we soon be there?” asked Freddie, for long journeys are always tiresome, especially to a little boy accustomed to many changes in the day’s play.
“One hour more,” said Mr. Bobbsey, consulting his watch.
“Let’s have a game of ball, Nan?” suggested Bert, who never traveled without a tennis ball in his pocket.
“How could we?” the sister inquired.
“Easily,” said Bert. “We’ll make up a new kind of game. We will start in the middle of the car, at the two center seats, and each move a seat away at every catch. Then, whoever misses first must go back to center again, and the one that gets to the end first, wins.”
“All right,” agreed Nan, who always enjoyed her twin brother’s games. “We will call it Railroad Tennis.”
Just as soon as Nan and Bert took their places, the other passengers became very much interested. There is such a monotony on trains that the sports the Bobbseys introduced were welcome indeed.
We do not like to seem proud, but certainly these twins did look pretty. Nan with her fine back eyes and red cheeks, and Bert just matching her; only his hair curled around, while hers fell down. Their interest in Railroad Tennis made their faces all the prettier, and no wonder the people watched them so closely.
Freddie was made umpire, to keep him out of a more active part, because he might do damage with a ball in a train, his mother said; so, as Nan and Bert passed the ball, he called,—his father prompting him:
“Ball one!”
“Ball two!”
“Ball three!”
Bert jerked with a sudden jolt of the train and missed.
“Striker’s out!” called the umpire, while everybody laughed because the boy had missed first.
Then Bert had to go all the way back to center, while Nan was four seats down.
Three more balls were passed, then Nan missed.
“I shouldn’t have to go all the way back for the miss,” protested Nan. “You went three seats back, so I’ll go three back.”
This was agreed to by the umpire, and the game continued.
A smooth stretch of road gave a good chance for catching, and both sister and brother kept moving toward the doors now, with three points “to the good” for Nan, as a big boy said.
Who would miss now? Everybody waited to see. The train struck a curve! Bert threw a wild ball and Nan missed it.
“Foul ball!” called the umpire, and Bert did not dispute it.
Then Nan delivered the ball.
“Oh, mercy me!” shrieked the old lady, who had thrown the handbag at Downy, the duck, “my glasses!” and there, upon the floor, lay the pieces. Nan’s ball had hit the lady right in the glasses, and it was very lucky they did not break until they came in contact with the floor.
“I’m so sorry!” Nan faltered. “The car jerked so I could not keep it.”
“Never mind, my dear,” answered the nice old lady, “I just enjoyed that game as much as you did, and if I hadn’t stuck my eyes out so, they would not have met your ball. So, it’s all right. I have another pair in my bag.”
So the game ended with the accident, for it was now time to gather up the baggage for the last stop.
CHAPTER IV
Night in A Barn
“Beach Junction! All off for the Junction!” called the train men, while the Bobbseys and Mrs. Manily hurried out to the small station, where numbers of carriages waited to take passengers to their cottages on the cliffs or by the sea.
“Sure we haven’t forgotten anything?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, taking a hasty inventory of the hand baggage.
“Bert’s got Snoop and I’ve got Downy,” answered Freddie, as if the animals were all that counted.
“And I’ve got my hatbox and flowers,” added Nan.
“And I have my ferns,” said little Flossie.
“I guess we’re all here this time,” Mr. Bobbsey finished, for nothing at all seemed to be missing.
It was almost nightfall, and the beautiful glow of an ocean sunset rested over the place. At the rear of the station an aged stage driver sat nodding on his turnout. The stage coach was an “old timer,” and had carried many a merry party of sightseers through the sandy roads of Oceanport and Sunset Beach, while Hank, the driver, called out all spots of interest along the way. And Hank had a way of making things interesting.
“Pike’s Peak,” he would call out for Cliff Hill.
“The Giant’s Causeway,” he would announce for Rocky Turn.
And so Hank was a very popular stage driver, and never had to look for trade—it always came to him.
“That’s our coach,” said Mr. Bobbsey, espying Hank. “Hello there! Going to the beach?” he called to the sleepy driver.
“That’s for you to say,” replied Hank, straightening up.
“Could we get to Ocean Cliff—Minturn’s place—before dark?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, noticing how rickety the old stagecoach was.
“Can’t promise,” answered Hank, “but you can just pile in and we’ll try it.”
There was no choice, so the party “piled” into the carryall.
“Isn’t this fun?” remarked Mrs. Manily, taking her seat up under the front window. “It’s like going on a May ride.”
“I’m afraid it will be a moonlight ride at this rate,” laughed Mr. Bobbsey, as the stagecoach started to rattle on. Freddie wanted to sit in front with Hank but Mrs. Bobbsey thought it safer inside, for, indeed, the ride was risky enough, inside or out. As they joggled on the noise of the wheels grew louder and louder, until our friends could only make themselves heard by screaming at each other.
“Night is coming,” called Mrs. Bobbsey, and Dinah said: “Suah ’nough we be out in de night dis time.”
It seemed as if the old horses wanted to stand still, they moved so slowly, and the old wagon creaked and cracked until Hank, himself, turned round, looked in the window, and shouted:
“All right there?”
“Guess so,” called back Mr. Bobbsey, “but we don’t see the ocean yet.”
“Oh, we’ll get there,” drawled Hank, lazily.
“We should have gone all the way by train,” declared Mrs. Bobbsey, in alarm, as the stage gave one squeak louder than the others.
“Haven’t you got any lanterns?” shouted
