automobile

for three days everybody hunted all over the house for margalo without finding so much as a feather.

“i guess she had spring fever,” said george. “a normal bird doesn’t stay indoors this kind of weather.”

“perhaps she has a husband somewhere and has gone to meet him,” suggested mr. little.

“she has not!” sobbed stuart, bitterly.

“that’s just a lot of nonsense.”

“how do you know?” asked george.

“because i asked her one time,” cried

stuart. “she told me she was a single bird.”

everybody questioned snowbell closely, but the cat insisted he knew nothing about margalo’s disappearance. “i don’t see why you have to make a pariah out of me just because that disagreeable little chippy flew the coop,” said snowbell, irritably.

stuart was heartbroken. he had no appetite, refused food, and lost weight.

finally he decided that he would run away from home without telling anybody, and go out into the world and look for margalo. “while i am about it, i might as well seek my fortune, too,” he thought.

before daybreak next morning he got out his biggest handkerchief and in it he placed his toothbrush, his money, his soap, his comb and brush, a clean suit of underwear, and his pocket compass.

“i ought to take along something to remember my mother by,” he thought. so he crept into his mother’s bedroom where she was still asleep, climbed the lamp cord to her bureau, and pulled a strand of mrs.

little’s hair from her comb. he rolled the hair up neatly and laid it in the handkerchief with the other things. then he rolled everything up into a bundle and tied it onto one end of a wooden match. with his gray felt hat cocked jauntily on one side of his head and his pack slung across his shoulder, stuart stole softly out of the house.

“good-by, beautiful home,” he whispered.

“i wonder if i will ever see you again.”

stuart stood uncertainly for a moment in the street in front of the house. the world was a big place in which to go looking for a lost bird. north, south, east, or west—which way should he go? stuart decided that he needed advice on such an important matter, so he started uptown to find his friend dr. carey, the surgeon-dentist, owner of the schooner wasp.

the doctor was glad to see stuart. he took him right into his inner office where he was busy pulling a man’s tooth. the man’s name was edward clydesdale, and he had several wads of gauze in his cheek to hold his mouth open good and wide. the tooth was a hard one to get out, and the doctor let stuart sit on his instrument tray so they could talk during the operation.

“this is my friend, stuart little,” he said to the man with the gauze in his cheek.

“how ‘oo oo, soo’rt,” replied the man, as best he could.

“very well, thank you,” replied stuart.

“well, what’s on your mind, stuart?” asked dr. carey, seizing hold of the man’s tooth with a pair of pincers and giving a strong pull.

“i ran away from home this morning,” explained stuart. “i am going out into the world to seek my fortune and to look for a lost bird. which direction do you think i should start out in?”

dr. carey twisted the tooth a bit and racked it back and forth. “what color is the bird?” he asked.

“brown,” said stuart.

“better go north,” said dr. carey.

“don’t you think so, mr. clydesdale?”

“’ook in ‘entral ‘ark,” said mr.

clydesdale.

“what?” cried stuart.

“i ‘ay, ‘ook in ‘entral ‘ark,” said mr.

clydesdale.

“he says look in central park,” explained dr. carey, tucking another big wad of gauze into mr. clydesdale’s cheek. “and it’s a good suggestion. oftentimes people with decayed teeth have sound ideas. central park is a favorite place for birds in the spring.” mr. clydesdale was nodding his head vigorously, and seemed about to speak again.

“if ‘oo ‘on’t ‘ocate a ‘ird in ‘entral ‘ark, ‘ake a ‘ew ‘ork ‘ew ‘aven and ‘artford ‘ailway ‘n ‘ook in ‘onnecticut.”

“what?” cried stuart, delighted at this new kind of talk. “what say, mr.

clydesdale?”

“if ‘oo ‘on’t ‘ocate a ‘ird in ‘entral ‘ark, ‘ake a ‘ew ‘ork ‘ew ‘aven and ‘artford ‘ailway ‘n ‘ook in ‘onnecticut.”

