[Illustration: “HELLO, PUMPKIN MAN,” WAS BILLY’S CORDIAL GREETING.]




  BILLY WHISKERS
  AT THE FAIR

  By

  F. G. WHEELER

  [Illustration]

  Drawings by ARTHUR DEBEBIAN

  THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

  NEW YORK      AKRON, OHIO      CHICAGO




  COPYRIGHT, 1909
  By
  THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

  MADE BY
  THE WERNER COMPANY
  AKRON, OHIO




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                            PAGE

     I. The Automobile Arrives          9

    II. Fair Day Dawns                 25

   III. In the Needlework Exhibit      39

    IV. The Baby Show                  51

     V. The Balloon Man                61

    VI. The Fortune Teller             71

   VII. The Laughing Gallery           81

  VIII. Billy Has an Encounter         93

    IX. A Night with the Duke          99

     X. Toppy to the Fore             107

    XI. Threatened with Lockjaw       121

   XII. The Pumpkin Man               131

  XIII. A Triumphant Home-Coming      141

   XIV. The Reward                    155




ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                    PAGE

  “Hello, Pumpkin Man,” was Billy’s cordial greeting      _Frontispiece_

  Whack! resounded a broomstick on Billy’s broad back                 21

  Billy landed in a great tub of water                                45

  Louder and louder came the shouts of his pursuers                   65

  “I geeve you von neekle alreaty. Now you say anodder?”              85

  There peeping from behind the skirts of the second woman
    was a handsome goat                                              133


[Illustration: BILLY WHISKERS AT THE FAIR.]




CHAPTER I

THE AUTOMOBILE ARRIVES


Affairs at Cloverleaf Farm had been running very smoothly for a month
or more. School had begun, the boys were occupied with studies and
so well out of mischief’s way for five hours each day. Summer crops
had been harvested, the barn was bursting with the sweet-scented hay,
the well-filled silo promised many a juicy meal for the farmyard
inhabitants during the approaching winter months, and in the fields the
pumpkins lay like huge nuggets of pure gold, with the shocks of corn
standing guard over their richness.

Billy Whiskers, as you will remember, had returned from his long
travels with the Circus, the troupe of monkeys had come and gone, and
the Farm was left in comparative quiet.

Yet under the outward calm there was a vague uneasiness, and a strange
restlessness was apparent among the boys, which at times infected
even the older members of the Treat household. All this was proven
conclusively because Billy Whiskers and his gaily-painted cart were
neglected, and catalogs had held much more interest than outdoor sports
for the last week or more.

But such a condition of things could not last very long. One fine
afternoon when the sun was casting long, slanting rays across the
fields, and there was the soft haziness of first October days in the
air, Tom, Dick and Harry were passing the Corners on their way home
from school when the postmaster, a genial old fellow, hailed them from
his seat on a cracker barrel in front of the store.

“Here, boys, wait a minute. There’s a postal for your father, and the
new automobile is a-comin’, all right, all right!”

[Illustration]

“Hooray!” shouted Tom, as he leaped up the steps.

“Hur-_rah_!” exulted Harry, a close second.

“_Hur_-rah,” echoed Dick, as he was dragged along, for the smallest of
the Treat boys tugged at Harry’s hand, determined to be on the scene
with his older brothers.

Three pairs of eager hands reached through the narrow little window of
the board partition which served to divide the post-office from the
general store, but agile Tom secured the coveted prize and was away,
out of the store and off up the dusty road like a flash.

“Father, father, look here!” breathlessly shouted the trio, as they
turned into the yard and drew up at the front porch steps.

Father and Mother Treat hurried to the veranda to learn the cause of
all this wild commotion, and their faces wreathed in smiles at the
welcome news that the auto was on its way.

“When do you think it’ll get here?”

“Will you let me drive her?”

“I may, mayn’t I, papa?”

The beleaguered father shook off the eager questioners with:

“Now, boys, the card says that the machinist who is to deliver the
automobile will probably arrive to-morrow afternoon. I think we’ll have
to make it a holiday, so you will be on hand when it comes.”

“Now, father,” remonstrated Mrs. Treat quickly, “that is unwise. They’d
much better be in school.”

“Tut, tut, mother! Boys must have some good times, I think.”

“Oh, father, do let us!” petitioned the boys, and a cheery nod
satisfied them that the victory was theirs.

Very little indeed was accomplished by the Treat boys the next morning,
and kind Miss Clinton, their teacher, was at a loss for an explanation
of the wriggling, twisting and manifest uneasiness possessing them.

Tom was detected in the act of attempting to communicate with Harry,
the note was confiscated by Miss Clinton, and Tom himself straightway
sent to the platform, where he whiled away the dreary, lagging moments
by driving an imaginary automobile over the hills at a terrific speed,
much to the envy of his schoolmates.

“I’ll ask everyone of ’em to ride, except Miss Clinton,” he pondered,
planning revenge for his present predicament. “And _then_ I guess
she’ll wish she hadn’t punished me.”

[Illustration]

Noon came at last, as all noons do, and then the note was presented to
Miss Clinton by little Dick, though by this time it was very much the
worse for frequent fingering. The little fellow had not been able to
keep his hands off the precious thing for longer than five minutes at a
time. First he had to make sure that it really was in his pocket. Then
again he took just one peep inside to reassure himself that it asked
that he and his brothers be excused from the afternoon session. Each
time he took it out, he patted it lovingly, and therefore it now bore
many a print of chubby and very smudgy finger tips.

Miss Clinton’s consent was readily given, for rules in the country
districts are not so iron-clad as in the more crowded city schools, and
away hastened the boys for the noonday meal at home.

It proved to be rather a tempestuous one, and Mrs. Treat was glad
indeed when chairs were pushed back from the board and the restive
group betook themselves to the wide, shady veranda. It commanded a
splendid view of the road toward Springfield, for it mounted a gradual
ascent of a mile or more before it scurried over and down again in its
eagerness to reach the city.

“I wonder what Billy will do when he sees the machine,” piped up
little Dick, as they settled themselves comfortably in hammock and in
spacious, comfortable porch chairs.

“Well, he has seen plenty of autos go by here, and after all his
experiences with the Circus this summer, he ought to behave, I’m
sure,” said Mrs. Treat uneasily, for she was never quite sure that she
understood Billy and all his varying moods.

Now Billy overheard this remark, for he was just around the corner of
the house, on the outside cellar door, this being his favorite spot on
warm afternoons.

In fact, he was very fond of luxury, and always took a siesta after a
hearty meal and during the heated portion of the day.

“Don’t be too sure of that, Mrs. Treat,” soliloquized mischievous
Billy. “I am not so old yet that I shall rest content without
occasional adventures. I really believe I am beginning to be a trifle
bored, now that I think of it. Nothing interesting has happened in this
countryside for a whole month, and it is high time that I stir up the
community a bit. It really seems too ba--”

“He’s coming! He’s coming!” shouted Tom. “Just over the hill! Don’t you
see him?”

And the three boys, unable to control their delight, pranced around,
threw their caps high into the air, and then raced down to the gate.

“Look at her go! Bet she can make thirty miles an hour,” predicted
Harry.

“She is surely plowing through the sand in great style,” said Tom,
as the automobile reached the flats and struck the heavy sand of the
bottoms.

“I’m a-goin’ to sit on the front seat,” announced Dick confidently,
hanging over the gate and swinging back and forth.

“Oh, no, you’re not, sonny! I am, you know,” declared patronizing
Harry, but Tom, the deliberate, silenced them both.

“You’ll neither of you sit on the front seat. Babies belong back
in the tonneau with their mother, and that’s just where you’ll be,
youngsters. Father and I will sit in front, you’ll see.”

“Huh!” grunted Harry, with fine contempt. “Think because you’re an inch
taller’n me you own the farm, don’t you?”

They were still arguing this all-important question when with toot of
horn and a fine flourish the automobile drew up at the gate, and the
chauffeur bent over the wheel to inquire:

“This Cloverleaf Farm?”

“Well, I just guess, and that is our automobile!” was the satisfactory,
if rather inelegant response.

“Glad to see you, very glad to see you!” was Mr. Treat’s cordial
welcome as he hastened to shake hands with the driver.

“Glad to meet you too, sir, and to deliver the car safe and sound.
She’s in finest trim. Suppose we might as well proceed right to
business. I must get back to Springfield to-night to catch the
eight-forty westbound. Shall I teach you to drive her now?”

“Well, to-morrow is Fair day, and we’ll want to use her, of course. But
come in, and have a drink of sweet cider and a doughnut first. You must
be thirsty,” urged Mr. Treat, not forgetful of hospitality. “Boys, run
and tell mother to put on her bonnet and to come out for a little spin.”

During this time Billy Whiskers had not been idle. He had observed the
approach of the car, and leisurely ambled around to the front of the
farmhouse, nibbling grass and occasionally taking a sample of Mrs.
Treat’s special pride, a gaudy bed of scarlet geraniums bordered with
sweet elyssum.

At last he took up his station on the front steps, in order to view the
automobile to best possible advantage. With one long look, he said to
himself:

“That is a mighty fine contraption. Glad I was able to earn it for the
boys. ’Twas well worth a summer of toil, hardship and privation to give
my Dick a bit of pleasure. What fine times we’ll have in it! But why,
w-h-y, how is this?” questioned surprised Billy from the porch steps,
for Mrs. Treat had needed no second bidding to take her first ride in
the automobile, and had brushed past him, unheeding.

In fact, she had laid her hat on the bed of the spare room downstairs
early that morning, all ready to be donned for this very occasion, and
even now the family was being stowed away in the rear seat of the auto,
doors were being securely fastened, last cautions and warnings given,
and the driver was cranking the machine preparatory to starting.

“Why, w-h-y,” repeated Billy in astonishment, “They’ve forgotten _me_.
I’ll just remind them,” and he ran down to the gate, bleating his
displeasure.

“Good-bye, old Billy!”

“Race along behind! There’s a good fellow!” Harry called.

And with these words of scant consolation, the machine glided off,
leaving Billy a very much disconcerted and crestfallen goat.

Then jealousy crept into his heart, and filled it near to bursting.

“They surely remember that it is my automobile. I am the one who really
earned it, I’d have them to know! I am the one who should have had the
honor of the very first ride. It is my money they are spending, and yet
here I stand, alone and forsaken, while they go whizzing off in such
fine style!”

Now as everyone knows, boys and girls especially, jealousy is a very
naughty thing to cherish, and revenge is even worse, but, his anger
mounting higher and higher, Billy proceeded to plan vengeance.

“I don’t like the smell of the thing, anyhow, and if they don’t let me
ride in it, perhaps my horns can take some of the shine off its sides.
I’ll bite a piece out of the tires, too, and then maybe they’ll have
time to remember a little of what Billy Whiskers has done for this
family. I might even drink the gasolene, but you see that might explode
after it’s inside of me and not prove altogether a safe undertaking,”
and he sadly returned to the cellar door for his usual afternoon nap.

The Treats did not return for two hours or more, and then all were
so loud in their praises of the automobile that poor Billy was quite
forgotten.

A bountiful supper was spread, and the machinist entertained in true
country style. After the meal, all repaired to the porch for a final
chat before the driver should be taken to Springfield by Mr. Treat.

“I’ll remind them of my existence,” thought Billy, and he stalked
slowly across the front lawn with majestic tread, in full view of the
group, on his way to the barn and his quarters for the night.

“What a very fine goat you have there,” complimented the chauffeur.

“Oh, yes,” agreed Mr. Treat, “but a great nuisance, I sometimes think.”

“Why,” interrupted Mrs. Treat, “what do you think? A few weeks ago he
came back home with a whole pack of trained monkeys he had led in a
Circus performance this last summer, and glad enough I was when we were
finally rid of them. He’s a scapegoat, I’m sure of that.”

“A goat is all right, but an auto is lots better,” decided unloyal Tom.
“I wish we could sell him now.”

“You do, eh?” thought Billy, as he disappeared around the house. “If
I ever have a chance at some of the people who are always so ready
to discard their old friends, they will wish I had never come back
from the Circus with enough money to buy their automobile,” and as a
balm for his wounded vanity, Billy wandered down to the barn to spread
discontent and rebellion among his animal friends.

“Well, Browny,” he began, as he entered that faithful horse’s box
stall, “the new auto has come, and all the farmyard animals will have
to look to their laurels now. They may even be entirely forgotten and
perhaps left to starve.” You can see from this remark that Billy was
possessed of a remarkably vivid imagination.--“I’ve gone supperless
to-night, which may be but the beginning of the new order of things.”

“Now, Billy Whiskers, that is sheer nonsense. Why, I’ve been with the
Treats ever since they were bride and groom, and I have carried each of
the boys around on my back as soon as they were able to hold on to my
mane. They’ll never forget the services of old Browny.” And he proudly
tossed his noble head.

“Oh, don’t be too sure of that,” returned Billy. “Just remember what I
did for them this summer. And now Mrs. Treat is calling me a nuisance
and a scapegoat, whatever that is. This minute they are planning long
trips, but never a word of thanks to Billy.”

Browny gave a hoarse laugh of mingled contempt and ridicule.

“Why, William Whiskers,” he said in a tone of sharp rebuke, “you are
carrying on like a half-grown kid instead of a full-grown, bewhiskered
goat!”

“Never mind, we’ll see how you behave when your time to be cast aside
comes. You’ll not even get to the Fair this year.”

“You’re wrong there, Billy. I’ll go the same as I have for the past
fifteen years. Be up bright and early to-morrow morning and you’ll see
me on the way.”

“Perhaps, and again perhaps not.”

“Well, at any rate I’m not worrying. Why, this morning you saw our
farmyard beauty, the Duke of Windham, along with Dick’s Plymouth Rock,
Toppy, as they started for the exhibit. They’ll be prize winners, or
I miss my guess. The Treat farm is always well represented. By the
way, Billy, are you going? Lots of fun--such fun as you’ve never seen.
Better come along,” cordially.

“Oh, I’ll be there. But be sure you are among those present, that is
all,” retorted the goat, with a knowing wink.

“Going to walk, same as you did to get to the Circus?” prodded droll
Browny.

“Not if I know it,” was Billy’s quick reply. Ambling up closer, he
reached up and whispered confidentially:

“I’m going in the automobile, with the rest of the family. A goat of
my experience and breeding goes with the best,” and with that Billy
stalked off, head held high, well satisfied at having filled Browny as
full of uncomfortable forebodings as he himself had been a short time
before.

[Illustration: WHACK! RESOUNDED A BROOMSTICK ON BILLY’S BROAD BACK.]

“I surely smell doughnuts,” thought Billy as he sniffed the keen
outside air, and he quickened his steps toward the kitchen, which had
been the scene of unusual activity that day.

Peering cautiously in, he found the field clear, much to his
satisfaction.

“Deserted! I’ll now eat the supper I didn’t have a while ago.”

And into the pantry walked the naughty Billy, to pilfer the results of
Mrs. Treat’s day spent at baking and brewing.

“Dear me! there surely are doughnuts somewhere about. I never make
a mistake in that regard, for they are prime favorites with one B.
W. Ah, there they are, and a two-gallon crock piled high with the
brown beauties! I’ll try just one, and then that pumpkin pie on the
next shelf looks a bit toothsome, too. I really think that all these
doughnuts, six pies all in a row, a chocolate cake, and then another
that they call a sponge, though I never could see the reason for the
name, besides three fried chickens in that earthen bowl are just a
little more than the boys ought to be allowed to eat to-morrow. It
might make them sick, and so I’ll play the good fairy and remove
temptation from their path,” and Billy fell to with a will.

His stomach was commencing to bulge with the goodies, and even his
goatish appetite was half satisfied, when Whack! Whack! resounded a
broomstick on Billy’s broad back, wielded vigorously by the mistress of
the household. Discouraged and back beaten, his goatship scurried to
the barn, there to nurse his many grievous wrongs.

“Small use in my trying to do right,” he cogitated. “Somebody is always
against me, and as soon as I am up, they are sure to knock me down. I
am getting sore,” and he rubbed his poor back against Browny’s stall.
“Anyway, there’s a good time ahead to-morrow.”

Now Billy had heard a great deal of this annual county event, for the
Treat boys had discussed it at length. Nevertheless, it would all be
new to him. As he sought his bed of fragrant hay, his thoughts ran:

“Wonder what a Fair is like. Maybe just a miniature Circus, and then
it will be a bore to me. But I’ll go in the auto. That will be a new
experience, anyway. Will sit on the front seat, too; if not going
to the Fair, at least on the return trip. There will be room for me
somewhere. I have always managed my own affairs with a fair measure of
success, and I believe I can this time. They say where there’s a will
there’s a way, and I am the Will in this instance. With a good night’s
rest and an early breakfast, I will be in trim and--and--” but Billy
was off to the land of dreams.




CHAPTER II

FAIR DAY DAWNS


As is the invariable custom with all thrifty farm folk, the Treat
family was astir as soon as the sun had begun his journey across the
sky. Just as the first bright streaks of light shot up from the horizon
in the east, Mr. Treat went to the stock barns to do his morning
chores, and his good wife was busy in her kitchen preparing the morning
meal. The boys were eager to lend a hand--an extraordinary state of
affairs, to say the least, but they were so brimming full of excitement
at the prospects of the day before them that finally they were banished
from the kitchen, their mother declaring them nuisances and far more of
a hindrance than a help.

As the sound of the clicking gate leading from the barnyard to the
vegetable garden at the rear of the house proclaimed Mr. Treat’s
return, his wife poured out the steaming, fragrant coffee and Tom was
summoned to carry the savory ham and eggs to the table. Mrs. Treat was
one of those women who realize that a farmer must dilly-dally at his
meals no more than any business man, and seldom indeed was this family
asked to wait for a meal.

“Looks like a fine day ahead of us,” Mr. Treat reported as he opened
the door. “The little fog in the valley is clearing fast, and by noon
it will be warm enough for our picnic dinner in the maple grove.”

