“Could I not take it to the railway station here?” sulkily returned his son. “It’ll go just as well.”
“No! You’re to go to Edinburgh, and ask no questions, or I’ll half murder you!” cried Coglin. “It’s a present, and the—the customer doesn’t want the folk to know who sent it, or where it comes from.”
“And am I to walk all the way to Edinburgh?” groaned the boy, ruefully.
His father tossed him a sixpence, with the words—
“You can take the train;” and Bob’s spirits rose somewhat, but scarcely to their normal level.
At the end of the lane he found his two companions patiently waiting. They were overjoyed to see the sixpence, but the sight of the parcel was a terrible damper. That load was all that lay between them and a day of pure, unalloyed joy. They could have kicked the parcel; and one seriously suggested to Bob that they should quietly drop it into the river or the sea, and go their way undisturbed. Bob reluctantly declined the proposal, but was easily persuaded to go to Portobello first instead of to Edinburgh, and have his fill of fun before taking the parcel to that city.
“It’s a present,” the boys reasoned, “and they’re not to know who sends it or where it comes from, so it doesn’t matter whether they get it soon or late, or whether they get it all, for that matter.”
Reader, did you ever, when a boy, tramp to Portobello and spend half a day there on a light—a very light—breakfast? I have, and can testify that the edge which that fine seaside resort puts on a boy’s appetite would make chuckie stones or hedge leaves seem princely fare. The wonder is—at least my wonder used to be, when we went in droves—that some small boy, juicy and tender, in the gang, did not mysteriously disappear on the return journey. The three travellers enjoyed themselves famously on the sands. The sixpence of train money vanished like magic. They bathed seven times, like the ancient pilgrims of Jordan. They saw the races, and Punch and Judy, and every kind of cheap delights, dragging that parcel about with them, and each taking turns at carrying it through the crowd. At length Bob and another decided to have another bathe, and left their clothes and the parcel in charge of the third on the hot sandy beach. When they returned, the wolfish guardian had the paper covers off the cake, and was volubly explaining how a bit of the sugar coating must have been broken off during their travels. He had eaten the bit, as it was of no further use, and “Edinburgh” had disappeared. The two bathers looked on with wonderful calmness. Their teeth were chattering, and they were longing for a “hungry bite.” The remaining words of the inscription were suggestive—“A Present from ——.” A mysterious unseen donor was offering them a present.
“The folk wouldn’t like to get a broken cake like that,” suggested one of the boys to Bob. “If we were to eat it, they’d never miss it.”
Hunger quickens the reasoning faculties. Bob at once saw the point, and without waiting to dress he broke up the cake, and they all filled their stomachs. The cake just fitted the three nicely; and then they tore up the covers, annexed the sixpence found within, and had a glorious somersault on the sands to celebrate their victory.