“They’re in town,” Peg waggled. “We saw them on the canal bridge about ten minutes ago. Bid and Jimmy and the Watson kid. They were with a strange man.”
A cloud came into the leader’s face.
“If they try any of their tricks to-night,” he waggled, his jaw squared, “something is going to drop.”
When dinner was over we put everything in order on the boat, so that there would be no hitch when it came time to give our evening show. Red had oiled the organ that forenoon, so shortly after two o’clock we put the music-maker into snappy operation. This drew the kids.
“I’m putting a line or two in to-night’s issue about your show,” the newspaper man told us, when we called at his office for our handbills. “I hope you have a good crowd.” He listened sharply for a second or two, “Is that your orchestrelle that I hear?” [[91]]
“Sure thing,” grinned Scoop. “Isn’t it a darb?”
“Is it playing a tune?”
“ ‘The Old Oaken Bucket.’ ”
The man grunted.
“If that’s ‘The Old Oaken Bucket’ I’m ‘The Last Rose of Summer.’ Well, good luck, boys. And thanks for the three dollars and for coming over and waking us up.”