  “Evening red and morning gray
      Sets the traveler on his way,”

quoted Mrs. Treat. “I was not worrying about the weather, for that sign
never fails.”

“Goody! Goody!” exulted Dick. “Let’s hurry, father.”

“Well, all the stock has been fed, and my work is done. If mother will
pack the lunch, we’ll be off within the hour. I’ve taken a look at the
automobile and everything is in shape for the start.”

“I’d much rather go in the carriage, with Browny,” remonstrated Mrs.
Treat nervously. “You know, father--”

“Oh, father, please don’t!” chorussed Tom and Harry in a breath.

“I’ll drive Browny!” cried cheery little Dick, always ready to
acquiesce to any plan.

“Now, mother,” wheedled Mr. Treat, “don’t you worry! That machinist
told me a lot of things about the auto, and you know I drove to
Springfield and back again last night after supper. I made the return
trip alone, too, and so nothing’s going to happen to-day. Boys,”
dismissing the subject, “help pack the hamper, and I’ll fill the
gasolene tank.”

Boys and girls who have lived all their years in the city have scant
idea of all the good things that went into the Treat hamper that
morning.

There was a crisp salad of celery, apples, nuts and lettuce, dozens
and dozens of sandwiches with a liberal filling of boiled ham,
pickles--tomato pickles, cucumber pickles, pickled pears, pickled
onions--cold chicken, sliced ham, baked beans, mince pie, pumpkin pie,
doughnuts, and a delicious cake.

The preparation of the lunch was Mrs. Treat’s special pride, and all
her housewifely art was exerted to make it the best her ovens could
produce. As she spread the snowy napkins over the top of the bountiful
feast, she said:

“This lunch basket is rather large, but it will set in that hamper on
the auto very easily. I’ve packed this basket tight, and the things
won’t jiggle at all. Now, Tom, you take hold of this side, and Harry,
you may take this, and tell your father to crowd in newspapers securely
about it so it can’t move an inch. I always think when I see an auto
go spinning by that the trunk’ll surely bump off when they go over the
thank-e-ma’ams on the hill.”

“Mama said to fix it tight,” cautioned Tom, as the basket was lifted to
its place in the larger hamper on the rack.

“I’ll do that, my son, and now run in and bring me some more papers.
This lunch must carry safely, or our day will be spoiled.”

“There!” sighed Mr. Treat, as he tested the hamper to see that no
amount of bumping would disturb the lunch, “that will do, but I will
let the lid be open, for mother’ll be sure to want to tuck in something
else at the very last moment. Come along, boys, we’ll get our hats and
then be off,” and they merrily trooped into the house.

Jealous Billy had not been idle all this time. Indeed, he had been
spying out the situation from a favorite hiding-place in the hay mow,
and now he descended to reconnoiter further.

“How am I ever to get to the Fair in that? There’s no place underneath
where I can hang on. I can’t get inside, for they’ll see me first
thing, and then I’ll be taken into the barn and securely locked up.
That was the treatment I received in the summer when the Circus came to
Springfield. I can’t ride anywhere that I can see.”

Once more he circled around the machine.

“If there was only a top to the machine, I might manage to ride on it.
To be sure, it might prove rather slippery, but I’d dig in my toes.
There would be one disadvantage, though. I’d receive the full benefit
of all the bumps on the road, perched up there.”

With a saucy side toss of his magnificent head, he paused suddenly to
chuckle:

“Ha, ha! Ho, ho! Just the very place for me! Ha, ha, ha!” and with one
light spring he was up beside the hamper.

“Plenty of room with a few of those papers out of the way,” so he
proceeded to dispense with them by eating them--not a very appetizing
meal, but goats are not the most epicurean of beasts. When they had
been disposed of in this manner, he stepped daintily inside the hamper,
though it was a very tight fit. Then his eyes popped open and a broad
smile lighted up his countenance, and he wiggled his chin whiskers, a
trick he had to express extreme pleasure.

“What luck for Billy! Breakfast all laid! And Mrs. Treat’s best
cooking, too.”

With a little flirt of his horns, wicked Billy brought the cover down
over himself and the lunch basket, and to all outward appearances
everything was very snug.

“Good thing this is so large,” ruminated Billy. “Really it is more of
a rattan trunk than a hamper. I suppose it is meant to do duty for a
trunk on short trips,” and he settled himself comfortably, and only
just in time, for Mr. Treat was even then calling in his hearty, jovial
way: “All aboard!” and was helping Mrs. Treat into the tonneau.

After an argument as to whom belonged the honor place--the seat beside
the driver--Tom was installed there, while the younger boys were
tucked in beside their mother, pacified by the promise that on the
return trip it would be turn-about.

In the excitement of getting off, Mr. Treat forgot all about the
unfastened hamper, and so with a few preliminary coughs and rumbles,
the machine glided smoothly out of the drive on to the highway--a
_six_-passenger car.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the time the boys had been out of bed, they had been popping to
the front window in the kitchen at every noise made by passing vehicles.

“Mama, mama, there go the Ripleys!” they complained, eager to be off.

“We’ll never get there if we don’t start pretty soon,” they fairly
groaned.

“Never mind, never mind,” Mother Treat comforted. “We are going in the
automobile, you know, and we will overtake all those people before they
are so very many miles on their way.”

And now that they were skimming along so rapidly, they really began to
pass their neighbors in their slower, horse-drawn conveyances.

Farmer Treat honked merrily as he rolled up behind them and as horses
were turned to one side to give liberal passing room, the boys
answered the friendly greetings with happy shouts and waving caps.

“We will beat the whole township to the Fair,” predicted Tom, ever full
of confidence.

“B-b-b-b-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-r!” came a hoarse, grating sound from the
depths of the auto as they reached the first slight incline which began
the long, steady half-mile mount of Rex Hill.

Mr. Treat, full of fear at the unusual noise, put on the emergency
brake and brought the car to a standstill with a sudden jolt.

“Mercy me!” shouted Mrs. Treat, from the tonneau. “Let me out! I told
you something would happen and we’d all be killed. Let me out!” she
repeated, fumbling frantically at the door.

“What’s the matter?” inquired the boys, as they began to tinker with
spark plug, brake and lever.

“Let those be!” commanded Mr. Treat, not in the best of humor, and
trying in vain to conceal his uneasiness. “I’ll soon have it fixed,”
and he continued his search for the cause of the trouble.

“It isn’t the tires as I can see, and nothing’s wrong with the sparker,
either,” he said nervously. “And there comes the George Petersons, and
he’ll have a spell if he sees me in difficulty. He is always glad to
laugh at one in trouble. Besides, I know he’s wanted an auto for a long
time, and a chance to laugh at--Mother, come on! Climb in. It’s all
right. I must have fed the engine too much gasolene. Climb in and we’ll
be hustling along.”

All went well until they topped the hill and struck a new cinder road
when b-b-bu-ur-r-r-r! came the same dismal, warning sound.

“Land sakes! What_ever_ can be the trouble now? I am getting that
fidgety that I sha’n’t be able to enjoy anything at the Fair when we do
get there!” fretted Mrs. Treat.

“I’m pretty certain it is the gear,” said her husband, “or else the
carbureter.”

“Perhaps it is the spark plug,” offered knowing Tom.

“Mightn’t it be the batteries,” suggested Dick with a wise expression
in his great blue eyes, and a frown on his face.

“Or may be one of the differentials,” added Harry, eager to be of help
to his father.

“Well, I am pretty sure it is a judgment on us,” responded Mrs. Treat.
“I think we had better turn back and get old Browny and the surrey.
We’ll be sure to get there some time then. Now I don’t know that we
ever shall.”

“What did I do?” questioned Mr. Treat as the engine began to respond to
his vigorous cranking. “I’ve cranked and cranked and _cranked_, and why
it should begin now and not ten minutes ago is beyond my comprehension.”

If the driver had been of an inquiring turn of mind and had conducted
his investigations a little further, he might have located the real
cause of all his difficulties.

In the course of the last half hour, Billy Whiskers had been feasting
himself upon the pies and cakes and other delicacies stored in the
hamper.

“My, what would Browny think if he could see me now!” he thought. And
it was his roar of delight that resulted in the first consternation of
the inexperienced chauffeur.

“Deary me!” thought the goat when the auto brought up with a violent
jerk. “I wish Mr. Treat would be more careful. I’ll surely be caught
now, and he will be the death of me if he finds me in here,” and a
nervous shiver or two ran down his spine. But when all quieted down and
the machine was making good time over the country roads, Billy resumed
his repast, only to be interrupted once or twice by his chuckles of
bubbling good nature.

At last, even his appetite being fully satisfied, he began to lay
further plans for his outing.

“In the first place,” he mused, “how am I ever to get out of this box?
My legs are cramped, and I ache in every bone from remaining so long in
such an awkward position. I’ll stretch a bit and see where we are, at
the same time,” and he cautiously raised the hamper lid with his head.

“Well, well! If there isn’t the gate to the grounds. How glad I am to
see it. I’ll crouch down here and ride right in with the family.”

But the flowers on Mrs. Treat’s hat proved his undoing, for they waved
so temptingly near, Billy could not resist one little nibble to see
if they were as delicious as they looked. Feeling the twitch as his
teeth fastened upon them, that lady turned suddenly, and Billy, making
a hurried effort to escape her eye, dodged down behind. Unfortunately,
he lost his balance and fell into the dust, and it was only due to the
fact that the hamper was strapped on securely that he did not carry
that along. He rolled over and over in the deep dust of the unpaved
roadway until his beautiful white coat was soiled and grimy.

[Illustration]

Regaining his footing with a bound, he shook himself to free his coat
of the dirt and to express his disgust.

“’Twill never do to let a trifle like this keep me from the Fair. I
must gain an entrance somehow,” and he ran as fast as his fleet legs
could carry him.

[Illustration]

He made a desperate effort to overtake the automobile, now almost at
the gate, but just as the machine rolled past the entrance and into
the enchanted territory, Billy dashed up, only to be confronted by the
gateman, who nimbly swung the wide gate back into place--and Billy was
outside!

“Beaten!” he gasped, gazing wrathfully after the fast disappearing
automobile. “How can I get inside of that high fence?”

The gateman threw a few stones at Billy to chase him away, and so he
sadly and slowly began to patrol the fence, searching for some place
that would offer easy entrance. Two or three times he was half way
under, squirming his way in like a common dog, but a crowd of boys
found him and, taking advantage of his helpless position, threw sticks
and stones, and forced him to withdraw.

Coming to a high bluff that overlooked the grounds, he climbed it and
lay down for a few moments of rest, to rearrange his disordered plans.

[Illustration]

He could see the tops of the many tents and the roof of the grandstand,
dazzlingly white in its new coat of paint, and the long, curving course
of the race track stretching before it. All of these things he quickly
recognized from the descriptions he had heard the boys give, and then,
too, it resembled the Circus to a striking degree.

About the tents and buildings he could see the crowds beginning
to surge. He could hear the barking of many dogs, the cackling of
chickens, the lowing of the cows, the baaing of the sheep, the
squealing of the pigs, and the confused murmur of the people,--a great
hubbub down there, but just a faint murmur at this distance.

“Oh, if only I were there! It must be glorious. See that beautiful
horse trotting around the track at the far side--and there, there is
our auto, I’m sure of it! I wonder what Mrs. Treat will say when she
discovers that something has happened to her fine lunch. But here, I
must gain entrance to these grounds by hook or by crook.”

He thought a long time, but one plan after another was cast aside as
being too foolhardy, or unworthy his prowess, or beneath his dignity.
At last, just below him, he spied little Dick coming along beside his
mother.

“Ah, there is my playfellow!” and with no thought but to join him, he
bounded over the forbidding fence.

“Oh, Billy, Billy!” shouted surprised Dick. “I’m so glad to see you,”
but Billy needed just one quick glance at Mrs. Treat’s face to realize
that it was wise for him to keep his distance and away he scurried,
free as when on his native hills in far-away Switzerland.




CHAPTER III

IN THE NEEDLEWORK EXHIBIT


After Billy had put a safe distance between himself and Mrs. Treat to
feel at ease, he wandered aimlessly along, letting himself be carried
here and there, wherever he chanced to see anything that offered
interest, when suddenly he heard a squeaky, high-pitched voice saying:

  “Oh, where have you been,
      Billy boy, Billy boy?”

“Who is that? I do not recognize the voice, but it may be some of my
old friends from the Circus,” and knowing that the voice issued from a
tent near by, he promptly stuck his head under the canvas side and took
a look about.

Billy Whiskers, as you already know, had a very large bump of
curiosity, and tents were no mystery to him after his long experience
of the summer just gone.

“Nothing there,” he quickly decided, when from the other side of the
tent came the inquiry in a sing-song, high falsetto:

  “Oh, where have you been,
      Billy boy, Billy boy?
  Oh, where have you been,
      Charming Billy?”

By this time Billy’s eyes commenced to bulge with wonder, for he was as
susceptible to flattery as any.

“I wonder which of my friends is playing this joke. Come out, old
fellow, and give me a fair chance,” he demanded.

  “Oh, where have you been,
      Billy boy, Billy boy?
  Oh, where have you been,
      Charming Billy?

  I’ve been to seek a wife,
  For the pleasure of my life,
  She’s a young thing,
  And cannot leave her mother!”

came the mocking answer.

“If I could find the insolent fellow, I would cure him of prying into
other people’s affairs. More trouble is made in this world by prying
eyes and itching ears than any other one thing. That much I’ve learned
in my short career. But there is nothing here except that box with the
tin horn sticking out of the top. It must be someone is trying to play
a practical joke on me.”

Billy crept all the way into the tent, for he still hoped to find one
of his friends in hiding. Walking about cautiously to explore, he had
all but reached the mysterious box when once more the voice began to
repeat:

  “Oh, where have you been,
      Billy boy, Bil----”

“Now I know who ’tis. It’s one of those parrots who traveled with the
Circus, and that box must be her cage. They always were the sauciest
things, and full of importance, and I’ll teach her a much-needed
lesson.”

Backing away to gain a start, Billy made the attack and struck the box
full in the center. Over it went with a great clatter, and the noise
summoned an attendant, who rushed in to see what had happened.

[Illustration]

“Get out o’ here! Get out o’ here! You’ve smashed the greatest
invention of the age,” and, stick in hand, he started after Billy with
wrath in his eye.

Deciding that discretion was much the better part of valor, Billy took
quick refuge in precipitous flight. He crept under the side of the tent
once more, but this time his departure was hastened a trifle by a final
prod from his pursuer.

“No use,” thought the discouraged goat. “I receive many rough knocks
in this great world. If they had not called me in here, I would never
thought of entering, and then the moment I am inside, they boost me out
as if I were an intruder, and so it goes--but here I am at this large
building. Let me see what it has to offer. I always like to make the
rounds to these show places before the crush commences. Besides, this
seems to be devoted to the ladies, so it deserves my first attention.
Then I am always a wee bit shy and timid when the ladies are around, so
altogether it behooves me to get in early.”

In reality, Billy had wandered into the needlework department of the
great Fair. The walls were hung with quilts of all colors and makes.
There was the common four-patch, the more pretentious nine-patch, and
then the intricate, puzzling designs of the tulip pattern, and, above
all, some proud owner had brought her wonderful Rising Sun design, with
its limitless amount of work.

Large pieces of embroidery likewise were displayed, and show cases were
filled with the most expensive and exquisite hand-made laces. Tables
were strewn with fine doilies, elaborate handkerchiefs, scarfs and what
not.

Billy was plainly amazed, and stood with wide-open eyes gazing about.

“Just look at those handsome pillows and the soft, downy cushions!
How fine it must be to sleep on them instead of on a hard bundle of
straw or perhaps on the hay beside the hay stack,” and so musing, Billy
walked the length of the hall.

People were now beginning to crowd the building, and Billy was scarcely
noticed among the throng. Petticoats were much in predominance, as men
are little, if ever, deeply interested in such things as were here
displayed. Billy rejoiced at this, for he did not hold women in such
respect as men--they might shriek louder, but instead of giving chase
and inflicting merited punishment, they much more often merely screamed
their fright, and then collapsed in a little, limp heap. Therefore his
seeming boldness on this occasion.

Once an old lady, dim of sight, patted him on the back, but, bending
closer, discovered his horns and drew fearfully away, wondering at her
fortunate escape.

As Billy strolled along, he became conscious that he was frightfully
hungry, and when he heard a lady exclaim in admiration at a “biscuit
quilt,” he edged nearer to that center of attraction.

There on the wall he saw what appeared to be a mammoth pan of many
colored biscuit. For a long time he gazed at the sight, lost in happy
contemplation of the feast that it would afford. The longer he looked,
the hungrier he grew, and the wilder became the desire to sink his
teeth in the delicious, puffy looking things.

When most of the crowd had pressed on to another point of interest, he
crept up to the toothsome dainty and began to nibble at it.

“Rather tough,” he commented, “but perhaps they’ve baked too hard
around the edge and when I get nearer the middle, the biscuits will be
more tender. It must have been rather a large pan, and the outer ones
had too much heat,” and he ate on with a right good will.

Having consumed all that was within easy reach, he began to pull. With
a crash the entire supporting frame fell to the floor, knocking two or
three people down and striking Billy a spiteful blow on the head.

Blinded for the moment, and enraged, he plunged madly into a show-case.
There the shower of falling, shattered glass terrified him the more,
and he turned to make a frantic rush through the rapidly gathering
throng, knocking down any and all who blocked his path with those
cruel, lowered horns.

Finding progress almost impossible and fearing immediate capture, he
leaped up on a table and ran helter-skelter from one end to the other.
In his mad careening, his horns caught an exquisite lace shawl, and
it went streaming behind him like the tail of a comet as he made one
long, flying leap through an open window, to safety, as he thought, but
S-P-L-A-S-H! Billy landed in a great tub of water in which seven or
eight ducks were calmly besporting themselves.

[Illustration: BILLY LANDED IN A GREAT TUB OF WATER.]

  “Three rings for five cents!
  Try your luck!
  Seven for ten cents!
  Win a duck!”

screamed the fakir.

