“Rumble seat, huh? Hmm. I’d want better service than that.” The naturalist viewed his son critically though with twinkling eyes. “No, we men won’t go to the circus,” he added with a grin. “But you boys can.”
“Listen to that!” cried Bob, squaring his powerful shoulders. “I guess you men enjoy it about as much as anybody does. Now, you might,” he went on, struck with a sudden thought, “take Tommy. Of course, he’d like it. That would give you an excuse to go.”
“Maybe your little brother would rather play baseball,” suggested Mr. Holton. “He finds that interesting now, you know.”
“Nix,” countered Bob. “Tommy’s all for a circus. He’d rather see the wild animals than eat. And to tell the truth, Dad,” he added mischievously, “you’re about the same way. Don’t deny it, now.”
Mr. Holton smiled.
“I see you’re putting me up a tree,” he said. “But say!”—in a tone of dismay—“come to think of it, Tommy is going to Baltimore with his mother tomorrow.”
The naturalist’s face was a perfect picture of disappointment. Bob and Joe burst out in loud laughter, and Bob gave his father a shove.
“Now who can you take?” Bob chuckled, very much amused at Mr. Holton’s plight.
“That settles it,” the naturalist said. “Ben and I won’t go. We have some work in the museum that must be attended to, anyway.”
Bob gave his father an odd glance, and then, at a call of “dinner,” the little party disbanded.