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Updated: June 28, 2025
But this poor little puppy is starving." "Why, I declare!" interrupted Bulson. "That's the little dog I shipped to Junior." "It's your own dog, Mr. Bulson," Bess declared. "And he's almost starved." "And what are you doing with him?" demanded the fat man, rage suddenly narrowing his eyes again. "What kind of actions are these?" and he swung on the members of the train crew once more.
"My dog is given to any Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along, while I can't get at my own case of milk. Preposterous!" The express messenger had received a signal from Mr. Carter, and now said: "I tell you what it is, Mr. Bulson; I can't help you out. The matter is entirely out of my hands.
"Your father can tell you all about it," Nan said, kindly, not wishing to make Mr. Bulson any angrier. "He was there in the snowed-up train, too. That's how I came to be acquainted with your little dog. He was with your father on the train." "Why, Pop!" cried the eager boy. "You never told me a word about it. And you must know this girl." Mr. Ravell Bulson only grunted and scowled.
Ravell Bulson, without a doubt. "And about the negro?" he asked the girl. "Describe him." But all Jennie could say was that he was a big, burly fellow with a long, long nose. "An awfully long nose for a colored person," said Jennie. "He frightened me so, I don't remember much else about him and I'm no scare-cat, either. You ask any of the directors I have worked for during the past two years.
I saw it being put aboard the express car of the other train and I had an idea it would be transferred at the Junction to this train. And here it is, and I want it." "You're a public spirited citizen, Mr. Bulson," the conductor said suavely. "I expect you want to get this milk to divide among your fellow passengers? Especially among the children on the train?"
It was not until the great snow-plow and a special locomotive appeared the next morning, and towed the stalled train on to its destination, and Nan Sherwood and her chum arrived at Tillbury, that Nan learned anything more regarding Mr. Ravell Bulson. Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood had been more than a little worried by Nan's delay in getting home and Mr.
He stooped down and brought his light to bear upon the tag wired to the top of the crate. "Ravell Bulson, Jr., Owneyville, Illinois," he read aloud, making a note of it in his book. "Oh!" ejaculated Nan. "Oh!" repeated Bess. Then both together the chums gasped: "That fat man!" "Hullo!" observed the conductor, slipping the toggles out of the hasp, which kept the door of the dog crate closed.
The railroad and the sleeping car company, of course, refused to acknowledge responsibility for Mr. Bulson's valuables. Nor on mere suspicion could Mr. Bulson get a justice in Tillbury to issue a warrant for Mr. Sherwood. But Ravell Bulson had been to the Sherwood cottage on Amity Street, and had talked very harshly. Besides, the fat man had in public loudly accused his victim of being dishonest.
Sherwood's trouble with Ravell Bulson. Mrs. Sherwood was very indignant about it, and so, of course, was Nan. A week or more before, Mr. Sherwood had had business in Chicago, and in returning took the midnight train. The sleeping car was side-tracked at Tillbury and when most of the passengers were gone the man in the berth under Mr. Sherwood's began to rave about having been robbed.
You know, I told you Jennie was working for a moving picture company that was making a film at Tillbury. She had a boy's part; she looks just like a boy with a cap on, for her hair is short. "Well! Now listen! They took those pictures the day before, and the very day that you came back from Chicago to Tillbury and that awful Mr. Bulson lost his money and watch." "What's that?" demanded Mr.
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