Hearing the wild hissing and quacking of his prize fowls, he turned to
investigate, and just in time to see Billy Whiskers scramble out of the
miniature duck pond and vigorously shake himself free of the water of
his involuntary and unexpected bath.

“There,” thought Billy, “I’m away from that mob of petticoats, and also
from that stringy thing that fastened itself to my horns,” for one
duck, more daring than its fellows, had plucked the cob-webby lace off
Billy’s horns and was waddling off with the filmy plunder.

More concerned about the safety of his ducks than with the intrusion
of the goat, the fakir bustled about restoring them to their tub, and
Billy made off, much to the amusement of the ring throwers.

Perhaps you have known people that were so engrossed with their own
small troubles that they had no thought for the countless beautiful
things in the world about them--never saw the blooming flowers, never
heard the warble of the feathered songster, never enjoyed any of the
countless wondrous things God has put into His world for His children’s
pleasure?

[Illustration]

Well, Billy was not that kind. No sooner had he extricated himself from
his predicament of the duck pond than he cocked up his head, shut one
eye in a provoking wink, and drank in what was as pleasing to his ears
as rare wine to the palate of the epicure--the strains of music from a
merry-go-round.

It was just coming to a standstill as Billy approached, and in the
attending bustle and excitement of unloading the youngsters, he managed
to secrete himself between two prancing, though wooden steeds. In a
moment the shrill whistle tooted its warning and last invitation to
another group to board, and the children crowded the circular platform.
Hurriedly they chose their places, one little fellow crying:

“Oh, let me ride the Billy dote! He is just like the Billy I want at
home, favver!”

And there stood our Billy, rigid as a statue, never wiggling so much as
one whisker while the youngster bestrode his back and clutched at his
horns.

Round and round and round the merrymakers circled, as dizzy as they
were happy. The piano played, the children laughed, and the grown-ups,
though scarcely so boisterous, enjoyed the trip fully as much as the
little folks whom they accompanied--for of course they had to go along.
Wouldn’t it be too dreadful if the boys and girls should tumble off
their steeds?

Presently the merry-go-round stopped, and as the children poured
fourth to make room for the next relay, Billy cautiously watched his
opportunity to escape, dizzy and very weak of leg from the rapid
circling of the merry-go-round. As he made off, he skulked behind this
building and that, fearful that someone who had witnessed the havoc he
had created in the fancy-work department might still be on his trail.




CHAPTER IV

THE BABY SHOW


“Now, Billy Whiskers, this is much like your experience in the early
summer at the Circus, and you know full well what dire consequences
followed then,” scolded the goat, for one of Billy’s favorite pastimes
was to talk to himself as though he were two goats, Billy the good
reproving Billy the mischief-maker; Billy the first admonishing Billy
the second for his escapades and bewailing his abnormal capacity for
evil doing.

“It is high time that you decide to keep out of harm’s way,” he
continued with a wag of the head, “for if you don’t, someone with a
blue coat and a shiny piece of metal on his breast will catch you and
then there’ll be the end of all fun and the beginning of a most dreary
time in captivity.”

“Well, well,” impatiently agreed the fun-loving goat, “you’re in the
right, as always, wise William, and we’ll reform--for to-day. We’ll see
all there is to be seen at this Fair in a becoming manner, though I
fear me it will be a trifle dull and prosy--like spice cake minus the
spice.”

All this time he had been ambling slowly along, following the general
trend of the crowd down a street lined both sides with booths and
buildings which flaunted the gayest of bunting and flags, and now he
drew up with a start as he found himself at the end and facing an open
door, for he was wary of buildings in view of his recent experience in
the needlework department.

Here before him was a great sea of faces. Long rows of chairs and in
every one of them a woman with a baby! Babies and babies and babies
were there. Some were fat and rosy, well content to sit quietly on
their proud mothers’ laps, others were lean and agile, and forever on
the move, but all were beruffled and belaced in billowing garments of
purest white.

“Ah!” ruminated Billy, “this must be the Baby Show. I heard Mrs. Treat
talking about it the other day. I’ll see what sort of specimens are
carrying off the palm these days,” and in he sauntered.

“Now I’m sure that if my Dick was a baby again, he’d have first place.
Even now he is the roundest, rosiest, merriest little youngster I’ve
ever met--and goodness knows, I’m rather an experienced judge. Didn’t
I see thousands and _thousands_ of boys and girls all last summer? If
ever you wish to see all sorts and kinds, the Circus is the place for
you. Why, I remember one day--but there, to the business in hand,” and
he commenced to pace slowly down one aisle.

“Isn’t she the dearest thing?” ejaculated one woman immediately in
front of Billy, pausing so suddenly to fondle a baby all done up in
blue ribbons and lace that Billy, now on his good behavior, had much
ado to save her from an uncomfortable and unpleasant encounter with his
horns. With skilful maneuvering, however, he essayed to pass by, but,
his curiosity aroused, he peered around to discover the cause of her
admiring words.

By this time the baby was undergoing a series of pattings and huggings
at the hands of the visitor, while the delighted mother hovered over
the two.

“Doesn’t she look bright? But then, she ought to be. Now my Jamie, he’s
only five, and he’s the smartest boy,” and motherly pride beamed as she
launched into the story.

“Jamie is the cutest chap, and can wind his father right round
his little finger and lead him where he pleases. Last winter when
Washington’s birthday came, I thought he was old enough to hear about
the Father of his country, so I told him all about the boy George. The
next morning I saw him climb up on his father’s lap and, opening his
big blue eyes in that cunning way all his own, he asked:

“‘Papa, did George Washington really and truly cut down that
cherry-tree?’”

“‘Yes, my son, so they say.’”

“‘And didn’t his papa whip him for being so dreadfully naughty?’ with a
shake of the head to express his wonder.”

“‘No. You see, Jamie, he was proud to have a son who was brave enough
to tell the truth even though he thought a whipping would follow owning
up.’”

“‘Well, papa, would you whip me if I cut down a tree?’ came next from
our boy.”

“‘I think not, Jamie. Yes, I’m sure I would not whip you. I would be
just every bit as proud of you for telling the honest truth as George
Washington’s father was of his boy.’”

“‘Say, father,’ and Jamie snuggled up closer to his father, ‘I
never told you, but one day last summer I went over to Rob’s house
and--and--I ate a whole bushel, almost, of mulberries!’ came the
hesitating confession.” And the mother glanced around quickly to note
the effect of the story on her audience.

“He is a little diplomat, that I see from your story,” commented one of
the group of ladies who had gathered about.

“Boys are dears,” offered a little old lady, dressed in quiet gray that
matched the silver of her waving hair and brought out the wonderful
blue of her beautiful eyes, still alight with youthful fire. “Of course
I never had a son, nor a daughter either, for that matter, but years
ago I lived next to a little girl named Alice, and then I decided that
girls were really nicer than boys.

“Alice was the brightest child, and it was my delight that she came to
my home for a daily call.

“I always kept a jar of cookies in the kitchen cupboard, just in
easy reach for her, for Alice was passionately fond of cookies, and
especially if they boasted a raisin in the center. She always visited
that cupboard as soon as she came in, and always found the jar was
waiting for her with its store.

“But one day her mother told me the habit must not be allowed to grow,
and so I promised faithfully to do my part.

“It was not long until Alice, her curls bobbing and her eyes dancing
with fun, came running in to see me. Straight to that cupboard door she
went, and opening it, was about to reach for the sweet cake when she
discovered the jar empty--empty for the first time in weeks and months!

“Looking at me out of the corner of her eye, she tapped on the jar and
inquired:

“‘Any tookies at home to-day?’”

“And you?” asked one of the bystanders, eager for the rest of the
incident.

“Well, I--I didn’t keep my promise to help break her of the habit that
day.”

“That is a good one,” seconded another woman eagerly, “and brings to my
mind a story of my boys, now grown men. In those days we lived on the
farm, and my sons were just old enough to venture out into the fields
alone. You know what a lark it is for boys to hunt? Well, my boys
developed the instinct early. One day in spring George saw a squirrel
flirt its saucy tail over in the woods, and off they were after it.

[Illustration]

“I had not noticed their absence until I saw Charles, a toddler of
four, come racing down the road and turn into the dooryard.

“‘George has broked his neck! Mama, mama, George has broked his neck,
he has!’ he screamed.

“‘Tell me how,’ I demanded, my heart thumping wildly.

“‘He fell off a tree. He’s broked his neck. Come quick,’ the child gave
answer.

“I needed no second bidding, but frantically started for the wood lot.
Charles ran along by my side, and when we came to the fence I lifted
him over first, and only then thought to ask:

“Charles, how do you know his neck is broken?

“‘Well,’ he explained, ‘you see, he climbed the tree after the
squirrel, and he went out too far, and the old rotten limb it just
snapped and George fell and he is hurted, and he said to run and tell
you to come quick. I started and then he called and said:

“‘Charles, better say my neck is broked right off. I guess then she’ll
hurry, sure!’”

“The little rascal!” laughed one of the bystanders who had listened to
the tale. “I don’t believe you hurried so much after that enlightening
speech, did you?”

“Well, hardly. You see,” beaming, “I wasn’t so sure that his neck was
broken after that!”

“Hump!” thought Billy, disgust written on his face. “These mothers
are the queerest things. They tell stories by the full hour of their
children as if they had the most wonderful boy or girl in the whole
world. And, after all, they prove to be just about the average--nothing
so exceedingly bright about any of those stories that I can see,” and
off he strolled, for he meant to make his way out of the building
without further delay.

He would likely have carried out this determination, but before he had
proceeded half way to the door, all his sympathies were aroused by one
of the exhibited babies. For whatever other faults Billy possessed, a
hard heart was not one of them, and any sign of suffering brought quick
sympathy from him.

“Deary, deary me! That child must have the whooping cough! What a
crying shame to bring it here. It is black in the face already, and
there sits its mother doing absolutely nothing for its relief. I’m sure
she doesn’t know what ails the poor baby!”

[Illustration]

Now it happened that the Treat trio had had a long siege of the disease
the winter before, and Billy knew very well what to do when a paroxysm
of coughing wracked the sufferer. Had he not seen Mrs. Treat, who was
usually so gentle a mother, vigorously pound her offspring on their
backs? And hadn’t the boys come out as hearty as ever?

So Billy resolved to take the same measures in the present case, and
thereupon he backed away, gained a start, and gathering momentum with
every forward step, he hurled himself pell-mell against the child.
Off it went, rolling and tumbling from its mother’s lap to the floor,
emitting shrill screams, though they were more from fright than from
injury.

“There! It’s recovered its breath, at any rate, and that is the main
thing,” was Billy’s self-congratulatory thought, but alack and alas
for the philanthropically inclined goat, punishment swift and sure
followed.

Cries of alarm, a general stampede among the onlookers, and an umbrella
wielded by a hearty farmer hastened Billy’s ignominious flight from the
scene.

“Oh, ma li’l darlin’, ma honey chile!” crooned the mother over her
wailing, rescued daughter, rocking it back and forth to comfort and
quiet it, for Billy had attacked a negro baby!




CHAPTER V

THE BALLOON MAN


By the time Billy had made good his escape from the Baby Show, the
grounds were crowded with merrymakers. The annual county Fair was an
event that no farmer and but very few of the townspeople of Licking
County would willingly miss, and the genial sunshine had brought
thousands of sightseers out on the first day, for such ideal weather
could not be expected to last long at that season of the year.

The country folk, for the most part, provided their own lunches, for
noon was the time set apart for social gatherings of old friends and
neighbors. Many times five or six families would spread their picnic
dinners together and, not having seen each other since the last Fair,
the hour would pass pleasantly enough with comparison of rival crops,
a discussion of the outlook for another prosperous year, exchange of
advice on farming subjects, and kindly gossip about mutual friends.

The townspeople, on the other hand, depended on the numerous lunch
booths and tents scattered over the grounds, and now as Billy followed
in the wake of the crowds, the odor of coffee coming to him in
delightful, fragrant whiffs, proclaimed that noon was fast approaching.

“If lunch-time is here, I must be on the lookout for something to
eat. Nothing keeps one in better humor or in finer condition to meet
the trials of the day than a good meal. I’ve observed that this truth
applies to men and women as well as to goats, too, and the fact likely
explains why so many, many people are overly fond of table pleasures.
But there, stop your philosophizing, Billy, and take hold of the
pressing business in hand--the location of the base of supplies.”

An empty stomach quite often proves as great an incentive to action
to people as well as to goats, and this may have accounted for the
unusual bustle of the sightseers for, try as he would, Billy had much
difficulty in wriggling through the crowds and made slow progress.

“I do believe everyone is heading for the Treat automobile, same as
me,” he reflected. “I do want to get there early, for it is my one
opportunity to secure a meal honorably. If I was at Cloverleaf Farm,
I should be provided with plenty and to spare. That I am at the Fair
instead is no reason at all why I should be neglected by the Treats.”

You will see from this that Billy meant to do just right, and likely
would have put his resolution into effect had it not been that at this
juncture he spied a great mass of red, yellow, blue and green balls
floating in the air near by.

They were such gaudy, attractive things that Billy determined to secure
at least one, to take home to Dick as a memento of the day. He pushed
on, and soon saw that they were all held in leash by one man, who was
now in a heated argument with a little fellow not more than six or
seven years old at the most.

[Illustration]

“I did give you a quarter!” he was explaining, while the street peddler
emphatically shook his head and repeated:

“No, no! But one dime, but one dime you did give to me. No, No! I give
you your right change!”

“I want my money, I do!” wailed the boy, the angry tears beginning to
stream down his chubby cheeks.

“Those Turks are all browbeaters, and here seems to be one of the
worst of his tribe,” thought Billy. “Poor toddler, to lose his coveted
quarter that way! I know how Dick has treasured up his Fair money, and
I for one do not propose to stand idly by and see any boy treated so.”

With this resolution Billy charged with one mighty butt into the
wrangling Oriental. But what was this? Instead of a head-on collision,
as Billy had anticipated, with a fleeing, howling victim, it was Billy
himself who was in mad flight, with a mysterious something tugging away
at his horns, gently but nevertheless persistently pulling straight
_up_.

Now that is not the way a man holds a goat. They invariably push
_down_, and Billy first grew impatient and then angry because he could
not account for this strange feeling.

He broke into a trot, thinking to rid himself of his tormentor, but
that only served to attract a crowd of hilarious boys and girls, who
ran screaming and screeching behind him.

On he galloped, by this time at full speed, and quite reckless of
consequences. Would he never be able to free himself? Louder and louder
came the shouts of his pursuers, larger and larger the following until
poor Billy, quite bewildered, decided to turn and “face the music” as
Tom would express it.

No sooner did he wheel about than there was a wild scattering, and it
was only one boy, more venturesome than the rest, who braved the
threatened danger and marched boldly up to our Billy.

[Illustration: LOUDER AND LOUDER CAME THE SHOUTS OF HIS PURSUERS.]

Imagine, if you can, the amazement of the boys and girls to see him pat
Billy on the head with impunity, and then capture the huge bunch of toy
balloons that had so frightened him with their bobbing about. But their
wonder lasted no longer, and they pounced on the rescuer and demanded
a share of the plunder. He proved to be a generous lad, and was gladly
distributing the gaudy things among the clamoring youngsters when the
peddler, with face every bit as red as the scarlet fez which topped it,
came upon the scene, panting and puffing.

He threw his arms up in the air, bellowed his wrath, and then descended
upon the children to claim his wares. Knowing too well the folly of
remaining, they scattered to the four winds, and left the Turk to nurse
his anger as best he might.

Billy the brave had not thought it wise to stay for all this, but as
soon as he saw victory assured for the children, betook himself off.

“I’m so hungry that my horns rattle, and it is high time that I’m
nearing the automobile,” thought he, bending his steps toward the green
circle inside the race course, where many vehicles were left for the
day.

“Most likely Mr. Treat thought that the safest place for the new
machine, so I’ll look thereabouts first,” decided the goat, crossing
the track and squirming under the fence. “Anyway, it’s not so crowded
over here, and I can lay down and rest. Goodness knows, what with
babies and boys to rescue, I’m somewhat overworked and very weary, and
need a nap soon after lunch!”

He was carefully picking his way between carry-alls, buggies and the
more pretentious surreys to the farther end of the circle when he spied
an automobile close at hand.

“Can’t tell whether or not that is ours until I’m near enough to see
the hamper. I’m better acquainted with that than with any other part of
the automobile,” he was musing, but brought up short as he discovered
a figure suspiciously resembling that of motherly Mrs. Treat hurrying
along a few yards ahead.

“Dear, dear! This will never do! I’ll have to make a flank movement
and come up to the base of supplies before she does,” and with a flirt
of his stubby tail, he galloped off in double quick time, taking a
roundabout way toward the automobile.

“Now when the attack of the fort is made, I’ll capture that hamper by
quick assault and retreat with my prize with all possible speed,” he
planned, but alas! as he was about to make the raid, he found the foe
already on the ground.

“Well, they say it’s an ill wind that blows no one good,” gloated
Billy. “Even if I do lose my dinner, I will have the satisfaction of
seeing Mrs. Treat find out how I came to attend the Fair. Hope she
lifts the lid--oh, my! see her face! Isn’t it lucky for one William
Whiskers that he’s a safe distance away? Why, how, _what_ is she
doing?” as she began to scatter neat, tissue-wrapped packages right and
left.

“It can’t be that she’s throwing all that luscious stuff away! I
nibbled just a wee bit at it, to be sure, but plenty was left for their
dinner. But here is where I lay in my ammunition for my afternoon
campaign,” and with that he made his way to the automobile, arriving
on the scene soon after Mrs. Treat, bubbling over with righteous
indignation at her untimely discovery of the pilfered feast, hurried
away with her ample, but exceedingly light lunch basket.

As you may happen to know, goats are not as fastidious as might be
wished about their food, and what appeared the height of luxury to
Billy had been scorned by the mistress of the Treat household as unfit
to grace their table. The marks of Billy’s depredations were all too
plain to be mistaken, and fully half the lunch had been discarded
because Billy had poked his inquisitive nose into it.

