  "It just isn't fair," declared Tom, staring unhappily through the window at the heavy rain pelting the lawn and garden about the house. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it so we might as well make the best of it," replied Twink philosophically. "But I wanted to go outdoors and play this afternoon—you know we have only a few more weeks until school starts. Besides, I'm sick and tired of this old house and of every single thing we have to play with." Almost as if he understood Tom's words, Twoffle, the children's wooden clown, tumbled over on his face in the corner where he had been standing neglected. "Now look what you've done! You've hurt Twoffle's feelings," accused Twink reprovingly as she hastened to stand the funny little clown erect again in his corner of the room. Twink was especially fond of Twoffle. The little wooden clown, with his hinged joints and gaudily painted features and clothing, had been a part of their lives almost as long as Twink could remember. He had taken part in many of their games, and being constructed of a fine grade of durable wood, he had outlasted many other more fragile toys that had come and gone. Twink and Tom were twins. They lived in a large, comfortable house in the city of Buffalo, New York, with their Mother and Father and Rosie the cook. This afternoon the house was very quiet. Twink's and Tom's father, Professor Jones, was at work at the University, where he taught young people all about electrons, atoms, molecules, and other mysterious matters. Mrs. Jones was attending a meeting of her Club of Lady Voters. Rosie, the cook, dozed in her warm kitchen, nodding over the latest issue of a fashion magazine. So it was no wonder the twins were a bit lonesome. The rain streamed down the window monotonously and it seemed the afternoon would drag on forever. Twink glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was a little Dutch cottage clock and the hands indicated it was almost three o'clock. Twink was struck with a sudden idea. "Come on, Tom!" she called. "Look at the time. If we don't hurry we'll miss Chapter Four of Buffalo Bill Rides Again!" Tom came to life immediately, and in an instant both children were dashing down the broad stairway and into the library. Here was the solution to their dull afternoon—a television set that Professor Jones had built himself and installed in the library. It was a very special set with a large "projection screen." The glass tube of the television set enlarged the picture on the screen. At three o'clock each afternoon Twink and Tom could see another chapter in the exciting moving picture serial of the wild west. The children were sure, of course, that Buffalo Bill had been named after their own city, and this made the picture all the more interesting. Tom was busily turning knobs and dials and making adjustments. In a few seconds the big screen lighted up with a bluish-green glare and a moment later the pictures appeared. Buffalo Bill was ambushed by a wildly howling mob of Redskins who were on the war-path. There was no doubt in Twink's and Tom's minds that the famous scout would emerge unharmed while the Indians would take to noisy flight. But just as Buffalo Bill brought his rifle to his shoulder and was sighting the nearest Redskin, something happened. The flickering motion picture vanished from the television screen, and in its place appeared a picture that made the children gasp. It was one of the most beautiful scenes they could imagine: a peaceful, rolling meadowland, bright with all kinds of wild-flowers on which the sun shown down from a blue sky dotted with white, baby clouds. In the distance rose the spires and minarets of a great castle, glittering and glistening in the sunlight. But it was not the castle or the sunny meadowland that held the children's attention. Twink and Tom stared unbelievingly at a figure that stood in the center of the television picture looking out at them with the most familiar of smiles. It was Twoffle, their wooden clown. |
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