CHAPTER VI
THE JOLLY ROGER
WHEN I say that Chub arrived “bag and baggage,” I mean every word of it.
It was a delightful afternoon—July was almost a week old—and Roy, pausing before his front door and fumbling for his latch-key, looked westward along the street into a golden haze of sunlight. And as he looked, suddenly there appeared, huge and formless in the sunset glow, something that arrested his attention. For a moment he couldn’t make it out, but presently, with a rattle of wheels, it drew near and resolved into a “four-wheeler” piled high with luggage. It pulled up at the curb before the door, and Chub leaped out, bringing with him numerous packages.
“Hello,” greeted Roy; “come to spend the rest of your days with us? Why didn’t you bring the grand piano? Or is it in the big trunk there?”
Chub grinned and directed the transfer of his
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