“My mother taught her kids that extravagance is a sin, and to waste
good food like this must be very wicked indeed. If I should leave it
here to be tramped under foot, I’d not be able to rest easy for ever
and ever so long. My conscience would prick me for not heeding my dear
mother’s teaching, and that is about the worst punishment that can come
to goat or man,” pondered Billy, as sandwiches, pickles, doughnuts,
olives, and other goodies disappeared as if by magic.

“Now for a drink, and I’m ready for the afternoon. Of course, there’ll
be many more people here in the afternoon, just as the evening crowds
at the circus were always so much greater than those at the matinee
performance. Large crowds make you step lively in order to keep up with
the procession, and, fortified by forty winks of sleep, I’ll be equal
to anything.”




CHAPTER VI

THE FORTUNE TELLER


After Billy had quenched his thirst at a watering trough roughly hewn
out of the trunk of an enormous chestnut tree and filled to brimming
with cool, sparkling water piped from a bubbling spring not far off, he
felt a longing for a nap, for so strong had the habit of an afternoon
snooze become that even with all the hubbub of a county fair about him,
with all the gay banterings of the jostling people, with the toots
of the horns and the squawks of the squawkers, Billy was undeniably
sleepy, and a yawn brought him to the realization of how very much he
needed a rest.

“I remember seeing some hay in a barn over near the grandstand, and I
will make that serve as my couch,” he was planning when his further
progress was checked for a moment by a crowd surrounding a haranguing
fakir. Billy was impatient at this delay, and fretted and fumed.

“Some people lose every vestige of good manners the moment they’re one
of a crowd,” he grumbled, but a second later and he, too, was guilty of
this very thing, and was just as eager to push his way to the front as
any of the people whom he had been berating. No thought of sleep now
troubled him; no thought of politeness, either, judging by the reckless
way he was forging ahead.

What was it that worked this sudden change? Let us accompany Billy as
he wriggles and squirms and wriggles again, steadily pushing his way
forward, for there in the center of the group is a very queer looking
individual.

He is taller than most men, but this may be because his head is swathed
in a high turban, the gayly colored cloth being wound around and around
his head in soft, voluminous folds, underneath which peers out a
typical Oriental face with snapping dark eyes, and teeth gleaming like
ivory, while a crafty smile plays about his thin lips.

He carries an enormous pen holder, fully two inches in diameter and
eighteen inches long. He has just explained how he is able to do
wondrous things with the Magic Pen, as he calls it, and is now screwing
it together, having shown the bystanders that it is merely a hollow
tube, with nothing concealed in it, yet possessed of wonderful power.

As he distributes sheets of paper and pencils among his listeners, he
cries:

“Write your initials plainly. Then the Magic Pen will tell your
fortune. It will reveal your past, and it will foretell your future.
The Magic Pen sees all. The Magic Pen knows all. Sign your initials!
Sign, sign, sign!”

As he passes the paper, he catches sight of Billy, and laughingly
bestows on him paper and pencil, much to the merriment of the crowd.

[Illustration]

“They are making fun of me, that much I know. Well, we’ll retaliate,”
and with that Billy begins to trace his initials, holding the pencil
in his mouth, and using one foot to hold the paper on the ground. To
be sure, they are crude and look like a beginner’s, for goats are not
skilled in penmanship, and Billy, though much more highly educated than
most of his kind, would never have picked up so much of the art had it
not been for the kindness and inexhaustible patience of Smart Jim, the
educated horse traveling with the Circus. He had devoted long hours to
teaching Billy, with the result that he is now able to write the two
letters rather creditably.

It is impossible to describe the surprise pictured on the faces of the
onlookers as Billy picks up the lead pencil and, carefully adjusting
it between his teeth, bends over and writes those two significant
letters. They go mad with delight, and clamor:

“The goat’s fortune! Tell the goat’s fortune!”

“The Magic Pen is able to do even that,” and the boasting fellow rolls
up the paper with a great show of care.

Unscrewing the pen holder, he places the sheet inside the tube,
securely fastens it, twirls it in the air, and while repeating this
weird incantation:

  “Magic Pen, reveal to me
  All this creature is to be;
  All he is to do, to see,
  Oh, Magic Pen, reveal to me.”

he gives it a final toss high into the air, deftly catching it as it
falls, and opening it, unfurls the paper.

He first passes it to two or three for close inspection, and then reads
aloud:

“B. W. is endowed with altogether extraordinary talents. He has a large
amount of curiosity, and often butts into other people’s business.”

“That I do,” chuckles Billy, “though I butt into them quite as much and
as often as into their affairs!”

“He was born on the continent.”

“Right again,” shouts Billy, though the crowd think he is merely
bleating, but we who understand goat language know much better.

“And his future seems in some mysterious way to be connected with
China.”

“Suppose I’m going to travel again,” muses Billy at this information.

“B. W. will rise to a great height in the world, but this may be
followed by a fall. Sudden fame is also foretold, and, having been born
under a lucky star, he may venture much and gain even more. Thus saith
the Magic Pen.”

“Now I’ll salt that down in my memory’s storehouse, and see if the
Magic Pen really knows anything. I’ve always thought people silly
who believed in signs and such things, but, come to think of it, I
_did_ walk under a ladder just before Harry gave me that beating as a
punishment because I butted the Duke of Windham around the barnyard
a bit for being too obstreperous and presuming too far on our good
nature. Perhaps, after all, there is some virtue in signs and fortunes.”

“By the way, speaking of the Duke reminds me that he is on these
grounds, and I must find him and have a little chat. He will be glad to
see some of the home folks, I know.”

If ever you have attended a county fair, you know that it is very
easy to locate the cattle exhibits, for they are invariably in stalls
or sheds at one end of the grounds, and what with the cackling of the
chickens, squealing of the pigs, and all of the many peculiar and
distinctive calls of the farm animals, there is not much chance of
losing your way. Billy, of course, walked straight to the stalls, for
animals seem to know instinctively how to find one another.

[Illustration]

First he came to the pigs, and such piggy looking pigs you never
saw. At least, Billy thought them ugly things, for he himself was so
immaculate that he scorned other creatures who had no personal pride,
and pigs--Ugh! How they do love the mud and the mire!

So Billy now merely tilted his head to one side and hurried on
unseeing, until there, right under his feet, was the most cunning,
fat little thing, with a little pink, trembly nose. Plainly it was in
sore distress, and in great need of instant care and sympathy. Without
one moment’s hesitation, Billy conquered his aversion to the pig
family, and up he marched, and gently rubbed his nose along piggy’s
back--his only way of caressing. Billy next inquired the cause of all
the trouble, and piggy only grunted his reply, but that was enough for
Billy to comprehend, and very tenderly did he lift the fat little
roll by the nape of the neck--the only way there seemed to be to hold
him--and carried him back to his mother, who also grunted to express
her relief at the restoration of her lost baby.

“I’ll not remain to receive my thanks,” thought Billy, as he dropped
the little pig over into the pen. “That’s not my way of doing good,”
and he was off in further search of the Duke of Windham.

That worthy was proudly pacing his narrow stall when he spied friend
Billy approaching.

“Ah, here comes His Highness, Sir Billy. I’ll not let him see how I
chafe to be out of this box; no, not for a minute would I confess to
him how irksome are the hours I have spent here,” and so, when Billy
arrived, he was munching hay and looking the acme of contentment.

“Good afternoon, Duke,” began Billy. “I’d not been on these fair
grounds ten minutes until I began to look for you. Old friends ought
not to forget each other, and I knew you would be glad to see some of
your home folks. What a vantage point you chose, away up here on this
hill where you can see all over the Fair!” he continued, as he turned
to take in the panorama before him. “Indeed, you have a better view of
the race course than many have in the grandstand itself,” and with such
subtle flattery Billy sought to ingratiate himself with the calf, who
at once beamed his delight and most graciously responded:

“Yes, I’ve had a fine day of it. And you see this blue ribbon round
my neck? That means that I’m the winner of the first prize,” and the
vain Duke began turning and twisting in a useless effort to secure
one glimpse of the tag that had caused so many to stop and admire him
during the day.

“It’s no surprise to me to see you wearing that, Duke. The Treat boys
know far too much to waste their time feeding and currying a beast that
is not blue-blooded. And you have been their special pride this season,
that I know.”

“Well, it is no secret that Tom is my favorite, and he did give me
numberless curryings and rubbings down this summer. My coat is as
smooth and glossy as any thoroughbred could wish, and my markings
are especially fine, I fancy. That star on my forehead, now, is near
perfect, don’t you think?” waiting eagerly for further approbation.

“To let you into a secret,” replied sly Billy, “I’ve made the entire
rounds, but there’s nothing here that can hold a candle to your beauty.
That’s my candid opinion. You know I’m not one to flatter, and you can
depend on my word.”

“Such appreciation of one’s good points deserves some substantial
recognition,” thought the Duke, and so he said:

“By the way, Billy, are you going to stay over night? If so, I’ll be
proud to have you as my guest, for my quarters here are plenty large
enough to accommodate you.”

“That is just like your generous self,” replied the goat. “And while I
had thought to return to Cloverleaf Farm at nightfall, the prospect of
being entertained by you leads me to change my plans. I’ll be more than
delighted to accept, and will be back soon after twilight.”

“Yes, that might be best, for the keepers feed us about six o’clock,
and if you were found here, they might not like it. However, I shall
save my supper until you arrive, and then we will dine together.”

“Agreed! I’ll be off now, and thank you again for your most hospitable
offer.”




CHAPTER VII

THE LAUGHING GALLERY


“I know not what other people think about the matter, but there
is nothing in this wide, wide world so useful to me as flattery,”
meditated Billy after leaving the Duke of Windham. “It will bring
quicker returns than anything else, and I fancy that with this weapon I
can conquer almost any foe.

“Now the Duke of Windham has not the faintest idea that my call was
made for the sole reason that I wanted a comfortable lodging for the
night, and that I had planned my visit with care. He is congratulating
himself on his bigness of heart this very moment, that I’ll wager.
Anyway, my object is attained, and now I can enjoy myself with no
thought or dread of the night. The time was when I did not think
anything of spending a night in the open, but then it is not so much
that I’m growing old as it is these disagreeable, rheumatism-breeding
fogs that accompany the October nights.”

Billy disliked to acknowledge even to himself that old age was creeping
on apace, and that it was necessary to have extra care if he would
enjoy good health.

“Who can explain why all the people are hurrying and scurrying so? They
act as crazy as loons, and that is no exaggeration.”

Just then a raindrop hit Billy spitefully on the tip of the nose, and
others pelted him on the back.

“Ah, ha! So this is the trouble, is it? I’ve been so deep in thought
that I’ve not cast a glance at the sky, but the outlook is that we will
have a little rain storm. Clouds like that great black bank there in
the west mean something to me. Ho, ho! And some Fourth of July effects
thrown in!” chuckled the goat as a vivid flash of lightning was quickly
followed by a reverberating roll of thunder.

“The greatest fun I know is watching a crowd caught in a storm. I’ll
stroll along and enjoy it to the full extent.”

Billy did not realize how impolite it is to make light of another’s
distress. His mother, I fear, had been negligent in his training on
this point of etiquette.

“Did you ever see anything one-half so laughable as that old lady?
See her picking her way along, skirts held high, revealing her gaudy
hosiery. They look as Dutch as my old master Hans--red and dark blue is
the color combination I do believe! Why doesn’t the goosie put up her
umbrella instead of holding it so tightly under her arm? Forgotten that
she was wise enough to bring it, I suppose. Guess I will follow her a
way and see the excitement she’s bound to create.”

Taking up his position immediately behind her, he began the chase, for
he found it such, experiencing some difficulty to keep at her heels
as she dodged first this way and then that, in and out, in a frantic
attempt to push her way quickly through the hurrying throng, all
jostling, all wet, all bedraggled, but all good-humored, taking the
sudden downpour in good part.

In fact, there is nothing more infectious than the good spirits of a
fair-day crowd. Nothing is sufficient to upset their equanimity, and
although in nine seasons out of ten there is a shower or a steady, cold
drizzle which plays havoc with new fall millinery, suits and footwear,
each year sees everyone bravely arrayed in their best bibs and tuckers
as if tempting the weather man to do and send his worst.

Country maidens were there, all bedight in bright colored finery,
blushing under the escort of brawny farm lads whose genial faces wore
the ruddy glow of perfect health, youth and happiness peeping through
the thick coat of tan left by old Sol’s summer visits as they toiled
harvesting the golden wheat and later in cornfield and potato patch.

Business men in their trim, conventional clothes were likewise present,
glad to see so many evidences of prosperity in the exhibits; glad, too,
for the brief release from office and store. Their wives, some plainly
arrayed, others with nodding plumes and rustling silks, flaunting their
riches with pride, accompanied them.

School girls and boys from the town were there, for this was
“children’s day” and no dull lessons called them. The whole country was
in festive spirits, but most of all the school children enjoyed the
freedom from books and studies.

All these, young and old, the rich and the poor, the honored and the
humble, made up the throng now so eagerly seeking shelter from the
driving storm, but Billy was far too much engrossed in his pursuit to
have eyes for anything or anyone but the excited, blustering old woman
he was tagging so persistently.

“She reminds me of the posters I see on every hand of the Dutch woman
chasing after something with the big stick in her hand. Harry says it’s
dirt she’s after, but Dick always asks, ‘Well, where’s the dirt, then?’”

“All this old lady needs is the wooden shoes, for she’s the stick and
the stride already.”

“Oh, no, you’ll not leave me so easily as that,” as she darted into
a building. “I’m right after you,” and in he dodged, only to be
confronted by a doorkeeper who was wrangling with the victim of Billy’s
ridicule.

“Vat you say? I geeve you von neekle alreaty. Now you say anodder? You
vant the good leeking, young man, to dake some of your smartness out
yet still!” her voice running the gamut of the scale in her excitement.

[Illustration: “I GEEVE YOU VON NEEKLE ALREATY. NOW YOU SAY ANODDER?”]

“Ten cents is the price,” calmly replied the ticket-taker, “and it’s
stretching the rules to let you in at all. You should be made to buy
your ticket at the stand outside. We take no money here, and I’m doing
wrong to admit you.”

“Vell, vell, I’ll pay, I’ll pay! Dis rain it is so wery wet, or I spend
not one cent mit you!”

She lifted her full petticoat, groped about for the hidden pocket and
gingerly produced the second nickle.

The two had been so much interested in their haggling over the
admission fee that Billy was unnoticed as he crept stealthily around
the German woman, scarcely breathing, so anxious was he to gain
entrance. Now that he was effectively shielded from the doorkeeper’s
view by her voluminous skirts, he scurried on ahead.

“This is very queer. I thought we were in a large building. But this
seems to twist and turn and twist in a most bewildering and aggravating
manner,” thought Billy, as he pushed rapidly forward through a narrow
hallway. “I begin to think Mrs. Treat’s saying that ‘Things are not
always what they seem,’ is pretty true.--Oh, me, what _is_ this?”

Billy was treading on something that swayed and rolled and pitched
beneath him like the billows of an angry, boisterous sea and, indeed,
he felt much like an inexperienced sailor on his maiden voyage who has
not yet found his sea legs.

“I--I--don’t like--this--buffeting. Wish--I was--well--out of--this!
My stomach feels--too--shaky--for--comfort,” and in his eagerness to
secure a stable footing, he made for the wall, lifting his fore feet
very high and planting them very carefully and very, very firmly,
trying to feel his way in the midnight blackness. At last he found the
wall, or at least what he judged to be the wall, but it swayed away
from him as he leaned against it for support, and the pitching and
rolling and tumbling grew worse minute by minute.

“A most provoking place, and I don’t see why anyone would pay a dime to
get into such a fix!” he mumbled. “Wonder where the old lady is, and
how she is enjoying her sea voyage. This is worse than crossing the
stormy Atlantic.”

Standing still brought no relief, and so Billy determined to forge
ahead, and he resumed his perilous journey with a few excited bleats.
Frightened cries from the front and rear followed. Billy repeated his
bleating, and wilder grew the commotion.

“It is dark as a dungeon in here, or else I would certainly face about
and make for outdoors in double quick time. But as it is, I must go
on. If I collided with anyone, it might prove the undoing of both of
us, and I for one am not yet ready to end my career. I’ve just enough
ginger left in me to want to see what lies at the end of all this.”

“Come to think of it, this must be the ‘unusual experience’ foretold by
the Magic Pen,” and Billy’s legs began to shake and his chin whiskers
to tremble at fear of the unknown.

“I’m not real sure but that I want to turn back and--” but as he came
to this conclusion he turned a corner in the labyrinth and emerged into
a dazzle of light which blinded him for a minute after the Stygian
darkness of the entrance way.

Halting to get his bearings and to take a general survey of the room,
Billy found a wonderful fairyland spread out before him.

Myriads upon myriads of electric lights flooded the hall, revealing
wonder upon wonder, for everywhere were the queerest people. Some were
giants, others were pigmies. Part were exceedingly tall, with necks
stretching out like the giraffe’s at the zoo, lank arms and dangling
hands, faces narrow, chins pointed and noses long enough to pry into
the business of the whole world. Some, on the other hand, were only two
feet tall, but, strange to relate, they were as fat as the tall persons
were lean--as fat as the man in the song:

  “He’s six feet one way, two feet tudder,
  An’ his coat won’t go half way round.”

“Pudgy, I call ’em,” decided Billy with a wag of the head, turning
around to take a complete inventory of the room and its occupants. He
brought up with a jerk, however, when he discovered his German woman
immediately behind him, in excited conversation with another creature
exactly like her.

Violently she gesticulated with her large, green-covered umbrella, and
just as violently did her counterpart wave her rain-stick and nod her
head.

“Vot you look like me for, eh?” the angry woman inquired. “Ain’t you
any sense got? I vent hill up und hill down to get here and you come
fun to make mid me. Eferyboty they just laugh und laugh at me all dis
day, und I von’t haf it any more yet. You are Sherman, too, so then for
why do you laugh?”

