The Green Turtle Mystery (27 page)

“It’s—it’s just like a travelling circus!” Buddy said.

“That’s why Granpa painted the wagon like a circus wagon,” Joan said airily. “Wait until he shows you his workshop up on top of the wagon.
Then
you’ll be surprised.” Both of the boys had noticed the tarpaulin-covered thing on top of the wagon but they hadn’t wanted to ask any questions about them until Mr. Scissors decided to tell them.

“I don’t think I could be surprised at—–” Djuna began, when Mr. Scissors came down the steps from the wagon with a portable gas stove. They watched him while he set it up on a folding stand beside the mess boxes. It had three burners and a folding windshield which was part of the oven and could also be used as a back shelf.

After Mr. Scissors had it set up he took the hunting knife that he wore strapped on his right hip out of its sheath, unscrewed a threaded knob at the end of the aluminum handle, and took three matches out of the waterproof compartment and gave them to Joan. Before he put the knob back he showed Djuna and Buddy the compass set in the inner end. “Just in case we get lost,” he said with a chuckle.

“Now all of you, please, get out of the kitchen,” Joan ordered.

“That’s right,” Mr. Scissors said. “Too many cooks spoil the broth,
but
two heads are better than one.”

“Gee, Mr. Scissors,” Djuna said, looking at him thoughtfully. “What you just said means two different things. I don’t see how—–”

“You’ll get used to it,” Joan interrupted. “Sometimes he gets me so mixed up I can’t even think.”

“Now, Pet,” Mr. Scissors said. “We’ll get out of the kitchen just as soon as you tell us what we’re going to have for breakfast.”

“Whole peaches, nice and cool,” Joan said, counting on her fingers. “Bacon and scrambled eggs, bread and butter, and cold milk.” She flapped her apron at them to shoo them away.

Buddy and Djuna stared at each other again, and as they moved away Buddy said, “How in the world did she ever guess what we wanted?”

Djuna didn’t answer. He didn’t even try.

The boys went round to the other side of the wagon with Mr. Scissors and stood a few feet away to admire it. The wheels and hubs were painted a bright red while the body and shafts were light blue with red scallops painted along the sides of the shafts and all around the edges of the body. There were little windows about six inches square cut, high up, on each side of the body, and they each had a band of bright red around them. Over the driver’s seat, which ran the full width of the wagon, was a red canvas awning to keep out the sun. The whip-socket at the corner of the dashboard was painted red, and the dashboard itself was painted blue.

“Jeepers! You must have done an awful lot of work on this wagon, Mr. Scissors,” Djuna said.

“Well, I did,” Mr. Scissors admitted. “You see, when I bought it at the auction at Mrs. Hill’s it was what they call a wagonette. It had that wide seat across the front and two seats facing each other that ran the length of the body on the inside. I used the supports for the seats inside to build the bunks on and I took the low door on the back off, and the steps, and built some folding steps that wouldn’t be in the way. I got two big pieces of plywood and built the sides and cut the little windows in them. Then I had to brace each corner of the body so I could put some heavier timbers on the roof so I could use it for a workshop.”

“How in the world do you ever get up there, Mr. Scissors?” Djuna asked. Mr. Scissors pointed at a short ladder that was lashed underneath the body.

“I can still get around pretty well for an old fellah,” he said with twinkling eyes. “If you’ll just climb up on the driver’s seat here, you can see how the rest of the wagon is arranged inside.”

They all climbed up on the driver’s seat while Old Blade turned his head around and looked at them a little sadly. Mr. Scissors showed them where the two mess boxes fitted in snugly, one on top of the other, at the head of one bunk, and where the tiny little ice-box stood at the head of the other. On top of the ice-box was the accordion Mr. Scissors had been playing when Old Blade came around the bend.

“Oh, Granpa!” Joan called just then. “Please bring the milk and four peaches and the butter while you’re there.” Mr. Scissors took four peaches and a jug of milk and a little glass dish with a cover on it from the ice-box and handed them to the boys to take to Joan.

“Just put them on the table there,” Joan said to them. Her face was very red from bending over the hot stove and from moving so fast. The boys stood and stared at her for a moment because she seemed to be everywhere at once as she worked with swift, sure movements.

“Gee! I think we’re going to eat in a minute,” Buddy whispered as he peered at the two frying pans on the stove.

“All right, Granpa,” Joan called. “Bring some paper napkins.” She poured four cups of cold milk from the thermos jug and said to Djuna, “Just put a camp-stool on each side of the table, please, and we’re ready.”

“Food queue forms on the right,” Mr. Scissors said, as he picked up a plate from the table and took it over to the stove where Joan was waiting to dish out the bacon and scrambled eggs. Buddy and Djuna lined up behind Mr. Scissors and Joan dished them out some beautifully fried pieces of bacon and scrambled eggs that were light and fluffy and looked like spoonfuls of gold.

Mr. Scissors was standing beside his camp-stool when the boys brought their plates back to the table, and he said, “I always wait until Joan has served herself, too, before I sit down.” So they put their plates on the table and waited until Joan had served herself and had put a dishpan full of water on the fire, to heat for the dish-washing. And although it was very, very painful they waited with Mr. Scissors until Joan had taken her seat and picked up her fork before
they
sat down.

“
Food!
” Buddy moaned, and rolled his eyes as he took the first bite.

Djuna was too busy eating to say anything, but after he had taken a half-dozen bites he happened to catch a glimpse of Champ, lying in the cool shade beyond them with his head on his paws, sound asleep. He put down his fork and started to get up as he said, “Gee whitakers! Champ must be sick or he’d be pestering us for food. He hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday either.”

“Oh, he’s full,” Joan said, and she giggled. “I fed
him
a long time ago!”

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