re going to have for
dinner.

Along rolled the automobile, taking the Curlytops nearer and nearer to
the city of Pocono, where Uncle Toby lived with his housekeeper, Mrs.
Watson. But it was rather a long ride, and, about half way, the party
stopped in a little village for lunch.

"Did we bring any lunch with us, or are we going in a place to eat?"
asked Ted.

"Oh, I hope we go in a place to eat!" exclaimed Janet. "I like a
restaurant, don't you, Ted?"

"Sure!" answered the Curlytop boy.

"Yes, we are going to a restaurant," his mother told them. "Daddy wants
to get some oil and gasoline for the auto, too."

"It's sort of feeding the auto, isn't it, Mother?" asked Janet, as they
alighted.

"In a way, yes," admitted Mrs. Martin.

A little later the Curlytops were having a fine meal, and when I say the
Curlytops I mean also Daddy and Mother Martin, and Trouble. The hair of
Mr. and Mrs. Martin did not curl, though it must have done so when they
were younger; or else how would Ted and Janet have had such beautiful
ringlets? Nor did Trouble's hair curl, though when he was smaller his
mother used to wind little ringlets around her finger, hoping he would
have locks as pretty as those of Janet and Ted. But, really, the older
boy and girl were the only ones who could, truly, be called Curlytops,
though I sometimes speak of the "Curlytop family."

So you know, when I say that the "Curlytops" were eating lunch, that all
five of them were enjoying their meal. There were several things that
Janet, Teddy and Trouble liked to eat, and toward the end of the meal
there was a piece of pie for each of them. And it was toward the end of
the meal that something happened, and Trouble, as usual, was the cause of
it.

Just before the waiter had brought the pie there had sounded, out in the
street, the music of a hand organ. No sooner had he heard this than
Trouble slipped from his chair (where he had been sitting on a hassock to
make him higher) and ran to the window.

"No monkey!" called out the little fellow, after he had stood for a
moment with his nose pressed against the pane of glass, making his
"smeller," as he sometimes called it, quite flat. "Hand-organ grinder got
no monkey!"

Trouble was disappointed. He had hoped to see a little monkey scrambling
around to gather pennies in his cap. But this hand-organ player did not
have any. And there was nothing much for Trouble to see. So the little
fellow came back to the tabl