“There’s just one time that I wish I had been made a boy instead of
a goat. Ordinarily, goats have much better times than boys, but when
I laugh so hard my fat sides ache, I wish for a pair of hands that
I might hold them the way the Treat boys do when they’re mightily
tickled. I’m sure I could laugh both harder and longer and enjoy it
much more with such a convenience as hands about me,” thought Billy, as
he watched this by-play, a broad grin spreading over his face.

With a final threatening look, the woman turned and made off, but only
to confront another equally German looking person a few feet farther
on, who bore a striking resemblance to her.

“Oh, Maggie, Maggie, don’t you know your own seester any more? How
theen you haf got! Been seeck since I vent away from home, Maggie?
Shpeek to me, Maggie. ’Tis your own lofing Barbara you see,” putting
out her arms to welcome her in a warm embrace.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Billy uproariously. “It takes the Germans to
get angry. Ha, ha! Look at her, she’s trying to hug her own image!”




CHAPTER VIII

BILLY HAS AN ENCOUNTER


“Such a goosie as she is,” chuckled Billy in delight, “I shall not lose
sight of--O-o-o-h!” his merriment changing to wonder, for there peeping
from behind the skirts of the second woman was a handsome goat, whose
coat was as white, whose horns were as long and well-shaped, whose very
_whiskers_ were as fine as Billy’s own.

There were very few occasions and small reason for Billy Whiskers to
envy individuals of his kind, for, as you have often been told, he
was a king among goats. He was finer looking, had a better carriage,
was larger and stronger, he could leap farther and butt harder than
ordinary goats, and so his proud position was not often questioned,
even though he sometimes grew overbearing and a trifle too boastful of
his prowess.

“O-o-oh!” he repeated, peeping out from the other side, only to find
the other goat doing exactly the same thing. “He’s a fine animal, to
be sure, and might prove a close rival. We’ll see how much backbone he
has,” and Billy slowly advanced, stepping high and tossing his proud
head from side to side the better to display his good points.

Goat Number Two likewise advanced, stepping just as high and lifting
his head and tilting it provokingly to one side.

“Ah, ha! So he’s going to show me he’s a thoroughbred, is he? Perhaps
it might be well for me to make his acquaintance and have him for my
friend,” weakening a little. “He’s sure to be a power wherever he may
live.”

Billy always did believe that it was a wise thing to make friends with
those who occupied prominent positions. This policy put into effect had
brought both adventure and many good berths to him, and so now it had
become almost second nature to Billy to bind to him as close friends
and allies all those he could not conquer.

“Anyway, even if he proves as overbearing as he looks, it will be
a great relief to talk to someone who can understand what I say. I
am not accustomed to being without companions, especially since my
Circus experience, and it’s lonesome without a companion to share my
pleasures.”

Bleating his greeting, Billy advanced with a smile. Billy the Second
nodded, but no answering bleat opened the way to conversation.

“I must admit that he’s rather offish and high and mighty. He could
at least pass the time of day,” thought Billy, unused to having his
friendly overtures met so coldly. “What shall I do to bring his High
Mightiness down from his throne?” and Billy half closed his eyes in
thought.

“Well, the impudent rascal! I do believe he’s mimicking me to arouse my
wrath. I’ll prove it to my entire satisfaction and then I will give him
the punishment such behavior deserves.”

There followed a series of advances, retreats and side steppings in
which Billy’s adversary proved an adept, closely imitating Billy’s
every move.

Jealousy began to grow in Billy’s heart, and, what is more, for the
first time in all his life Billy was AFRAID. Yes, he really doubted
his ability to conquer this foe in a fair fight, and the longer he
hesitated about closing with the enemy, the greater hold did this fear
have on him.

Were not those horns most splendid specimens? Of what would they not be
capable in battle?

Was not this goat strong of limb and well-nigh perfect in every point?

Did not those eyes fairly gleam with fighting zeal? And the nostrils
tremble with repressed excitement of the coming contest?

As many a wise general has evaded the enemy rather than risk a battle
when little would be gained if victory perched on his banners and much
would be lost if defeat met him, so Billy now decided that discretion
demanded withdrawal, and he quietly covered his retreat by using the
German woman and the ever-moving crowd as a shield.

“This is the first time Billy Whiskers has ever waved the white
feather,” he mused, hanging his head for very shame as he thought
of the cowardice of his actions. “I can never, never redeem myself
and--and, say, wouldn’t all my friends deride me if they knew? But I
shall hide my disgrace and keep it a close secret. Even old Browny
at the Farm shall never know, and I tell him most everything I do or
think.”

“Reputation is a great thing in this world, but self-esteem is better,”
he philosophized. “_I_ shall always know that away down deep in the
very bottom of my heart I am a coward, and that is what hurts. I am
half tempted this minute to return and give battle even if--but hello,
there he is and the opportunity to redeem myself is here!”

With that Billy was off like a rocket, and made his onslaught without a
moment to consider what the result might be.

With one leap he dashed at the goat, struck something hard--and crash
fell the mirror, for Billy had charged his own likeness in the Laughing
Gallery. Enraged by the noise of the falling of the shattered glass,
he plunged back to renew the contest. There before him stood his foe
unharmed, with head lowered and as eager for the fray as he.

[Illustration]

Once more forward, once more only the impact with the splintered glass,
and then another backward leap to locate his slippery enemy.

“Ah, ha! You won’t escape me the third time, my fine friend,” mumbled
Billy, with blood in his eye, gazing steadfastly into Billy the
Second’s, where gleamed the same bold, undaunted spirit.

“Come on! Come on! Fight fair!” bellowed Billy, renewing the fray--and
the third pier-glass was in atoms.

“Clear the room! Clear the room! Everybody out!” rang the cry, but
small need to issue the command, for those who had come to laugh had
departed quickly, as eager to be out and away from the scene of strife
as the burly, blue-coated officer was to have them.

“Hi, there, goat!” he shouted, and at the summons Billy turned to see
the officer bearing swiftly down upon him.

“I know his type too well,” was his quick thought, and he wheeled,
spied the door, and was out in the open air, now one of the crowd, now
skulking back of the buildings, dodging in and out between the small
tents to evade all possible pursuit. Once when the search grew too
harrassing for comfort, he even took refuge beneath a building which
was set on piles. He had to crawl under and lay perfectly flat and
quiet, for cruel nails and long slivers of wood from the rough sills
caught his coat and caused him exquisite pain whenever he ventured to
move.

“I would like to know how the other goat fared,” he thought. “Perhaps
they’ve caught _him_--hope they have. And will punish him--hope they
do. He was about the most impudent piece of goathood I’ve ever met, so
there!” and Billy wagged his head sagely.

He remained in safe hiding until all grew quiet--no murmur from the
passing crowds, no shouts and calls of fakirs hawking their wares.
The gloomy part of the day, when darkness falls without a sunset to
mark its close, had come ere he poked his head out, cautiously glanced
around, and found that in truth the grounds were deserted.




CHAPTER IX

A NIGHT WITH THE DUKE


“Don’t you think it is the first duty of a guest to be punctual?
Especially a dinner guest?” was the Duke of Windham’s greeting as Billy
knocked on his stall door for admittance.

“And do you think it according to the rules of etiquette for a host
to remind his guest of his shortcomings in such a fashion as this?”
retorted the glib Billy.

“I’ve misplaced the key to the door of my house, so you’ll have to
jump,” said the Duke, ignoring Billy’s question. “I’m very sorry, but
then I know you are an expert at leaping and vaulting, so it will not
inconvenience you as it might old Browny, for example.”

“Not at all, not at all,” returned Billy, and with one light bound he
was over and beside the Duke, and they were cordially greeting each
other.

“Now, Will-_yum_, into what mischief have you been this afternoon?”
queried the Duke, shaking his head to show his disapproval of any
escapade.

“Been on my good behavior all day, I would have you to know--and didn’t
find it half so dull as I had anticipated.”

“Come, come, old fellow, none of that. You might as well confess first
as last. There is a suspicious cut over your left eye which wasn’t
there when you called early this afternoon. Besides, you’re all over
shavings. There’s a story back of it, I’m sure.”

“If you must have it, old pry, when the storm gathered, I encountered
the most laughable old woman,” and with a chuckle of intense enjoyment
at the recollection, he launched forth into the story of the Laughing
Gallery episode, and it lost nothing by the telling.

“Do have some of this sweet clover for dessert,” pressed the Duke as
Billy finished the recital. “The flavor is delicious, I think.”

Billy accepted a liberal portion of the dainty, and the Duke, feeling
it his bounden duty to reprove his friend for his prank, looked very
solemn and began:

“Billy Whiskers, it seems to me that a goat of your broad experience
ought to have better sense than you possess, and you’re a disgrace to
Cloverleaf Farm!”

“Don’t preach to me! You’re not an example I’d care to follow!”

“Which reminds me to ask if anything has occurred at Cloverleaf Farm
since my departure,” calmly finished the Duke.

“Um--um,” from Billy, as he busily munched the scented hay. “Um--um, I
guess there has! More than I can begin to tell you before our bedtime!”

“I’m all ears, as the donkey would say,” and the calf playfully tweaked
Billy to hurry him with the news.

“In the first place, the automobile arrived the afternoon of the day
you departed for this Fair. That is how it happens I’m here,” and Billy
wiggled his ears and rolled his eyes to watch the effect of this on the
Duke.

He was disappointed. There stood the prize calf calmly chewing away,
all unmindful of the fact that he was expected to be overwhelmed at the
statement.

“Yes, I came in the automobile,” repeated pompous Billy.

Still no evidence of surprise from the Duke.

“I came to the Fair in the new machine,” almost thundered the goat.

“Well, and _I_ came in the _wagon_. The main thing is we’re here, not
how we came. You may proceed with your story, little Mr. Puff-ball.”

“If you’re going to be impertinent, I think I’ll go home for the night,
after all,” Billy decided, and was even edging toward the door of the
stall, slowly to be sure, but still moving in that direction.

“Don’t be foolish, Billy! You always carry a chip on the tip of your
horns. See, here is a nice, soft bed waiting and ready for us. You may
have that corner where the straw is the thickest,” and mollified by
this generosity and evidence of great good will, Billy settled himself
comfortably for the night.

“Pleasant dreams,” from the goat.

“Sweet sleep,” from the calf, and all was quiet.

“Say!” hailed Billy so soon as he was sure the Duke was well on the
road to dreamland.

“Uh-huh,” sleepily.

“Duke, wake up, you sleepyhead,” urged Billy.

“What’s the matter now?” impatiently inquired the calf, yawning and
stretching in the hope that the goat would take pity on him and leave
him to his slumbers.

“I must tell you a story I heard yesterday.”

“Well, out with it quick!”

“The machinist who brought the automobile told it to Mr. Treat, and
it’s surely a good one.

“It seems that over in York State they have a lot of foolish rules
about speed limits and so on, and this man was touring last summer and
experienced all sorts of trouble about it. He was spinning along a
fine stretch of level country road one day, and noticed that he passed
several men as he neared the outskirts of a small town. Well, these men
proved to be outposts set to nab speedy automobile drivers, and they
telephoned on to the next guard. So when he was just about to enter
the town, there was an officer standing directly in the center of the
roadway, waving his arms and calling on him to stop.

“As he blocked the highway, of course the driver drew up, and after
finding that he was making better time than the rules allowed, he
courteously invited the deputy to get in and ride along to the mayor’s
office. The blue coat was only too glad to accept. In he jumped and
away sped the car. Gradually the driver put on power until they were
tearing along at a mad pace, much faster, in fact, than he had hit it
up out in the country.

“‘Hold on, there!’ cautioned the officer. ‘Too fast, young man,
entirely too fast!’

“‘Oh, no, sir! You see, I’m so anxious to get there and have it over.’

“‘But--but, sir, you’ve already passed the city hall!’ remonstrated the
man.

“‘Well, well, so I have. Guess I’ll have to take you on to the next
town now. You see the machine is going so fast I really can’t stop!’

“‘Can’t stop?’ exploded the arm of the law. ‘I tell you you’ll pay
dearly for this trick. Dearly, I say! Let me out! Let me out!’ almost
choking with rage.

“‘Certainly, my dear sir,’ as the auto slowed down. ‘Much joy to
you on your return trip. I hope the sun isn’t too hot and the road
too dusty!’ he remarked as he deposited the sputtering fellow three
miles from the town limits, with no alternative but to walk the weary
distance.”

As he finished, Billy was convulsed with silent laughter, but the Duke
never so much as smiled to show his appreciation of the tale. He looked
solemnly at Billy and wagged his head.

“Young fellow, it would have served that driver right if his car had
been confiscated, and he’d been compelled to walk to his destination.
These automobile people as a rule are altogether too reckless. I hope
Mr. Treat will escape the speed fever.”

“You’re doomed to be sadly disappointed, then,” retorted Billy,
confidently.

“I can’t believe Mr. Treat will so far forget himself as to go racing
madly about the country in his automobile, frightening the poor cattle
and horses half out of their wits. Why!” and the Duke waxed indignant
at the memory, “do you know, Billy Whiskers, as I was coming to the
Fair yesterday, I saw a poor chicken laying all mangled in the road,
the victim of one of those idiotic auto enthusiasts?”

“And do you know, Your Highness, that we made several chickens step
lively and use their wings a bit beside, on the way to the Fair
to-day? And, remember, this is your master’s first time out,” Billy
replied, prodding the calf in the ribs in a playful mood.

“I’ll not believe it!” championed loyal Duke. “Mr. Treat has far too
much thought of the comfort of farm animals to make them suffer so.
Let’s go to sleep, I say!” fetching a yawn.

“All right,” agreed Billy, and they settled themselves once more, each
to his particular liking.

The Duke had given his first snore--if you don’t believe that calves
snore, just go out to the barn late some night next summer when you’re
visiting in the country, and listen to all the queer sleepy sounds of
the animals and you’ll agree with me that calves do snore.

Yes, Billy waited until the Duke had given his first good-sized snore,
when he lifted his head and called:

“Say, Duke! Duke, I say!”

“W-e-l-l?” drowsily.

“Duke!” repeated the goat in sharp staccato.

“Y--e--e--s!” in a long drawn out yawn.

“I merely forgot to say good-night, and since you’re such a stickler on
manners, thought I’d tell you that you had omitted it, too.”

“Good-night!” snapped the Duke, “and don’t let me hear another word
from you till daylight!”




CHAPTER X

TOPPY TO THE FORE


“The top o’ the marnin’ to yez!” Billy called to the Duke the next
morning as the first faint streaks of dawn tinged the east with a ruddy
glow.

Goats are no sluggards about arising. In fact, they are wide awake with
the first crowing of the first chanticleer.

“The same to you, and may this be your lucky day,” was the Duke’s
equally amiable reply.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Billy, “while I’ve been waiting for you to
waken--I myself roused hours ago--that I may as well take myself off
before the keepers make their rounds. I suppose they come early. Am I
right?”

“Well, yesterday it was about six, and I suppose that is the usual
time.”

“Then I’ll be up and away, with many, many thanks, my dear Duke, for
the pleasant time you’ve given me. I cannot express my appreciation in
mere words.”

“But, Billy, do have just a bite of breakfast first,” urged his host.
“Surely you can stay long enough for that! See, here’s some of that
tender clover hay that you enjoyed so much last night.”

“Now you mention it, I believe I will, though I’ve not any appetite so
early in the day.”

Stepping up in front of the rudely constructed manger, Billy began to
nibble at the hay. As he continued, the Duke watched him out of the
corner of his eye, first glancing at Billy, now busily gorging himself,
and then again at the rapidly diminishing pile of hay, then at the hay
and again back at Billy. He decided to remonstrate and began:--

“Billy!”

No response.

“Oh, I say, Billy!”

“Um,” from the occupied goat.

“But Billy! I say, Bill-ee!”

“Uh-huh, what is it?”

“You remind me of Mrs. Treat.”

“I do? How?”

“You remind me of Mrs. Treat and a saying that’s so often on her lips.”

“She’s most always talking, and so it’s not strange I don’t even now
see any connection.”

“You know,” the Duke explained, “she says she’d much rather feed six
men who confessed they were hungry as bears than one who declared he
couldn’t eat a bite.”

“Well?” queried the goat, still busy at the manger.

“I’ve begun to think it ought to be a dozen to one when the proverb is
applied to goats!”

“You do, eh? Which reminds me of a story.”

“Out with it then,” commanded the Duke.

“There was once a pet calf on the Treat farm, or so I’ve been told, who
was such a greedy youngster that Tom, his owner, never dared to set
the pail of milk down and leave it for him to drink. If he did, that
calf would invariably plunge his nose to the very bottom, and in his
unseemly haste would bunt the pail, over it would go and he would lose
all.

“One day Tom carried a large wooden pail of rich, sweet milk out to the
young apple orchard where the calf was kept with two pet lambs, and he
waited until the calf should finish his drinking. Now that calf plunged
down and drank deep and long, never stopping until he was compelled to
raise his head for air. And then how he spluttered and blew the milk
out through his nostrils! In his hurry to recover his breath, some
milk went down his wind-pipe and such a fuss! He commenced to choke
and cough, and his fat sides began to bloat. Tom raced to the barn for
Chris, the hired man, who hurried to the rescue. As soon as he saw the
calf’s lolling tongue, wobbly legs and bulging sides, he went for
the buggy whip and they ran that down his throat. Then, breaking off
an apple branch, Chris used it to urge the calf to keep on the move
and around and around that orchard they circled until every bit of
the bloating had disappeared. Let--me--see,” pondered the goat, as if
racking his brains, “I believe they do say his name was the Duke of
Windham. And now that very self-same goat dares to stand up and preach
about the wickedness of greediness! Oh me!”

Billy pretended to be boiling over with rage, though really not a
whit disturbed, and, taking the very last wisp of hay in his mouth,
chewed it slowly, as if it was too good to lose any of the pleasure by
hurrying, all the time glowering frightfully at the Duke.