“he says if you can’t locate the bird in central park, take a new york new haven and hartford railway train and look in connecticut,” said dr. carey. then he removed the rolls of gauze from mr. clydesdale’s mouth. “rinse, please!” he said.

mr. clydesdale took a glass of

mouthwash that was beside the chair and rinsed his mouth out.

“tell me this, stuart,” said dr. carey.

“how are you traveling? on foot?”

“yes, sir,” said stuart.

“well, i think you’d better have a car. as soon as i get this tooth out, we’ll see what can be done about it. open, please, mr. clydesdale.”

dr. carey grabbed the tooth with the pincers again, and this time he pulled so long and so hard and with such determination that the tooth popped out, which was a great relief to everybody, particularly to mr. clydesdale. the doctor then led stuart into another room. from a shelf he took a tiny automobile, about six inches long—the most perfect miniature automobile stuart had ever seen. it was bright yellow with black fenders, a streamlined car of graceful design. “i made this myself,” dr. carey said. “i enjoy building model cars and boats and other things when i am not extracting teeth. this car has a real gasoline motor in it. it has quite a good deal of power—do you think you can handle it, stuart?”

“certainly,” replied stuart, looking into the driver’s seat and blowing the horn. “but isn’t it going to attract too much attention? won’t everybody stop and stare at such a small automobile?”

“they would if they could see you,” replied dr. carey, “but nobody will be able to see you, or the car.”

“why not?” asked stuart.

“because this automobile is a thoroughly modern car. it’s not only noiseless, it’s invisible.

nobody can see it.”

“i can see it,” remarked stuart.

“push that little button!” said the doctor, pointing to a button on the instrument panel. stuart pushed the button. instantly the car vanished from sight.

“now push it again,” said the doctor.

“how can i push it when i can’t see it?” asked stuart.

“feel around for it.”

so stuart felt around until his hand came in contact with a button. it seemed like the same button, and stuart pushed it. he heard a slight grinding noise and felt something slip out from under his hand.

“hey, watch out!” yelled dr. carey. “you pushed the starter button. she’s off! there she goes! she’s away! she’s loose in the room—now we’ll never catch her.” he grabbed stuart up and placed him on a table where he wouldn’t be hit by a runaway car.

“oh, mercy! oh, mercy!” stuart cried when he realized what he had done. it was a very awkward situation. neither dr. carey nor stuart could see the little automobile, yet it was rushing all over the room under its own power, bumping into things. first there came a crashing noise over by the fireplace. the hearth broom fell down. dr. carey leapt for the spot and pounced on the place where the sound had come from. but though he was quick, he had hardly got his hands on the place when there was another crash over by the wastebasket. the doctor pounced again. pounce! crash! pounce! crash! the doctor was racing all over the room, pouncing and missing. it is almost impossible to catch a speedy invisible model automobile even when one is a skillful dentist.

“oh, oh,” yelled stuart, jumping up and down. “i’m sorry, dr. carey, i’m dreadfully sorry!”

“get a butterfly net!” shouted the doctor.

“i can’t,” said stuart. “i’m not big enough to carry a butterfly net.”

“that’s true,” said dr. carey. “i forgot. my apologies, stuart.”

“the car is bound to stop sometime,” said stuart, “because it will run out of gas.”

“that’s true, too,” said the doctor. and so he and stuart sat down and waited patiently until they no longer heard any crashing sounds in the room. then the doctor got down on his hands and knees and crawled cautiously all over, feeling here and there, until at last he found the car. it was in the fireplace, buried up to its hubs in wood ashes. the doctor pressed the proper button and there it stood in plain sight again, its front fenders crumpled, its radiator leaking, its headlights broken, its windshield shattered, its right rear tire punctured, and quite a bit of yellow paint scratched off the hood.

“what a mess!” groaned the doctor. “stuart, i hope this will be a lesson to you: never push a button on an automobile unless you are sure of what you are doing.”

“yes, sir,” answered stuart, and his eyes filled with tears, each tear being smaller than a drop of dew. it had been an unhappy morning, and stuart was already homesick. he was sure that he was never going to see margalo again.