ked a question
since she had seen the waiter "juggle" the soup toureen. "What does an
engine have oil for? Do they keep it in a cruet, like that cruet on the
table in the hotel we stopped at coming up from Grand View?"

And perhaps she asked even more questions, but these are all we have
time to repeat right now. For evening had come, and soon the little
Bunkers would be put to bed. Although they had two sections of the
sleeping car, there was none too much room when the porter let down the
berths and hung the curtains for them.

Besides, even after the little folks had all got quiet, peace did not
reign for long in that sleeping car. The very strangest thing happened.
Even Russ couldn't have invented it.

But I will have to tell you about it in the next chapter.

CHAPTER VIII

AN ALARM AND A HOLD-UP

Of course, the six little Bunkers were just ordinary children, although
they sometimes had extraordinary adventures. And confinement for only a
few hours in a Pullman car had made them very restless. It was
impossible for them always to keep quiet, and their running up and down
the aisles, and their exclamations about what they saw, sometimes
annoyed other passengers just a little.

Most of the passengers in this car were people, fortunately, who liked
children and could appreciate how difficult it was for the six to be
always on their best behavior. And the passengers could not but admire
the way in which Daddy and Mother Bunker controlled the exuberance of
the six.

But there was one man who had scowled at the little Bunkers almost from
the very moment they had boarded the train at Pineville. That man
seemed to say to himself:

"Oh, dear! here is a crowd of children and they are going to annoy me
dreadfully."

And, of course, as he expected to be annoyed, there was scarcely
anything the Bunkers did or said but what did annoy him. He was a very
fat man, and the car was sometimes too warm for him, and he was always
complaining to the porter about something or other, and altogether he
was a very miserable man indeed on that particular journey.

Maybe he was a nice man at home. But it is doubtful if he had any
children of his own, and probably nobody's children would have suited
him at all! Mun Bun and Margy made friends with almost everybody in the
car but the fat man. He would not even look at Mun Bun when the little
fellow staggered along the car, from seat to seat, and looked smilingly
up into the