“You’re a heathen! You’ve no glimmering of the first rules of
politeness, and deserve just this--”

But the nimble Duke was ready for a frolic, and cleared Billy’s back as
neatly as most boys do when playing leap-frog.

Over and over Billy charged, but each time Duke escaped by using the
light leap. They were in the very midst of the fun, and had forgotten
all about the dreaded morning visit of the keeper, when the rattle of a
key in the padlock gave warning. Billy heard--and instantly Billy knew
what it meant. In pure self-defence, to escape sure capture and tedious
imprisonment, the goat backed to the farther corner and quickly made
ready.

Back swung the gate and in came a tall, slender youth. Billy felt a
qualm or two about his real right to attack so delicate a boy, but
when he saw the lad take a glance around and quickly turn to flee at
sight of a goat cornered as he was, he decided such cowardly action
deserved a drubbing, and with a bound he took the fellow just below the
knees. His joints worked beautifully, Billy thought, for he collapsed
in a heap on Billy’s broad back, and his long arms flew out for some
support, and his longer legs first dangled on the ground and then
flailed the air, conforming to every motion of the beast beneath him.

[Illustration]

“Ouch! Ouch!” groaned Billy, after having made several uneven leaps and
bounds, the better to show his rider the advantage of a goat over all
other steeds.

“Ouch! Ouch! He’s holding on by my coat! He’s pulling my hair out by
its very roots. He has no humanity--not a bit!” wailed Billy.

That the tables were merely turned had not occurred to Billy, nor the
fact that he was receiving only a fraction of the discomfort he was
giving.

“I’ll not stand it! I’ll not have it! Ouch! Ouch! He’s caught my tail,
he has! Ouch!”

Billy was _mad_. Not angry, but furiously mad. And gathering all his
strength, he made one high backward leap, turned a complete somersault,
and his victim described a circle, too, landing in a deep mud puddle,
left by the storm of the day before.

The fellow had no more than realized what had befallen him than Billy
was upon his feet and charging at him. That he had chosen a muddy seat
seemed no very great disadvantage to Billy. In fact, he now determined
to give him a mud bath, and first he prodded him on one side and then
on the other. All the fight the fellow ever possessed had fled when he
saw that magnificent pair of horns bearing down on him. He screened his
eyes with his hands and gave himself up to the tender mercies of the
enemy, rolling this way and that at Billy’s pleasure.

“He’s so deep in the mire that he may not be able to get out,” thought
Billy, when he himself began to pant for breath. “It’s only fair to put
him on his feet, I suppose,” and so he hooked him by the coat, and with
a toss that required every atom of his strength--though Billy never
admitted the fact--the boy was up once more, though oozing with mud.

“He’ll never show himself to his chief in that state. It will take an
hour to make him presentable, and in the meantime I must make tracks.
Still, I’m not one to run from danger, and it may be the fellow will
never report his experience.”

[Illustration]

Billy had studied human nature enough to know that one does not
willingly tell a story in which he does not play a creditable part.

“I’ll not dare to show myself in this vicinity to-night, though,” he
meditated. “That means that I shall have to seek new lodgings. I wonder
who will be so kind--but let me think! Toppy also came to be exhibited.
It’s no more than her plain duty to entertain me one night. I’ll hunt
her up!”

Putting this resolution into action, he hurried down the Cattle Row. At
the farther end was a large barn, now his objective point.

Long before break of day, the coming of the morning had been noisily
heralded by the cocks, and Billy knew that all the fuss came from this
building.

“One thing I forgot to ask the Duke, and that is how long this county
jollification lasts. Toppy surely won’t know--it’s her first experience
here, as she’s nothing but a pullet. Of course, the Duke is not much
better--nothing but a calf--but at least he could inquire of some of
his older neighbors.”

As the goat approached the barn which had been temporarily turned into
the exhibition house for the chickens, he made a wide detour, circled
round it twice and reconnoitered thoroughly, to reassure himself that
it was altogether safe for him to enter. Seeing no one in sight, he
hurried back to the main entrance, bent on finding Toppy.

“Of course she’ll see me as soon as I enter and will fly straight to
me. Toppy has been my vassal ever since I saved her from the hawk down
in the wood lot when she was just a scrawny, ugly chick getting her pin
feathers.”

Billy was by this time well inside the building, but no flutter of
wings or delighted cackle from Toppy greeted him. Not a chicken was
busily scratching in the deep straw that covered the rough flooring.
Instead there were little, square boxes--piles and piles of them--set
neatly in rows one upon the other, each with a wire screen front,
and each containing a chicken. Poor things! cooped up in tiny houses
that were scarcely large enough to permit them to turn around without
stepping in the dish holding their portion of water for the entire day.

Billy’s kind heart bubbled over with rage at the sight, and his eyes
kindled at the thought that Toppy was in one of these prison houses.

“Our Toppy, who has always had the freedom of the Farm, to be shut up
in such a bird cage!” he lamented, waxing indignant at the situation.

Up and down he walked, looking in each box, always hoping that the next
one would hold his feathered friend. Big Buff Cochins, tiny Bantams, so
full of fighting zeal, Wyandottes, Speckled Hamburgs, every kind was
there but Plymouth Rocks.

“I’ll search all morning if necessary,” he vowed, as he turned into the
third aisle.

Carefully he conducted his quest now, not merely casting careless
glances up and down the long rows. Instead, he peered into every box,
though it meant tedious and wearisome work, for at last he had reached
that part of the exhibit devoted to the pretty Plymouth Rocks, all
decked out in their Quakerish gray. The first three rows of boxes were
easily inspected, being on Billy’s own level. The fourth and fifth
tiers were a real problem, however, and caused the eager searcher much
trouble. Each time he wished to look into one of these homes perched
up so high, he had to rear up on his hind feet. This is not a natural
position for four-footed animals, and Billy often lost his balance.
He was afraid to use the boxes for support for his front legs, lest
they might topple over and the consequent cackling and crowing of the
terrified fowls put to rout his plan of rescue, for this his search for
Toppy had now become.

Down, down, down went Billy’s heart as he progressed. Tears of
vexation welled up in his eyes, for he was a very determined goat and
disappointment was hard to bear.

“No use, I guess,” he decided, and he was hurrying along, glancing
neither to the right nor to the left, but wholly bent on reaching the
door quickly.

“Cluck, cluck! Cluck, cluck!” sounded a familiar call.

Billy stopped short.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck!” scolded the hen. “Billy Treat, turn back; turn
right back, I say!”

“Why, Toppy girl!”

“No Toppy-girling me!” she responded, tossing her head saucily. “You
were going right by with nary one word to me! I’ll not be wheedled into
good nature by any of your soft words, Mr. Billy!”

“Didn’t you notice how sorrowful I looked?” he questioned.

“Sorry? Why, I thought you looked more like a whipped dog. Your poor
stub of a tail lay down flat--and that is a pretty sure sign that you
have been in some trouble.”

“I have been in trouble, but the trouble is you, Mistress Toppy. I’ve
been hunting for you, and had just given up in deep despair.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Why, nothing. I thought I could do something for you.”

“Oh, Billy!”

“Don’t ‘Oh, Billy’ me!” he sniffed in high disdain.

“But, Billy dear,” she soothed, “you can be of such use to me just now!
There’s a dear, say you’ll do it!”

“I’m not in the habit of refusing your requests, Biddykins,”--and this
from Billy Whiskers, whom most animals thought so heartless and cruel!
Which only proves the more conclusively that but the very closest of
our friends ever know us through and through.

“Well, then,” clucked the Plymouth Rock beauty, “though they have
labeled me with a blue tag it’s not worth the price of being caged like
this. What I want you to do is to get me out of this box.”

“The very thing I meant to do!”

“Thanks! Thanks!” she clucked.

“Now to plan the details of the escape,” proceeded Billy. “Tell me,
where is the door to your house?”

“The whole front is the door, kind sir,” she made reply, “and it’s most
securely locked, I fear.”

“You’re sure?” for this would be a hard problem.

“Yes, sure of it. Every time they bring me fresh water and corn, the
man turns the knob there on the left side.”

“Hump!” and Billy eyed the fastening.

“But you can very easily tear a place open in this wire screening that
will be big enough for me to squeeze through. Oh, please say you can!”
she pleaded.

“Better’n that I can do, Miss Toppy. Watch closely and you will see
what will make your little eyes pop open wider than they’ve ever been
before.”

Billy went up close to the Plymouth Rock’s tiny house, lowered his
head, and after turning it this way and that, he stepped proudly back,
bleating his satisfaction and pleasure.

“Step out, pretty Toppy, and enjoy a stroll about the grounds,” he
invited.

“Step out? Step out?” she clucked indignantly. “I would if I could.
Don’t make my life more unbearable than it is by such idle words!”

“But Toppy, I mean it. Come out! Your cage is a prison no longer. Hurry
out of your cell and enjoy the fine morning with your friend.”

“You old torment!” Toppy scolded, and, forgetting the barrier between
them, she fluffed up her feathers and flew at him to peck him on the
nose, his tender spot.

Open flew the door and out tumbled the hen, fluttering wildly to the
floor.

“Help! Help!” she cackled.

“You’re free, Toppykins!” congratulated her rescuer, “Hurrah, Hurrah!”
he exulted.

“Free, you naughty fellow? Whoever was in a worse fix than I am this
moment, I’d like to know?” was her inconsistent retort. “What do you
propose doing with me now I’m out?”

“Do?” helplessly from Billy.

“You certainly must know I can’t wander around loose all day in this
dreadful place. And I can’t travel all the way back to Cloverleaf Farm.
What shall I do? Oh, dear, what shall I ever do?” she wailed.

“You’re a ninny, and that’s my opinion of you! Hop back into that thing
and I’ll lock you up.”

“I will, you horrid Billy! I might have known better than to listen to
any of your wild schemes,” and up she flew.

Billy wasted no time in closing the door--an easy task, but when one
attempt failed to turn the wooden button that secured it, a wicked
gleam leaped to his eye.

“Ha, ha! A good joke on the whimsical little lady! I’ll leave it
unlocked. She is sure to have a most miserable day of it, and won’t she
splutter when I tell her liberty was within her reach?” and chuckling
to himself, he hurried off, unheeding Toppy’s plaintive calls for him
to return.

“She has changed her mind once too often,” he mumbled, “Now she’ll pay
for it.”




CHAPTER XI

THREATENED WITH LOCKJAW


You know how time flies between the moment you open your sleepy eyes at
six o’clock and the warning the first school bell gives at eight, which
finds you just up from the breakfast table, with school togs yet to don
and hair to give a final smoothing? Well, the minutes had fluttered
by just as rapidly as that for Billy on this eventful morning. To be
sure, he had spent needless time in prosecuting the search for Toppy.
And before that, he had dallied long enough over his encounter with the
lank lad he had left in such a muddy, muddy plight.

It was eight o’clock and after before he was aware, and booths were
being opened by their owners, and their stock in trade arranged to
best possible advantage to increase the sales of the day. Fakirs were
already in evidence, choosing shady spots from which to hawk their
wares.

Guards were on duty even this early, but now gathered in little social
groups for a bit of gossip before their more arduous tasks of handling
the great crowds should begin in real earnest.

Billy fully realized the risk he was running in being abroad on
the nearly deserted grounds, for it made his presence uncomfortably
conspicuous--and men are not disposed to view a goat with any too much
favor. They know far too well the mischief of which they are capable.

[Illustration]

“It will be by far the wisest thing for me to do to lay low,” cogitated
Billy. “But I shall take care to find a more comfortable place than
that low coop I occupied yesterday afternoon. Ugh!” and he fetched a
shiver at the recollection, “I can feel the splinters pulling my coat
even now.”

Shaking himself vigorously and pricking up his ears, he chose his way
with care, proceeding down the street lined with exhibition halls,
tents and booths.

“Appears to me I smell pop-corn! Just freshly popped, and with lots of
sweet, rich butter, too! I can fairly taste it. Pop-corn! How I do like
the snowy kernels!”

Following the appetizing odor, he soon found himself in front of a tiny
booth, all gay with red and white bunting and flaunting flags at its
four corners. Just outside stood the popper, the escaping steam singing
its merry little song.

Billy eyed it a moment, sniffed the air, and then circled about the
building to spy out the situation carefully.

“Abandoned, as I had hoped. The keeper must be away at breakfast, and
while he is gone, I’ll have mine. At least, just the finishing bites. I
began my breakfast a couple of hours ago, but that rude boy interrupted
the operation. I know I should starve without anything until noon.”

Billy hesitated no longer, but marched boldly in and back of the
counter.

Have you ever wished you could be in that wonderful place--back of the
counter in a candy store? Back where all the cases are standing open
inviting you to come and take and eat to your heart’s content, instead
of in front where the glass is between you and all the goodies so
temptingly spread out? There were piles of chocolate creams, peppermint
chews, peanut brittle, caramels, shining jars of sunshine sticks, and
pan upon pan heaped high with taffy, that favorite confection of all
fair-goers.

All this sweet array was spread there before Billy’s greedy gaze, and
when he realized the feast that was before him, he closed one eye with
that provoking wink all his own, licked his chops with a peculiar
circular motion of the tongue that was one of his very naughtiest
tricks, according to his good mother’s judgment, and paraded up and
down, wondering just where to begin.

Did he like chocolates better than butterscotch? Or was the crisp
brittle his favorite? There was the pinch.

Passing along the counter in this undecided state, he chanced to peep
underneath, and there, luck of all lucks! was a great pail heaping full
of pop-corn, with a generous coating of molasses, all waiting to be
packed into the small cartons that later in the day every boy and every
girl would be holding and declaring with each generous mouthful that
“Chew ’em” was by all odds quite the best pop-corn confection ever made
and sold over the counter.

Billy had never lost his youthful liking for corn, and now wasted not
another minute debating where he should begin--he _knew_. Nothing could
possibly tempt him from the spot until he was fully satisfied.

I am sorry to say it, but I must if I wish to be honest, Billy forgot
his manners, and in his eagerness, got into the pail with his feet! He
gulped the corn down so fast and buried his nose so deep that he lost
his breath, and one stubborn kernel scooted down his Sunday throat.
Billy choked, and with one mighty cough up came the offending thing.
Never an animal with a great amount of patience, Billy grew angry at
even this very brief interruption, though it was not a minute until his
head was down as deep as ever.

The nearer he approached the bottom, the stickier grew the corn, and
the better Billy liked it. Evidently the molasses had been poured over
the corn not long before Billy’s entrance, and the whole pailful left
to harden and crystallize. That on top had been just right for packing,
but down in the pail, where the air could not get in its work, the
syrup was thick and still warm.

Billy gorged himself, with never a thought of the possible ruin it
would work to his stomach, but, fortunately, goats’ stomachs are not
the delicate organs that boys and girls have to take care of, and he
had never been taught how wrong it is to eat too much of rich things
that injure the busy, hard working servant that gives us strength.

Down, down went his nose, and then, with a sigh that the very last of
the brown, sweet stuff had disappeared, he stepped back, and took a
deep breath of satisfaction.

“’Tis the richest meal I’ve had since--since--well, that I’ve ever had.
I can’t begin to remember anything half so good in all my lifetime.
But I wish that corn would drop off my whiskers and neck! It’s
uncomfortable, though I did not notice it while I was eating. I’ll take
a little of that pure white taffy all spread out on that enormous pan,
and then be off to greener pastures.”

Putting the thought into action, he hopped up on the counter and walked
along until that particular taffy tray was reached. He opened his
mouth, took one generous bite, and began to chew.

What was the trouble? What had he done? Would it ever end? He’d starve
to death if it didn’t, starve slowly, yet surely growing thinner and
thinner, hungrier and hungrier minute by minute, hour by hour, day by
day, and week by week. Perhaps he would live months and _years_ and
never be able to munch the sweet grass and fragrant clover again.

[Illustration]

These were Billy’s sombre thoughts as he worked in vain to open his
jaws. No use. They were held as in a vise, and no effort on his part
would loosen the hold of the vile stuff on his teeth. It made his jaws
ache, and his eyes began to bulge with a strange fear as his struggles
proved so futile.

Thinking to flee from the danger that threatened him, he bounded out of
the booth and sped on and on, quite without thought of his destination,
his one aim being to rid himself of the terror. On and ever on he ran,
taking long, easy leaps, until he brought up short at a high fence
which bordered the grounds. This served to bring his flight to an end,
and he disconsolately huddled down in the long grass.

“I’ve but one friend on the grounds, outside of the over-proud Duke,
and I’d die before I’d show myself to him in this plight. Toppy must
help me out, and I believe I can rely on her,” and no sooner had the
thought popped into his head than he was up and off like a streak to
hunt up the little hen.

It was no trouble at all to locate her particular box this time, and
though it was not the haughty goat that had presented himself before
her but a short two hours ago, he hastened along.

“Oh, Billy, Bill-_ee_!” with the accent strong on the last syllable,
she cackled with much concern, for Toppy had been crouching down close
to the screen ever since Billy had walked off in such high disdain.

“Billy!” she repeated, “Whatever is the matter?”

No reply.

Billy merely came up close, held up his head and wagged it to show he
could not make answer.

“You’re all over pop-corn, and you’re a perfect sight! Let me out of
this cage, and I’ll pick it off for you,” she bribed.

Remembering that she believed herself locked in, Billy reached up and
pretended to turn the button, and, satisfied now that it was open, she
gave a gentle push, back swung the wire door, and down she fluttered
once more, but, cautious creature that she was, she curbed her delight
and did not give so much as one victorious cackle at her release.

“Come along with me,” she commanded, assuming the leadership and
strutting down the aisle. Billy, meek as a lamb, followed, and they
brought up at the rear of the barn, otherwise known as the Poultry Show.

[Illustration]

“Stand just here, Billy,” she ordered, “and I will hop up on this hay
stack so that I’ll be more on your level.”

She found a secure foothold, while Billy, now ready to do anything to
rid himself of the stick-tights in his whiskers, patiently stood near
by.

