CHAPTER IV
THE PRIZE OFFER
Silence followed the crash and the excited call of Dinah. Mrs. Bobbsey thought something serious might have happened, and she said to her husband:
“Perhaps you had better go to see what it is.”
That it was nothing serious was made plain a moment later, even before Mr. Bobbsey reached the place, for Dinah could be heard laughing, and between her chuckles came the voice of Sam Johnson, her husband, complaining:
“Git offen me now! Does yo’ heah? Git offen mah haid! Mah good lan’, such goin’s on as dere am heah! Git off, Ah tells yo’!”
When the Bobbseys entered the kitchen they saw Sam dancing around and trying to reach something on his head. This somethingproved to be Snoop, the big black cat, who was clinging with his claws to Sam’s thick, kinky, black, woolly hair.
“Snoop suah does know when he’s got a soft place!” chuckled Dinah, who was laughing so hard that she could not go to the aid of her husband.
“Take him offen me! Take him off, Ah tells yo’!” begged Sam, dancing about the kitchen.
“I’ll get him,” offered Nan, who had trained Snoop to do a few tricks. “Stand still, Sam,” begged the little girl, “and I’ll get Snoop off for you! How’d he get on your head?”
“He done jumped there—dat’s how he got,” explained Sam, with a rueful face as he did what Nan advised and remained in one spot. Then the little girl brought a chair over close to the colored man-of-all-work, and, climbing up, lifted Snoop down. As soon as the cat felt himself in the hands of Nan, the animal released his claws from their firm hold in Sam’s wool. It was this grip of the cat’s claws that had prevented Sam himself from lifting Snoop down. The more he pulled onthe animal the tighter Snoop clung, for he was afraid of falling.
“What happened, Dinah?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, who, with her husband, stood in the kitchen doorway, laughing at Sam’s rueful face.
“Oh, I guess dat cat Snoop mus’ ’a’ had a birfday himse’f,” explained Dinah. “He’s dat smart an’ libely he mus’ feel laik he’s about one yeah old—jumpin’ ’round laik he was.”
“What did he do?” asked Bert.
“Oh, he jump up on a chair when I wasn’t lookin’!” went on Dinah. “An’ his tail knock a dish offen de table an’ bruk it—bruk de dish Ah means. Den I grabbed up de broom to make a swoop at Snoop an’ just den Sam come in an’ I hit him ’stid ob hittin’ de cat. An’ dat scared Snoop, I guess, ’cause he make a jump an’ he git right up on top ob de do’ and den—den——”
But Dinah was laughing so heartily at the recollection of what had happened that she could not go on with the story. So Sam continued it by adding:
“Dat cat he jes’ jump right down offen dedo’ right on top ob mah haid, an’ dar he stuck laik a chestnut burr! Golly, but he suah did stick his claws in mah ha’r!” and then Sam chuckled.
“Well, I’m glad it was no worse,” remarked Mrs. Bobbsey, with a smile. “One broken dish doesn’t matter, especially on a birthday. But perhaps you had better take Snoop out, Nan, so he won’t make any more trouble for Dinah.”
“I’ll give him a ride in Flossie’s doll’s go-cart that she got for Daddy!” laughed Nan.
“No, you will not!” protested the other Bobbsey girl. “I’m going to give my doll a ride. Come on, Daddy,” she begged. “Let’s take a walk and ride my doll.”
“And let’s have a catch with my ball—I mean the ball I gave you!” cried Freddie.
“Maybe I’d better put on my new robe and wear my new birthday sweater before I go doll-carriaging and ball-playing,” suggested Mr. Bobbsey, with a laugh.
“Well, don’t take the new wallet I gave you,” warned his wife. “I put a penny in, for luck, and you might lose it.”
But after again admiring the robe and the sweater, the gifts of Bert and Nan, Mr.Bobbsey laid them aside and had a few catches with Freddie, using the new ball. Then he wheeled Flossie’s folding go-cart, giving the little girl’s best doll a ride.
After that the four twins went off by themselves to play with some of their boy and girl chums in the twilight of the fading June day, while Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey sat on the porch.
“Do you really think,” asked Mrs. Bobbsey of her husband, “that you will take the children to Cloverbank for the summer?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “What do you think? Mr. Watson seems to want to have us come. I know he has a large place there with plenty of room in the house, and there is a big farm, an orchard, and woods near by where the twins could play. There is also a creek and a little lake, I believe.”
“It sounds like a wonderful place to spend the summer,” responded his wife. “And we always go somewhere. Just where is Cloverbank?”
“It is outside the town of Hitchville,” was the answer. “It’s about a day’s ride in the automobile. We could get there without much trouble.”
“Well, if you think they really want us,suppose you write and tell Mr. Watson if he will take the whole family for the summer we’ll be glad to come,” suggested Mrs. Bobbsey.
“I know the children will like it,” remarked their father.
Twilight faded into darkness and, tired with their evening of play, the Bobbsey twins came slowly back home. Soon Flossie and Freddie were undressed and in bed, with Bert and Nan getting ready to follow them a little later. But first the two older twins wanted to know more about the plans for the summer.
