Chapter II
THE TREASURE HUNT
There had been a fine racket going on in the toy-cupboard all this while. But by the time Poor Cecco had trotted round to the back of the house and climbed in through the kitchen window, most of the toys had given up thumping and shouting and were sitting still there in the dark, tired out and very cross. Only the noise like a five-finger exercise still kept on. Poor Cecco could hear it quite distinctly as he poked his head through the kitchen window. “Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!”
That was Bulka, the rag puppy. Bulka had been mended and restitched so many times that he had almost lost his original shape and he really looked more like a pin cushion than a dog. He always cried in tune—the tune of a five-finger exercise—which annoyed the rest of the toys so much that they would do anything rather than hear Bulka cry. The worst of it was that, being an extremely sensitive person, he cried far oftener than there was any need to, whenever anything went wrong, for instance, or especially if his feelings were hurt; and then all the other toys were obliged to stuff their fingers in their and run away until Bulka was comforted. They simply couldn’t stand it, but they had to stand it now, for there they were all shut up together and Bulka had been crying steadily for at least three quarters of an hour, ever since Murrum fastened the toy-cupboard door, and all they could do was to stuff their fingers in their ears as tightly as possible and try to pretend they didn’t hear him.
But at the sound of Poor Cecco’s feet—clop—clop—along the passage and across the floor, Bulka stopped crying at once, right in the middle of his tune, and his companions immediately unstopped their ears to listen. The toy-cupboard was quite low, built in next to the fireplace as in all proper houses, so all Poor Cecco had to do was to reach up on his hind legs and turn the button round again.
Out they all tumbled, all talking at once and very excited. First came Bulka, who had his nose to the crack in the door all the evening, and close at his heels came Tubby, who was a little bigger than Bulka and looked very much like him, except that her ears were longer and her eyes were rounder. Then Gladys and Virginia May, hand in hand, Gladys wearing a white satin petticoat and the wedding veil in which she had been married to Harlequin the week before, and which was really only loaned to her. Virginia wore nothing; all her clothes were in the wash.
Next came Harlequin himself, all covered with spangles, exclaiming “Hey Presto!” He looked quite fine if you half-closed one eye, so as not to see where the stitches were coming undone. After him came the Easter Chicken and the Lion and the wooden Engine, and then Anna the lamb, with a bell round her neck and the little green meadow, that she always carried about with her, fastened under her feet. Last of all was Ida, because she could never get up until the others had moved first. Ida’s last name was Down; she was flat and square, dressed in pink satin with a silk cord all round.
All the small toys stayed in the bottom of the cupboard. They were already tired and had gone to sleep.
“Now,” cried Poor Cecco. “What shall we do?”
“Let’s have a picnic!” said Tubby.
Harlequin wanted to punish Murrum, but no one knew where he was. Engine and the Chicken were talking together, and as usual the Lion was flirting with Anna; they didn’t mind what was done so long as some one decided quickly. Ida thought it was time to have another wedding, but it was now Virginia’s turn to be married, and Virginia May refused. She had no wedding clothes, since Gladys would not give up the veil, and the only person they could think of for her to marry was Bulka, whom she couldn’t endure. Meantime Bulka and Tubby were quarrelling because Bulka said that Tubby’s picnics were always stupid and Tubby called Bulka a cry-baby.
Anna said: “Well, if nobody’s willing to do anything—”
Poor Cecco jumped up and banged on the table. “I know what let’s do,” he said. “Let’s go on a treasure hunt!”
“What’s that?” they all cried.
“It’s got to be out of doors,” said Poor Cecco, explaining very rapidly, “and we take the express-wagon to bring it back in, and you find a place where some one has buried treasure and you dig it up and divide it. I’m going to do the digging.”
“How do you find the place?” Harlequin asked.
“There are lots of places,” said Poor Cecco. “You measure the ground and then you dig. Generally it’s under a big stone.”
Bulka remembered a big stone down by the end of the garden. There might be treasure there. But how could one tell?
You couldn’t tell. If you knew beforehand, Poor Cecco said, then there was no sense in looking and it wouldn’t be a treasure-hunt. Any one might do that. But you had to have spades, and he sent Tubby to fetch a tin spade and a broken spoon that were in the bottom of the toy-cupboard.
The express wagon had gone to sleep. He grumbled terribly when they woke him up. “I work all day,” he complained, “and at night I want to be quiet. I wish you’d think of something with a boat in it for a change!”
But Tubby had returned with the spade, and every one climbed in, paying no attention to his protests. They spread Ida on the bottom of the wagon first, and all sat on her to keep their feet warm. At the last moment space had to be made for the Money-Pig, who insisted on coming too. The word “treasure” was quite enough to rouse him up.
“He thinks we’re going to find money, and he’s afraid he won’t get any!” whispered Tubby to Gladys, snuggling up close against her in the wagon. “He’s an awful miser. Did he give you a wedding present last week?”
“He did not,” said Gladys.
“When I marry,” said Tubby, spreading her skirts out, “I shall be married in Tubbyland and I shall have a Tubbyland wedding. Every one will give me presents. I shall wear a long satin train and roses and a blue veil.”
Bulka was staring gloomily in front of him. “You’ll look awfully stupid!” he said.
“Anyway,” said Tubby angrily, “I shan’t ask you! When is the wagon going to start?”
They were waiting for Anna, who, as usual, had a piece of string tangled round her wheels. Anna had to walk alongside, for they wouldn’t let her bring her meadow into the wagon, and she refused to leave it behind.
“Anna is so silly!” murmured Virginia May, watching Anna lift first one foot and then the other, very affectedly, while Poor Cecco got the string unwound. “It’s absurd to be so attached to a little piece of ground like that. It isn’t as if anything grew on it. She just likes to pretend she’s an heiress and landowner, so as to make a wealthy marriage. But nothing will ever come of it, mark my word!”
They started off—rattle—rattle—rattle—through the back entry and down the garden path. It was a very bumpy ride. The express wagon felt too drowsy to look where he was going. Moreover he was still quite cross and so didn’t mind how much he shook them all up.
Rattle! Now they were going round and round the strawberry bed. At each turn the wheels lifted up, nearly spilling them out. Anna, who tried to keep pace with them, kept on tripping. “Stop!” cried Poor Cecco. “This isn’t the way!”
But the express-wagon laughed a nasty laugh.
“You woke me up for your pleasure,” he declared, “and now I shall go where I choose for mine! And I choose to go round and round the strawberry bed!”
But in the end he grew tired of it and dumped them all, suddenly and unexpectedly, on a border of spring onions.
Luckily the onion leaves were soft. But they smelt horribly. Harlequin in particular was furious.
“It’s the very last time,” he shouted, “that we shall engage you on any of our expeditions!”
“Engage!” said the wagon. “Engage! That’s good!” And he rumbled back to the house, squeaking all the way, “Engage!”
“I suppose really we should have paid him something on account,” said Virginia May. “But we never seem to have any money!”
The Money-Pig kept quiet, which was rather mean of him, for every one knew he had all the money there was.
Bulka had fallen on his nose in the onion bed, which was really fortunate, for he had just opened his mouth to cry when the wagon tipped over, but, lying face downward on the soft earth, he couldn’t do it. Now he picked himself up and repeated “Hurrah!” instead.
A little way off, by the edge of the potato patch, they could see the big stone.