Toppy proceeded to tidy the goat, picking off the corn with a right
good will, and enjoying it as she did so, for it furnished a toothsome
meal for her.

“This is really the first time I’ve dared to peck him,” she mused,
“and now that I have so good an opportunity, I shall repay him for a
few things he’s done to my kith and kin. He mustn’t think he can go
scot-free for all his naughtiness. Don’t I remember the chase he used
to give my poor mother and her flock of little downy children, and
how tired our poor wobbly legs would be ere we could gain the shelter
under the barn? All that saved us then was the fact that it was so
low he could not crawl underneath. This is the first time I’ve ever
really enjoyed my friendship with him, and I mean to make up for lost
time,”--Toppy meditated.

“Here, you imp,” thought Billy, for she was giving him a peck here
and a vicious dab there, and the henpecked goat was really getting
much the worst of the bargain, for he could not make protest--his jaws
were still out of commission. So he perforce swallowed his wrath and
submitted meekly to the process.

“Billy,” commenced Toppy, “you are always and forever getting into some
mix-up like this, and always appealing to your friends for aid. But
you are such a close-mouthed creature no one ever knows the real truth
about your mischief making. I think in slight return for this service
of mine you really owe it to me to tell how this happened.”

Instead of replying, he shook his head, though not so much from a
desire to keep his adventure a state secret as from the fact that that
dreadful stuff wouldn’t let him speak. He hung his head, the while
Toppy was busily engaged in cleaning his coat.

“I’m not quite so close-mouthed as some people think. If only I could
talk, I’d surely do so, though there have been occasions when I’d not
breathe a word of an escapade like this.”

He gave one appealing look at Toppy, and in his surprise to see her
eating away as she worked, he gave a gasp and then a bigger one for to
his inexpressible joy and relief he could open his mouth! The taffy had
slowly but surely melted, and he was able to eat and talk and laugh
once more.




CHAPTER XII

THE PUMPKIN MAN


No sooner did Billy make this glad discovery than he straightway forgot
his benefactress, and trotted off, leaving her perched there on the hay
stack, deploring his lack of gratitude.

“Just like my husband, Coxy. You can work and work and work for him,
and just so soon as he is fine and dandy, off he struts to make friends
with some vain young pullet,” and she snuggled down in the hay, much
too grieved to venture out and explore the surrounding territory.

In the meantime Billy was hurrying off, for he knew he had much to see
and do before the close of this, the greatest day of the Fair.

“That silly thing of a hen never surmised that I couldn’t talk. She
thought I was just disinclined to share my secret, and would not take
her into my confidence. Now I have managed to fix myself up without
much outside assistance, I really can’t see the necessity of confessing
the box I was in. One often gets into trouble by telling too much, but
seldom, if ever, by saying too little. That’s my working policy.”

“It must be growing along toward ten o’clock, if I can judge anything
by the sun’s progress. I must at least inspect one hall before lunch
and then, after that, the races will begin. I missed them entirely
yesterday, and the Duke of Windham says that they are the principal
attraction of the Fair. I must be there early to-day in order to secure
a good view.”

Now the building Billy was approaching was by far the most pretentious
on the grounds. It was fully one hundred and fifty feet long by forty
wide, and there were great doors at either end, one swallowing up
throngs of people all pressing in, and the other pouring forth an equal
number.

“I must get in there by some hocus-pocus,” Billy thought, and he joined
in the press.

Up three steps and then he was in a wonderful place. The moment they
gained entrance, there was ample room, for the people separated into
groups, one going this way and another that, down one aisle and up
another, wandering along examining the exhibits.

Down the center of the building were long tables, each bearing its
burden of fruit. One section was devoted exclusively to the apple crop,
and there were plates upon plates of the wholesome fruit, each specimen
with glowing cheeks, the result of careful and prolonged rubbing.
Greenings, rambows, pippins, russets, northern spies--every kind was
in evidence, all labeled and each species vieing with the other for
popularity.

[Illustration: THERE PEEPING FROM BEHIND THE SKIRTS OF THE SECOND WOMAN
WAS A HANDSOME GOAT.]

Another section showed pears, hard and still green, to be sure, but
great, large pears that promised delicious eating bye and bye when they
should be mellow. Guarding each section was a farmer boy, stationed
there both to protect the exhibits from pilfering by the sightseers and
also to answer the numerous questions they propounded.

Around the walls of the room were exhibits of everything that the good
ground yields so bounteously--potatoes, squashes, corn, and grains.
One progressive farmer had brought an entire pumpkin vine, to show its
enormous length and its great burden of golden fruit.

But the center of interest appeared to be half way down the hall, for
there gathered the largest group of wondering people, who pushed and
crowded their way to the front, each eager to secure a glimpse of that
which caused so many admiring oh’s and ah’s. And Billy, of course, was
not slow in reaching this spot.

What did he care for common, everyday apples when there was something
that promised new and greater interest?

Up he marched, and knowing the best way to forge ahead was to use his
horns, he stooped to that, and butted his way to the front.

“Oh, the pumpkin man, the pumpkin man!” cried a little youngster
delightedly, jumping up and down in his excitement, and there, to be
sure, he stood in full array.

A very wonderful man he was. His head was round as a ball, for it was
fashioned from a fat little pumpkin, the roundest that the fields could
furnish. Eyes were made from corn husks, cut as large and round as a
silver dollar, while the eyebrows were heavily outlined with black ink.
Nose and mouth were cut like boys and girls do for jack-o’-lanterns for
Hallowe’en pranks, and teeth were furnished by large, perfect kernels
of corn.

This queer fellow’s body resembled to a striking extent an elongated
pumpkin, and his arms were perfectly matched, long-necked summer
squashes. His hands were doubled up into fists, being the enlarged
ends of the squashes. A pair of legs were giant ears of golden corn,
and the dandy was togged out in a corn-husk cravat jauntily tied in a
four-in-hand, and his feet boasted a pair of ox-blood ties, though most
people would have called them red ears of field corn.

“Hello, Pumpkin Man,” was Billy’s cordial and friendly greeting, for
Billy felt he could claim acquaintanceship with anything and everything
hailing from a farm.

The Pumpkin Man maintained a dignified silence and stared straight
ahead.

“How-d’-ye-do, old fellow?” Billy repeated, edging a trifle closer,
for so popular a man must be one whom it would pay to know most
intimately.

The Pumpkin Man glowered at him--or so Billy thought.

“The impudent rascal! Most likely he wants to put on citified airs.
I’ve heard of people who were ashamed to own that they hailed from the
good old farm. The ninnies! What would all the city folks do without
the farmer? Why, I think a man who can farm the way Mr. Treat does is
one of the greatest men in all the land, and ought to be ranked with
bank presidents, professors, judges, and so on. But if it is homage he
wants, homage he shall have.”

“How do you do, Mr. Pumpkin Man?” Billy ventured the third time, now
bowing low before him in a curtsey.

But not a sign of recognition lighted up the fellow’s face. He
maintained that blank stare, which was most disconcerting to our Billy
Whiskers.

“I shall make him pay dearly for insulting me so, and before all this
crowd of watching, curious people, too.”

His wrath up, Billy charged, and hit the foe squarely in the stomach.
Evidently one round was enough for the dignified Pumpkin Man, for over
he tumbled, and what a fall it was!

Arms, legs, body went flying this way and that. It seemed he had no
real backbone at all! His head rolled forward, his body back, and arms
flew sidewise. Such a wobbly, make-believe man! Unfortunately, Billy’s
horns caught the head as it fell, and hooked the ample, grinning,
impudent mouth. Billy shook himself to free him of the burden, but
that merely served to make the pumpkin head settle down more securely.
There was a mighty, thundering roar of amusement from the spectators of
this little comedy, and at the sound Billy, always over-sensitive to
ridicule, turned with but one thought, and that was to escape from the
scene of the encounter and his disgrace.

[Illustration]

But no sooner did he wheel about than he saw all backs--not one person
in the whole crowd was brave enough to face him, and they were making
undue haste to fly from the building before the goat should take it
into his fertile brain to charge them as he had the “punkin head.”

Those in the lead did not know what was the real trouble, for moment by
moment they were joined by others from different parts of the hall.
They only knew that there was a great press of people crowding toward
the door, and supposing that something dreadful must be the cause,
were excitedly pushing toward the exit. Frightened women, terrified
children, and men in much the same state, it must be confessed, were in
the throng, and there rose a perfect babel of cries:

“Fire! Fire!”

“No, no!” came the contradictory cry from someone who had retained a
grain of common sense. “Just clear the room! No fire, just a goat!” but
his voice was drowned in the uproar and shuffling of many eager feet.

Those on the outside, seeing unmistakable evidences of excitement, were
just as anxious to gain entrance as those inside were to get out, such
is the perverseness of the human family. The result was that neither
could move, and there Billy was at the back, and good use did he make
of the opportunity. He had more butting space offered, without any show
of resistance, or offer of flight, than ever before in his career.

The farm lads who acted as guards stood bravely at their posts of duty,
but this did not mean that they took no active part in the fray. No,
indeed! Apples flew from all quarters of the room, and pears, too, hard
as bullets, hit him in tender places.

Maddened by this, Billy butted the harder, but when he found there was
no hope of opening a way to the outer world and freedom, he turned and
faced his tormentors from the rear, and then there was wild scrambling.
Many are those who are willing to pursue a fleeing foe, but few there
be brave enough to prosecute the attack on an advancing enemy in such
battle array as this Billy goat.

Dodging under the tables, they tried to crawl to safety, but Billy
proved to be much more nimble on all fours than they, and swept up and
down that hall, in and out, overturning tables, scattering the fruit,
and punishing the boys, laying in ruin what was but a short hour before
the admiration of the entire county.

By the time Billy had succeeded in putting to entire rout the attacking
boys, the throng pressing the doorway had disappeared, and he made his
way out without difficulty.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he delivered himself of this thought:

“If ever a goat was entitled to a good dinner, it is Billy Whiskers
to-day. Yes, sir-ee!”




CHAPTER XIII

A TRIUMPHANT HOME-COMING


“And if my memory does not serve me falsely, I think there is a tent
over yonder, and just around the corner bearing a sign like this:

  DINNERS SERVED HERE
  BY THE LADIES OF THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH
  PRICE $.25

Mrs. Treat is a Congregationalist, and if all the church ladies are
the experienced and skilful cooks she is, their patrons need not worry
about receiving a full twenty-five cents worth. It always pays to be
early at such a place, that I know full well, for the baskets may be
empty before the last customers are fed. I’m not sure that the Treats
will be at the Fair to-day, so I will be compelled to forage, and this
rather appeals to me. I’ve often heard about church dinners.

“Hurrah, over there is the very place I’m seeking. And how amiable
the mistress of ceremonies looks, standing over the stove at the rear
of the tent. Doesn’t a white apron swathing a woman make you think
involuntarily of things to eat? I suppose she’s preparing the coffee.
I’ll not go in by the back door. She guards that too closely. Under the
side of the tent is good enough for Billy.”

And under he went, as nimble as a kid, being egged on by gnawing hunger.

“Huh! I guess I _am_ early. The tables are not yet spread. But they
needn’t think I’m going to wait as long as that for a bite to eat.
Their sign says

  DINNERS SERVED

and they’ve absolutely no right to post such a notice when it isn’t
true. They’re sailing under false colors. I’ll serve myself, seeing
they are such fibbers.”

Truth to tell, this suited Billy much better anyway, and he began to
explore the territory under the picnic tables. Numerous baskets, all
heaped with eatables, were snugly stowed away here for safe keeping
until it was time to lay the tables, and Billy decided to examine each
in turn. In one he discovered an immense pan of nicely browned beans.
Boston baked beans, just fresh from some generous oven needed to extend
no second invitation to Billy. He greedily devoured them, and then
passed on to the neighboring basket.

“My eyes, what pies!” he chuckled, “but I’m not ready for dessert as
yet. There’s no use in trying to hurry me on to the last course. I’ll
return to you, so don’t feel slighted,” as he crept stealthily on,
addressing the pastry.

Other baskets yielded generously of sandwiches, salads, pickles,
fruits--everything to his exact liking and preference, and no lively
conscience warned Billy that he was doing anything wrong in satisfying
his appetite in this manner.

If one was not expected to eat, then why was he permitted to get
hungry? That was the argument he put forth. And if one was hungry, why
shouldn’t he eat--and especially when there were so many and such good
things in front of one?

“I believe I’ll lay low until they begin to serve, for that big barrel
at the back of the tent means just one thing--ice-cream, and after it
is opened, it may be that I can manage to get a portion. At least it
is worth an effort. It is the next best thing to a good, cool drink,
and I see no likelihood of quenching my thirst. All they seem to have
is coffee, and I never yet have touched the vile stuff. It smells good
enough, but I value my nerves far too much to touch it.”

By this time the women were bustling about, spreading snowy linen over
the rough tables, and placing the dishes and silver. It required some
maneuvering for Billy to edge his way unnoticed from table to table,
but he gradually approached the back of the tent and took up his
station under the last table, crouched into the darkest corner, near
the side of the tent.

He had not long to wait until the clinking of glasses and the clatter
of knives and forks told that patrons had begun to come, and the swish
of skirts told him that waitresses were busily serving meals.

“My waiting time is nearly over,” he decided, and poked his head under
the tent just enough to get a glimpse of the ice-cream freezer. “Now
the very moment that that burly fellow leaves--as he surely will after
the first rush is over--I’ll make the raid.”

He hardly winked, so anxious was he to remain undiscovered, for this
was the crucial test. Once or twice he was forced to draw back wholly
within the tent, fearing that the man dishing out the cream would face
about and find the marauding Billy so near. But Billy had an unlimited
amount of patience about some things, and he was in the mood to exert
it for the promised treat.

“There!” sighed the man at last, mopping his brow, “that is the hardest
work I’ve done for many a day. I think I need a strong cup of coffee to
brace me up for the next round,” and he hurried off before an impatient
waitress should demand his further services.

“Now’s my time,” and Billy was up on the freezer, and had taken one
great mouthful of the cream.

“O-o-oh! What a dreadful pain it gives me in my temples. I must swallow
it very slowly, I see,” raising his head. “I wish I had some cake to
eat with it. Mrs. Treat always serves it that way at Cloverleaf Farm.
And now I understand why.”

[Illustration]

Down he plunged his head once more, but he never took the second
mouthful, for someone rudely seized him by his abbreviated tail, and
after describing a circle in the air, he landed on the ground many feet
away.

Trembling with pain, Billy darted blindly straight ahead, caring little
where he went if only he escaped this giant of strength. The paroxysm
of fright left him as soon as he heard a tumult of voices, and he
opened his eyes in wonder to find that he had rushed into the tent, now
crowded to its full capacity with diners. Such commotion as followed
defies description. Everyone rose to their feet simultaneously, as
Billy paused for a moment undecided what to do or where to go, and
then made a dash for the other door. A waitress bearing aloft a loaded
tray advanced down the narrow aisle, and it was no fault of Billy’s
that she went sprawling and her dishes flying for he did his best to
swerve to the right and give her the right of way. But the girl turned
to her left in her excitement, and so a collision resulted. Billy
darted on, escaped the shower of falling china, only to hook his horns
in a rent in one of the table-cloths, and there followed another and a
greater clatter of falling, breaking dishes. One man with more presence
of mind than the rest reached for the cloth, thinking thus to arrest
Billy’s flight, but with one vigorous forward leap the linen was torn
from Billy’s horns, and he rushed out of the tent free.

[Illustration]

“I’ll guarantee that some poor fellow will waste a quarter buying
a meal ticket there, and then they’ll find their provisions have
mysteriously disappeared, and they cannot give him a square meal,”
Billy meditated, strolling slowly along in the genial sunshine of the
early October day. In fact, after his exertions in the Congregational
dinner tent, he felt disinclined to hurry, and he ambled along
leisurely, a good-natured smile hovering around his mouth.

“Now for the races. Shall I take a grandstand seat? That’s the subject
up for discussion. I believe I prefer a little more room than they give
one there, and will occupy a special grandstand of my own. That high
road-cart over there offers a splendid vantage point, and I’m thinking
no one will care to dispute my right to it once I am installed and if
they do--well, I think I may be able to establish my ownership with
small difficulty. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, so I’ve heard
them say.”

At this time of the day, before the races were begun, the race course
was a common thoroughfare, and people crossed and recrossed without
fear. Therefore Billy now crept under the two fences outlining the
course, and in a few moments was viewing the world from his elevated
seat in a most stylish turn-out.

A rattle of the gong at the judges’ stand announced that the hour for
beginning the races had arrived, and out trotted the horses, each with
his jaunty jockey in gay cap and trousers to match. What a storm of
applause! How wild the people were over the promised contest for speed!

Up and down trotted the horses, to display their good points and to
warm up for the first heat.

“The bay is a beauty. She’s made for the track.”

“But look at the slender chestnut! Fleet limbs, those.”

“I’ll pin my faith on the black.”

These and many like remarks greeted Billy’s ears, for everyone was
ready to express their opinions of the values of each entry.

Now they are lining up for the first start, and under the rope they
go, but not all together. Back they turn and again the bell sounds the
signal. This time they are off, and how gallantly each horse responds
to the will of the driver. Now they dash around the long oval, each
taking his course, now on the outside, now on the inside as they make
the curves.

“The black! The black!” comes the cry of approval as the dainty little
mare forges ahead by one whole length.

“The bay gains. She wins! She wins!” and as they pass under the line
and wheel about ready to repeat the performance, the excited spectators
settle back into their seats, relieved of the strain and stress.

Again the jockeys form their line, each in his proper place, each eager
to urge his mount to full capacity for speed, each hoping that this
time the shouts of encouragement and approbation will be for him.

Billy is one of the best watchers. He is trembling in every limb, for
well he knows the stress of the day for the animals in the harness,
well he knows how earnestly each of the racers yearns to win, and how
much they are disappointed when they come in any place but first.

