The Corner House Girls Among the Gypsies Part 19

"Some pretty mess--I'll tell the world!" groaned Neale O'Neil, shutting off the engine, while Agnes clung to his arm grimly to keep from sliding out into the ditch, too.

"Now, you _have_ done it!" shrilled the girl.

"Thanks. Many thanks. I expected you to say that, Aggie," he replied.

"M-mm! Well, I don't suppose you meant to--"

"No use worrying about how it was done or who did it," interposed Mr.

Pinkney, briskly getting out of the tonneau on the left side. "The question is, how are we going to right the car and get under way again?"

"A truer word was never spoken," agreed Neale O'Neil. "Come on, Agnes.

We'll creep out on this side, too. That's it. Looks to me, Mr.

Pinkney, as though we should need a couple of good, strong levers to pry up the wheels. You and I can do that while Agnes gets in under the wheel and manipulates the mechanism, as it were."

"You are the boss, here, Neale," said the older man, immediately entering the wood on the right side of the road. "I see a stick here that looks promising."

He pa.s.sed under the broadly spreading branches of a huge chestnut tree. There were several of these monsters along the edge of the wood.

Mr. Pinkney suddenly shouted something, and dropped upon his knees between two outcropping roots of the tree.

"What is it, Mr. Pinkney?" cried Agnes, running across the road.

Their neighbor appeared, erect again. In his hand he bore the well-remembered extension-bag which Sammy Pinkney had so often borne away from home upon his truant escapades.

"What do you know about this?" demanded Sammy's father. "Here's his bag--filled with his possessions, by the feel of it. But where is the boy?"

"He--he's got away!" gasped Agnes.

"And we almost had him," was Neale's addition to the amazed remarks of the trio of searchers.

CHAPTER XV--UNCERTAINTIES

The secret had now been revealed! But of course it did not do Sammy Pinkney the least bit of good. His extension-bag had not been stolen at all.

Merely, when that sleepy boy had stumbled away the night before to the spring for a drink of water, he had not returned to the right tree for the remainder of the night. In his excitement in the morning, after discovering his loss, Sammy ran about a good deal (as Uncle Rufus would have said) "like a chicken wid de haid cut off." He did not manage to find the right tree at all.

The extension-bag was now in his father's hands. Mr. Pinkney brought it to the mired car and opened it. There was no mistaking the contents of the bag for anything but Sammy's possessions.

"What do you know about that?" murmured the amazed father of the embryo pirate. He rummaged through the conglomeration of chattels in the bag. "No, it is not here."

"What are you looking for, Mr. Pinkney?" demanded Agnes, feeling rather serious herself. Something might have happened to the truant.

"That picture his mother spoke of," the father answered, with a sigh.

"Hoh!" exclaimed Neale O'Neil, "if the kid thinks as much of it as Mrs. Pinkney says, he's got it with him. Of course."

"It looks so," admitted Mr. Pinkney. "But why should he abandon his clothes--and all?"

"Oh, maybe he hasn't!" cried Agnes eagerly. "Maybe he is coming back here."

"You think this old tree," said Mr. Pinkney in doubt, "is Sammy's headquarters?"

"I--don't--know--"

"That wouldn't be like Sammy," declared Neale, with conviction. "He always keeps moving--even when he is stowaway on a ca.n.a.lboat," and he chuckled at the memory of that incident. "For some reason he was chased away from here. Or," hitting the exact truth without knowing it, "he tucked the bag under that tree root and forgot where he put it."

"Does that sound reasonable?" gasped Agnes.

"Quite reasonable--for Sammy," grumbled Mr. Pinkney. "He is just so scatter-brained. But what shall I tell his mother when I take this bag home to her? She will feel worse than she has before."

"Maybe we will find him yet," Agnes interposed.

"That's what we are out for," Neale added with confidence. "Let's not give up hope. Why, we're finding clues all the time."

"And now you manage to get us stuck in the mud," put in Agnes, giving her boy friend rather an unfair dig.

"Have a heart! How could I help it? Anyway, we'll get out all right.

We sha'n't have to camp here all night, if Sammy did."

"That is it," interposed Sammy's father. "I wonder if he stayed here all night or if he abandoned the bag here and kept on. Maybe the woods were too much for his nerves," and he laughed rather uncertainly.

"I bet Sammy was not scared," announced Neale, with confidence. "He is a courageous chap. If he wasn't, he would not start out alone this way."

"True enough," said Mr. Pinkney, not without some pride. "But nevertheless it would help some if we were sure he was here only twelve hours ago, instead of twenty-four."

"Let's get the car out of the ditch and see if we can go on," Neale suggested. "I'll get that pole you saw, Mr. Pinkney. And I see another lever over there."

While Mr. Pinkney buckled the straps of the extension-bag again and stowed the bag under the seat, Neale brought the two sticks of small timber which he thought would be strong enough to lift the wheels of the stalled car out of the ditch. But first he used the b.u.t.t of one of the sticks to knock down the edge of the bank in front of each wheel.

"You see," he said to Agnes, "when you get it started you want to turn the front wheels, if you can, to the left and climb right out on to the road. Mr. Pinkney and I will do the best we can for you; but it is the power of the engine that must get us out of the ditch."

"I--I don't know that I can handle it right, Neale," hesitated Agnes.

"Sure you can. You've got to!" he told her. "Come on, Mr. Pinkney!

Let's see if we can get these sticks under the wheels on this side."

"Wait a moment," urged the man, who was writing hastily on a page torn from his notebook. "I must leave a note for Sammy--if perhaps he should come back here looking for his bag."

"Better not say anything about his torn trousers, Mr. Pinkney,"

giggled Agnes. "He will shy at that."

"He can tear all his clothes to pieces if he'll only come home and stop his mother's worrying. Only, the little rascal ought to be soundly trounced just the same for all the trouble he is causing us."

"If only I had stayed with him at that beet bed and made sure he knew what he was doing," sighed Agnes, who felt somewhat condemned.