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How she really felt toward Nan, the latter did not know; nor did this uncertainty bother her much. Now that her father's trouble with Mr. Ravell Bulson was cleared up, Nan did not worry over anything but the seemingly total disappearance of the runaways, Sallie and Celia or, as they preferred to be known, Lola Montague and Marie Fortesque. Mr.
He is not a rascal." "I say he is!" ejaculated the man with the grouch. Here Professor Krenner interfered, and he spoke quite sharply. "You've said enough, Bulson. Are you hurt?" "I don't know," grumbled the fat man. "He can't tell till he's seen his lawyer," whispered Laura Polk, beginning to giggle. "Are any of you girls hurt?" queried the professor, his red and white cap awry.
"And won't he be surprised when he learns that it wasn't Papa Sherwood, after all, but that wicked negro porter, who stole his wallet and watch?" Nan mused. "I hope they find the man and punish him. But it really does seem as though Mr. Bulson ought to be punished, too, for making my father so much trouble." Later "Nosey" Thompson was captured; but he had spent all Mr.
"Oh, what do you care about Linda?" responded Bess. "I care very much about what people say of my father," Nan said. "And the minute I get home I'm going to find out what that Bulson meant." That adventurous afternoon on Pendragon Hill was the last chance the girls of Lakeview Hall had that term for bobsledding.
"Well, I don't," declared the fat man, still scowling at Nan. "Don't you?" cried Junior. "That's funny. I like her, and Buster likes her, and you don't, Pop. I hope I'll see you again, Nan Sherwood." His father almost dragged him away, the spaniel, on a leash, cavorting about the lame boy. Nan was amazed by the difference in the behavior of Mr. Bulson and his afflicted son.
The man scowled and in his usual harsh manner exclaimed: "Call the dog away, Junior. If you're not hurt we'll get another cab and go on." "Why, Pop!" cried the lame boy, quite excitedly. "That pup likes her a whole lot. See him? Say, girl, did you used to own that puppy?" "No, indeed, dear," said Nan, laughing. "But he remembers me." "From where?" demanded the curious Ravell Bulson, Jr.
If I only had a pretty face like your Nan, here, Mr. Sherwood, they'd be giving me the lead in feature films believe me!" The mystery of how the negro got into the locked car was explained when Mr. Sherwood chanced to remember that the porter of the coach in which he had ridden from Chicago that night answered the description Jennie Albert gave of the person who had robbed Mr. Bulson.
His watch and roll of banknotes had disappeared. The victim of the robbery was Mr. Ravell Bulson. Mr. Bulson had at once accused the person occupying the berth over his as being the guilty person. Nan's father had got up early, and had left the sleeping car long before Mr. Bulson discovered his loss.
"You say your name is Bullhead " "Bulson!" roared the other. "Ravell Bulson. I own that milk." "So it is condensed milk in that box, Mr. Bulson?" here interposed Mr. Carter, the conductor. "Yes, it is," said Bulson, shortly. "I had business up near the Bancroft Creamery, and I stepped in there and bought a case of milk in glass, and shipped it home.
Belongs to Ravell Bulson, Jr., Owneyville, Illinois. Make a note of it." "Sure!" Jim said. "Say! that's a funny thing," put in another man, who wore the lettered cap of the express company. "I've been looking over my way-bill, Carter, and a man named Ravell Bulson of that same address has shipped a package to himself from the Bancroft Creamery siding, up above Freeling.
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