“We have about decided to go to Cloverbank,” said Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Oh, goodie!” exclaimed Nan. “Then I can take out Baby May—I mean Baby Jenny.”
“I hope there’s a place where I can swim and catch fish,” murmured Bert.
“Are you going to swim after the fish and catch them?” asked Nan, with a laugh.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” he answered. “I can’t do both at the same time, of course. Though once, when Danny Rugg and I were in swimming, a fish brushed its tail againstmy legs and I almost caught it, only I wasn’t quick enough.”
“I think there will be plenty of swimming, fishing, and other fun at Mr. Watson’s Cloverbank place,” said Mr. Bobbsey. “And now I think you and Nan had better see which of you will be first asleep,” he went on, for it was getting late. Supper had been delayed longer than usual because of the birthday celebration, and the children had been allowed to stay up a little later than was customary.
“Oh, won’t we have fun in Cloverbank!” whispered Nan to her brother, as they went up the stairs.
“I just guess we will!” he answered. “I can hardly wait for the time to come!”
“Me either. Good-night!”
“Good-night!” answered Bert, as he went softly into the room where he slept with Freddie. Nan slept with Flossie. Both the small twins were sound asleep. So were Bert and Nan a little later.
School had not yet closed for the summer. There was about another week of classes before the long vacation. And the morning after their father’s birthday the Bobbseytwins started for the schoolhouse soon after the first bell began ringing.
“Hello, Danny!” called Bert when he saw the Rugg boy coming up the street. “Don’t you wish you had another snowball to break a church window with?” and Bert laughed as he recalled what had happened in the winter, when Danny had broken a stained-glass window and had blamed Bert for it. But the truth had come out, through the loss of Danny’s gold ring, and Danny had begged Bert’s pardon, so the boys were good friends once more.
“Yes, a pile of snow would feel good just about now,” agreed Danny. “It sure is a hot day! I’ll be glad when school closes.”
“So’ll I,” assented Bert. “Where you going this summer?”
“Down to the seashore, I guess,” Danny answered.
“We’re going to the country,” went on Bert. “To a place called Cloverbank. It’s near Hitchville.”
“Oh, that’s a swell place!” cried Danny. “I know a fellow who went there. There’s dandy fishing in the creek!”
“I’m glad of it,” said Bert. Then theboys and girls passed into the schoolhouse. I cannot say that any one was much interested in lessons that day. It was too hot to study much. Realizing this, the teacher in the room where Bert and Nan sat had an idea. She was trying to get the children to write a “composition,” which, as most of you know, isn’t easy work.
“You children will find it much easier to write compositions,” Miss Skell said, “if you will take as subjects something you know about. Instead of trying to write about the stars, as some of you did last week, try to write about something on earth. You don’t know much about the stars—no one does. But you may know a great deal about a nest that some birds have built in your apple tree. So write about those birds.
“And while I am talking about compositions,” the teacher went on, “I want to say that I am going to offer a prize to the boy or girl who, during the vacation, will write the best story, or composition, about something that happens to him or her this summer. Write about something real, in the best way you can, and bring the story back to school when it opens again in the fall.
“The best compositions will be read before the class, and I will decide who is to get the prize, which will be a set of books. The winner may choose the books from a list I will have on my desk.”
Murmurs of delight and surprise were heard about the room. This was something new—a prize for a summer composition! At once the children, who had been dull and listless because of the heat, seemed bright and cheerful. Miss Skell smiled at the success of her plan.
“Now we will have some practice work in writing compositions,” she went on. “You will be better able to do the work this summer when there is no school if you practice a bit now. So we will begin!”
Every boy and girl was most eager now, especially Nan Bobbsey. She was always good at composition work—perhaps not the best in the room, but certainly better than Bert, though he tried. But, really, Bert cared more about playing games than about writing compositions.
“Oh, if I could only win that prize!” thought Nan. “It would be wonderful! I wonder what I can find to write about? Perhapssomething may happen while we are at Cloverbank.”
Danny Rugg raised his hand, indicating that he wanted to ask a question.
“What is it, Danny?” inquired the teacher.
“How long must the composition be?” the boy asked. “I mean how many pages?”
“Oh, as many as you like,” was the reply. “But it must not be too short!” went on Miss Skell quickly. “I want more than a few sentences. Try to make a story about what happens to you this summer—a story such as you might read in a book. Who knows—perhaps some of you, when you grow up, may write books. I hope you will.”
“I’d love to write a book!” murmured Nan to Nellie Parks, who sat with her.
“I’d rather read books than write them,” whispered Nellie.
“Quiet now, children, if you please,” suggested Miss Skell, for she had allowed a little whispering following her announcement of the prize offer. “Now we will begin our composition work. You may each write me a short one on the subject of what happened to you yesterday after school—in the afternoon, evening, or night!”
Just as Bert Bobbsey was settling himself to his task, the door opened and a girl from one of the higher classes entered with a note which she gave to Miss Skell. The teacher read it quickly, and then said in a low voice:
“Mr. Tarton wants to see you in his office, Bert.”
What could this mean? Mr. Tarton was the principal of the school. Usually it was not very pleasant to have to go to his office.
Bert slowly left his seat. He, too, was wondering what could have happened.