at a party over in Carterton this evening," she said. "Are you sure you engaged him for tonight?"
"I'm positive," Tom replied.
"Just a moment, please. I'll look in his date book to see if there's been a mistake."
A minute later her voice came over the line again. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Swift, but your name isn't listed anywhere on Lester's schedule."
The others saw from Tom's face as he hung up that something was wrong.