Around and around they fly, jockeys using their whips, urging on and
ever on with words uttered scarcely above a whisper, yet heard and
obeyed by the alert steeds. Feet patter on the earth, dust rises and
still on they fly, but oh, why the sudden silence? Why the bated
breath? Why the stifled moans of all this vast multitude? Not a stir
for a brief moment, for there in the track, directly in the path of the
oncoming rush of horses toddles a little youngster, barely able to walk
alone, all unmindful of its peril, taking its own time to cross the
track.

Billy sees, recognizes the danger, and with a leap is down and over the
fence, into the middle of the course, and lowering those magnificent
horns, hooks the clothes of the baby, and, never stopping to turn to
retreat, dashes on across, just in time to escape the onrush of the
racers as they round the bend.

What shouts! What hurrahs! The crowd goes wild in its frenzied
admiration. Losing all fear of such an animal, Billy is grasped by
three sturdy men, baby is lifted safely up and tenderly placed in the
outstretched arms of the mother, and then Billy is borne high on the
shoulders of the men, a conquering hero. Of course he struggles--what
goat wouldn’t?--and yet finds himself powerless, for his feet are held
by men who grip him with hands of iron and with an immense following,
they carry him around to the grandstand and then over to the platform
where the judges sit. Up the steps they go, and there, with thousands
and thousands of witnesses, the master of ceremonies decks Billy out
with a blue ribbon bow, and again shouts of admiration fairly rend the
heavens.

[Illustration]

No more racing to-day. Interest in fleet horses has suddenly died, and
through the megaphone come these words:

Ladies and Gentlemen:

You have just witnessed the brave act of a dumb animal. A goat has done
what no man had brains to conceive nor daring to put into execution.
Ladies and gentlemen, the races are called off, and, in honor of the
goat hero of the day, there will be given on the race course a grand
parade of all the animals exhibited at the Fair. You are requested to
keep your seats and witness the grand finale of the Licking County
Annual Fair.

A buzz of excitement followed this change of program, and necks were
craned and all were agog.

In a very few minutes their consuming curiosity was satisfied for there
was a long line of animals parading the circle, and at their head was
no other than Billy Whiskers, proud of his position, but still prouder
that at last his animal friends were receiving the recognition they
merited.

As the crowd recognized the leader of the procession, three mighty
cheers went up, and when Billy bowed his thanks for this overture--just
as he had done countless times during a Circus performance--the people
went wild, and hurrah after hurrah greeted him.

Not the least bit disconcerted, Billy marched the length of the track,
and had drawn up in front of the grandstand, lining up his motley
following, each with an attendant close at his head, for a final
flourish, when a little fellow standing near the grandstand shouted:

“It’s Billy! It’s my Billy!” and escaping from his father’s arms,
ran pell-mell to him, threw his arms around his neck, and then Billy
underwent such a petting as never goat had before.

[Illustration]

“Now you won’t think such bad things of my Billy, will you, mama,” Dick
petitioned, as his mother hurried up. “See, isn’t it a pretty bow he
won?”

“Well, well,” conceded Mrs. Treat, reluctantly, “he may be all right,
after all.”

“I think we’ve all had excitement enough for this Fair time. Suppose we
escape all of the palavering that will surely be lavished on us, and
start for home,” proposed Mr. Treat.

“All right,” agreed the boys, “and we’ll take Billy right along. We
don’t want him to give us the slip. He’s too valuable a goat to lose,
and we must take great care of him.”

Slowly they made their way to the automobile, for however much they
might wish to slip quietly away, the crowds thought differently, and
pressed about closely, everyone eager to get a glimpse of this very
wonderful goat.

[Illustration]

“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars for him,” offered a fakir, the
proprietor of one of the side shows on the midway. “He’d do a dandy act
I have in mind. A thousand dollars, I say. Take it?” he questioned.

“No, nor two thousand,” answered Tom emphatically. “Why, this goat is
the best goat in the world, I’d have you know, and _five_ thousand
couldn’t buy him to-day.”

“Changed your opinion about me since two days ago,” thought Billy,
remembering this same boy’s wish that they might rid themselves of his
goatship upon the arrival of the automobile.

“Hurry along, boys,” urged their father. “Let’s get home before the
crowd kidnaps him.”

“Or goatnaps him, papa.”

“Where shall we put him?” uneasily asked Mrs. Treat.

“Why, that’s the easiest thing of all. Where but on the front seat?”
answered Harry, unhesitatingly. “That’s the honor place, you know, and
Billy Whiskers is the honor goat of Licking County to-day.”

And this is how it came that Billy really kept his promise to old
Browny, and rode back to Cloverleaf Farm in state, occupying the front
seat, while the boys, Tom, Dick and Harry, were crowded into the
tonneau with their mother.




CHAPTER XIV

THE REWARD


The next morning things at Cloverleaf Farm had settled back into their
accustomed groove. Breakfast was over by half past six, and soon after
a wagon arrived bringing home the Duke, more vain than ever since his
beauty had been publicly recognized, and Toppy, still somewhat ruffled
owing to the long chase she had led her keepers the day previous ere
she had been captured and returned to the coop she had deserted with
Billy Whiskers’ aid.

[Illustration]

The boys had marched off to school, each swinging his lunch basket, and
each wishing that lessons were half as interesting as the Fair.

That evening the postmaster was sitting on the same cracker barrel he
had occupied two days before, and, beaming with good nature, hailed the
Treat trio as they were passing on their way home from school.

“A letter in here for your father!” he called genially.

“Where from?” asked Tom shortly, with but a show of slight interest.

“Springfield, I guess. The postmark is blurred, and so I can’t be real
sure.”

“You go after it, Harry,” commanded the eldest of the three.

“Won’t either!”

“Then you go, Dick,” turning to the little fellow when he found Harry
incorrigible.

“Guess not!” sturdily, hands in trouser pockets, and feet kicking the
deep dust of the roadway. “Papa says _you’re_ to bring the mail, so get
it yourself,” and on he marched.

“Not so anxious now your automobile has come,” said the postmaster as
Tom reluctantly entered.

Hurrying out without waiting to reply, he soon overtook his brothers,
and after examining the envelope, stuffed it in his hip pocket. It
likely would have been there yet had not Dick thought it wise to settle
the responsibility of delivering the family mail in the future.

“Say, papa,” he began at the supper table that evening, “it’s Tom’s
place to stop at the post-office, isn’t it?”

Tom frowned at Harry, thinking that he had prompted Dick to put the
question. Harry frowned back, and even gave his brother a pinch under
cover of the table.

“Boys, boys!” reproved Mr. Treat, “what’s the trouble now?”

“Nothin’,” answered Tom. “Only I asked Harry to get the letter Mr.
Harris had for you, and he wouldn’t, and Dick was stubborn, too.”

“Now, Tom, you know that is your duty. I want my eldest son to bring
the mail. The younger boys might lose it. Even you, big as you are,
seem likely to prove careless, for you have not delivered any letter to
me as yet.”

“Oh, father, I forgot!” and a hot flush of shame at his negligence
mounted Tom’s cheeks, as he hastily produced the missive.

“Of all things! Mother, listen to this,” for as Mr. Treat tore open the
envelope out had dropped a pink slip of paper beside a note.

“Dear Sir:--

I’m a comparatively poor man, but not so poor in gratitude that I
cannot voice my thanks for the rescue of my baby son at the Fair
yesterday. That the rescuer happened to be a goat is no reason why the
act should go unrewarded, and the enclosed check is the effort I make
to express my appreciation of the brave act. I send it in the hope that
it may provide some luxury for those who have trained him so well.

                                         Sincerely,
                                                          J. B. MARTIN.”

“How much is it?” gasped Mrs. Treat.

“Fifty dollars, as I live!”

“Of course we cannot accept it?” half questioned his wife.

“I don’t know,” argued Mr. Treat. “I am sure if my baby had been
in such peril, I should not like to have his rescuer return the
thank-offering I made--the only way a man has to show his appreciation
and lasting gratitude, as Mr. Martin says.”

“Let’s keep it to go to the Fair next year. Think what a lot of candy
we can have!” suggested Harry eagerly.

“Well, boys, I think we will keep it, but it will go in the bank
to be added to the fund Billy has already started for your college
educations,” decided Mr. Treat, carefully folding the check and placing
it in his pocket-book.

That night after their mother had tucked the covers about them and put
out the light, Tom snuggled over close to Harry, and whispered:

“Harry, I’ve thought of a plan!”

“What about?”

“I’ve been thinking a goat is a pretty good thing--better’n a calf. The
Duke has never earned any money, but Billy has a lot. Suppose we sell
the Duke.”

“Not by a long way!” said Harry, scorning the proposal.

“But, Harry, listen to common sense! You know Billy earned a lot this
summer. We’d not have the auto if it wasn’t for him. And now here is
another fifty dollars come to-day. If one goat can do that, why not get
more--one for each of us boys, anyway?”

“But the Duke? Why sell him?”

“I must say you are slow,” responded Tom impatiently. “We’ll have to
have some money to buy the goats, won’t we?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to lose the Duke. Say, why not take the money
in our banks downstairs and buy some kids? They’d not cost so much as
full-grown goats, and they would soon grow.”

“Bully for you!” said Tom, pounding Harry vigorously on the back to
express his appreciation of the valuable suggestion. “We’ll do it
to-morrow.”

The next day being Saturday and a holiday, the boys proceeded to
put their plan into immediate execution. Counting their hoard, they
found it totalled six dollars and three cents. “Let’s not wait till
afternoon, but go down to the Corners now. Mr. Finnegan has two kids
and perhaps he’ll sell one to us,” whispered Harry as they bent over
their task of counting the heap of pennies.

“All right, come along,” and snatching caps, they ran to the kitchen
and told their mother they were going to the Corners on “important
business.”

Mrs. Treat was one of those wise mothers who have the full confidence
of her sons, and she never pried into their secrets, for she knew full
well they would tell her all about them in good time.

“All right, boys, but hurry back. It is getting along towards noon.”

Reaching Mr. Finnegan’s home, the boys went to the rear, and were
delighted to have him answer their knock in person.

“Good morning, and what brings you here?” he asked.

“We’ve come to ask if you want to sell one of your goats,” said Tom.

“Well, now, that all depends on how much the buyer will pay. You see,
my kids are very fine ones.”

“Yes, we’ve often seen them in the yard, and they look as good as our
own Billy,” agreed Harry readily.

“How much is one worth?” asked Tom, bristling with business.

“Suppose we go out to see them,” replied Mr. Finnegan, leading the way
to a small shed at the back of the lot. “I’ve said I’d not sell them
for less than ten dollars, but seeing it’s you boys, and your father is
a friend of mine, I’ll say five.”

“Oh, dear, and we wanted two, one for each of us!” lamented Harry.

“You do? And how much money have you?”

“Six dollars and three cents, and we need ten!”

[Illustration]

“Seeing what a very good friend your father is, I’ll let you have them
for that,” said the owner of the kids.

“What?” they chorussed, their eyes dancing at the proposal.

“Just right! six dollars and three cents and you own two kids.”

“Aren’t they fine?” said Harry, eyeing the kids with supreme
satisfaction. “Count out the money, Tom, and we’ll take them home with
us.”

Two happier boys never turned into the Treat drive than Tom and Harry
that Saturday noon.

Mr. Treat had come in from the fields, and Mrs. Treat was fretting
because her sons were not on hand ready for dinner, and went to the
front veranda to watch for their appearing.

“I want to know what those boys are up to now. Father, come out here
this minute. Is it _goats_ those lads are carrying?”

“Looks like it to me,” returned her husband with a silent chuckle.

“As if I haven’t had enough bother with Billy Whiskers!”

“Come in here, Tom,” called Mr. Treat, as the boys were making for the
stables. “What’s this?”

“Why, they’re our new kids! Bought them from Mr. Finnegan. Billy’s
been such a good investment, and three will earn just three times as
much. We’ve one apiece now, and you needn’t worry any more about our
educations.”

“Boys!” gasped their mother, throwing up her hands in amazement.

“Never mind, mother! This is their first business venture, and we must
see what they make of it.”

“But--but, father, you can’t realize what it means. Three goats!”

“There, there, don’t fret! Billy Whiskers will likely take good care of
them. Let the boys have a chance.”

When Mr. Treat allied himself with his sons in this way, their mother
usually yielded, and so it happened that Tom and Harry led their
purchases to the barn for safe keeping, and Billy introduced the kids
as his “twins” to all the barnyard inhabitants. The title clung to
them, for they were as like as two peas, and as long as they lived
at Cloverleaf Farm they were known far and wide as the “twins.” Years
afterwards, when Billy Whiskers was old and feeble, the children of the
twins, and his grandchildren by adoption, would clamor for a story, and
Billy would relate his adventures at the Fair just as you have read
them, and would end by saying:

“But those experiences do not compare with the good times I had with
the twins at Chautauqua the next summer,--not nearly. However, that is
too long a tale for me to tell to-day, and besides, it is recounted in
the book written about us, ‘Billy Whiskers’ Twins.’”

[Illustration: THE END]




The Billy Whiskers Series

TRADE MARK. (REGISTERED U. S. PATENT OFFICE)


  BILLY WHISKERS      by Frances Trego Montgomery

  The biography of a goat that has been purchased for the amusement of
  several small children. The first night in his new home Billy gets
  into serious trouble; on the morrow he runs away and is appropriated
  by an Irish lad, to haul milk to the city; he invades a flat; joins
  the circus, but finally returns to the farm and his faithful little
  Nanny goat.


  BILLY WHISKERS’ KIDS      by Frances Trego Montgomery

  Day and Night, Billy’s kids, are sold, but not liking their new
  quarters, are glad to be kidnapped by Billy and Nanny. They, too,
  have many adventures, none less exciting than those of their father,
  which are woven into this most readable story.


  BILLY WHISKERS, JR.      by Frances Trego Montgomery

  Being the chronicle of the life of Night, now grown to goathood. He
  is purchased by a Westerner and is shipped to the ranch. Soon tiring
  of this life, he goes to San Francisco, where he finds a friend in
  Stubby, a yellow dog, and together they pursue their travels.


  BILLY WHISKERS’ TRAVELS      by F. G. Wheeler

  Billy is just as mischievous as ever, making more fun than
  heretofore. This time we find him abroad, and while in Paris he
  creates a panic in a hotel by chewing the electric wires. He figures
  in a wreck at sea; encounters a tiger; but through it all he is the
  children’s old friend Billy, whom they depend upon to furnish hours
  of amusement.


  BILLY WHISKERS AT THE CIRCUS      by F. G. Wheeler

  For fun and adventure worth while, a frolicsome goat and a
  circus offer an enticing combination. So it happens that the
  ever-mischievous, fun-loving Billy carries his depredations into
  Circus-Land. He no sooner glimpses the circus crowds than his antics
  begin--to attempt to recount them would be futile, indeed.


  BILLY WHISKERS AT THE FAIR      by F. G. Wheeler

  Every boy and every girl enjoys going to the Fair, and when Billy’s
  owners hie themselves to this annual county event, Billy goes
  along--though they don’t know it. He has more fun to the minute
  than most fair-goers have to the hour, sees everything worth seeing
  and does everything worth doing. It is a rollicking story that will
  please every young reader.

  EACH BOOK BOUND IN BOARDS, QUARTO, ILLUSTRATED IN COLORS.
  POSTPAID $1.00


  DICKY DELIGHTFUL IN RAINBOW LAND      by James Ball Naylor

  Dicky is truly a delightful youngster, who ventures over Rainbow
  Road, to find himself the guest of Grandfather Gander and Grandmother
  Goose in the Land of the Immortals.

  Dr. Naylor knows how to please boys and girls, for the story is
  brimming over with humor, rapid movement and lively conversation.


  THE LITTLE GREEN GOBLIN      by James Ball Naylor

  The Little Green Goblin comes from Goblinland in his tiny featherbed
  balloon, administers a goblin tablet to Bob Taylor, a dissatisfied
  boy. The tablet shrinks him to goblin size, and away the two sail for
  Goblinland, which is the place where you do as you please. Upon their
  arrival, Bob--but to tell more would be to spoil a good story.


  WITCH CROW AND BARNEY BYLOW      by James Ball Naylor

  Barney fell to wishing down in the haylot, along came a crow and gave
  him a magic penny--he would always have that much but no more. Many
  strange things then happened--things which cured Barney of that bad
  habit of wishing.


  SQUEAKS AND SQUAWKS FROM FAR-AWAY FORESTS      by Burton Stoner

  “Mr. Bull has done some remarkably good work for Squeaks and Squawks,
  both in colors and halftones. The color work is superb.”--_Grand
  Rapids Herald._

  Charles Livingston Bull illustrates this charming book of nature
  stories, in which the animals speak for themselves.


  JIM CROW TALES      by Burton Stoner

  Jim Crow was the pet of a farmer boy. He was very wise and knew
  all about the ways of the beasts and birds, and told them to his
  friend--the most interesting anecdotes of the forest folk.


  TEDDY BEARS      by Adah Louise Sutton

  “A fanciful story of the doings of a little girl’s toys, which get
  into all sorts of pranks while people sleep. The doings of this
  interesting coterie form a pleasing tale for children.”--_Pittsburg
  Post._

  “Full of the brand of fun that tickles children.”--_Portland
  Oregonian._


  A LITTLE MAID IN TOYLAND      by Adah Louise Sutton

  Eating a piece of magic cake, a little girl becomes diminutive and
  goes to live among the dollies in her doll house. One day she steps
  through the back door and finds herself in Toyland, and thereafter
  adventures come thick and fast.


  A CHRISTMAS WITH SANTA CLAUS      by Frances Trego Montgomery

  Santa carries two children to his home in his wonderful sleigh. They
  meet Mrs. Santa, are shown a royal good time, and then Santa brings
  them back when he makes his annual trip.

  EACH BOOK BOUND IN BOARDS, QUARTO, ILLUSTRATED IN COLORS. Postpaid for
  $1.00


  The Saalfield Publishing Co., Akron, Ohio




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.