Back at one end were some broken grapevine crates, and it was dim and
shadowy there, so he called out.
"Any one here?"
"Yes," came from the corner, and there was a rustling of straw.
"I guess I know who," said Bart. "Come out of that, my good friend, and
show yourself," he continued heartily.
"What for?" propounded a gloomy, wavering voice.
"What for? that's good!" cried Bart. "Oh, I know who you are, if I don't
know your name."
"Baker will do."
"All right, Mr. Baker, friend Baker, you're true blue and the best
friend I ever had, and I want to shake hands with you, and slap you on
the back, and--help you."
A timid, muffled figure shifted into full outline, but not into clear
view, against the side of the car.
Bart took a step nearer. He promptly caught at one hand of the
slouching figure. Then he regarded it in perplexity.
The roustabout held with his other hand a canvas bag on his head so that
it concealed nearly his entire face.
"Why!" said Bart, reaching suddenly up and momentarily pulling the
impromptu hood aside. "What's the matter now? Where is your beard and
long head of hair?"
"Burned.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87