Crawling through the body of the golden coach, the two girls came out on the other side. Stacked high against the sides of the car were several large bundles of canvas.
“What do you think they are, Connie?” inquired Veve, kicking one of the bundles.
“Side show tents.”
“We could slide down ’em,” said Veve. “Only I don’t think it would be much fun.”
“Neither do I. We’d get all dirty.” Connie looked down at her Brownie uniform, already wrinkled.
Veve’s white blouse was smudged with dust and her hands felt gritty. The box car seemed to be very dirty.
“Let’s climb back into the golden coach,” Connie suggested. “It will be more comfortable there than sitting on the car floor.”
For a while, the girls amused themselves by playing imaginary games. Connie pretended she was queen of the circus while Veve drove the horses. Tiring of that, they tried Wild West. The girls took turns driving the mail in their stagecoach and saying that the Indians were after them. But soon they became tired of that game too.
“It’s no fun without real Indians,” Veve complained. “What time do you suppose it is?”
“We’ve been on the train at least an hour—maybe two or three. It must be nearly six o’clock.”