“Just superstition, I reckon,” was the answer. “But I never yet heard two different hand organs close together on the same day, but what bad luck followed me. I don’t like it, I tell you!”
“This isn’t, necessarily, another hand organ grinder,” remarked Bob as the music came nearer, or, rather the nearer they approached it, for the auto was still progressing.
“Do you mean it could be the same one we heard back at the cabin?” asked Jolly Bill. “That was five miles back. Those dagoes don’t travel that fast.”
“There’s a short trail down Storm Mountain a man can take on foot and beat an auto that has to go by the road,” explained Bob. “Or this man may have been given a lift by some motorist and have started before we did.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” murmured Jolly Bill. “But I’d like to make sure it’s the same one.”
“It is—there he stands,” exclaimed Harry, pointing as they made a turn in the road, and saw the dispenser of music grinding away near a house, out in front of which were several children laughing with delight at the antics of the monkey.
Jolly Bill stared hard at the organ grinder as Bob’s flivver passed him, and it may be said that the grinder also favored the party in the car with a searching glance. However, it appeared to be more of curiosity than anything else, for the man turned aside and called to his monkey, yanking on the long string that was fastened to the collar on the neck of the simian.
“Yes, it’s the same one all right,” murmured Jolly Bill, as they left him behind. “The same one—I’m glad of it.”
He seemed to be brooding over something not connected with the matter in hand, and it was not until Harry made a remark that he took up the telling of the tale.
“Why did you leave any of the gold on the South Sea island?” the lad wanted to know.