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Bob heard a crunching noise behind him and turned his head to find that Ted Hoyt too had been unable to stand the strain of waiting uncertain as to what was happening to his friends. Johnny Blossom is not local but universal. Interest in him is not even limited to boys. When the book first appeared, a Norwegian reviewer wrote: “They weren’t my parents, no fear. They told that soon enough. I’d been taken in by ’em ’cause they thought I might be useful—”.
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Johnny Blossom went storming through the rooms. My, oh, my! how little he seemed when he looked at himself in those enormous mirrors. Soon, however, he was walking on the railing of the veranda. What a veranda it was, with its massive stone pillars and broad steps of white marble leading to the grounds! Still, Johnny Blossom was not altogether sure that the veranda at home wasn’t just as pretty; at any rate, it was pleasanter, that was certain. When he reported to the Chief he found that all danger was past and the gang at work making a permanent repair of the damage. Johnny Blossom put his hands in his pockets and whistled, “Yes, we love our grand old Norway,” loudly and shrilly. Oh, they didn’t know anything about the trouble with Bob, and he didn’t dare to say a word about the racing or anything..
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