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“No. Nobody stood on the table but me,” said Johnny Blossom. “And they didn’t shake hands with any one else either; and that is as true—as true”— “The town,” was the answer; “the mechanics’ houses and the bunk houses for the Mexican laborers. The only people who live up here on the hill are the engineers and executives.” Late in the afternoon of the next day the two boys dropped off the train at a little station in the desert. There was no hotel among the houses scattered along the track but they were lucky enough to find a room over the general store in which to sleep..

Then he gave Johnny a whistle—a regular boatswain’s whistle. He put it right into Johnny’s pocket, and of course that meant that he wanted to give it to him. So Johnny Blossom shook hands with him and bowed his thanks. Ah! this would be something to show to the boys at school. How he would blow and play on it.I tried logging in using my phone number and I was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call me instead" option twice but didn't get a call either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call me instead fails.There was Finally Bob’s father had to go back to New York. Several telegrams had come and the last one could not be disregarded. The night before he left Mr. Hazard led Bob out into the grounds. When they came to the fence, they leaned on it and started talking. The moon was up and shed its light on the flat fields. In the hum of the country stillness, only the summer whistle of the quail and the sharp plaintive cry of the whippoorwill were distinct.

“Yes, but you mustn’t look at that corner, for there’s a tiny piece off there; nor right there either; and here it is badly carved, as you see, Uncle Isaac. But if you hold it like this and just look at the whole—why, it isn’t so bad,” said Johnny Blossom, beaming. “Right you are, Whisk—I mean, Mr. Whitney,” Bob answered in some confusion. “I suppose you’ll have to be Mister Whitney now since you are the Big Boss. Last summer you were the fellow who was so good to us kids and we took liberties.” He had not stolen apples, he really had not; but he had been taken to the police station and his name, John Blossom, was written on the police records. Though he had not stolen apples, he had known very well that Mr. Lind and his wife would be angry if boys went on board and helped themselves to apples, even if Nils had said they might. “But what is it that has come?”.