“You—you—you,” and the grinder swept the circle to find out if any one had seen the lost favorite. No one had seen him.
“O, O dear!” lamented the grinder excitedly.
Poor organ-grinder! his face was wrinkled as badly as that of his missing assistant when attempting to pick a very bad nut.
“You go—find—my—mun-kee?”
“O, yes,” said the president, “we will hunt. Come on.”
They scattered, tumbling over fences, climbing shed roofs, diving into corners, shouting, yelling, and stirring up the neighborhood thoroughly. It did no good. “My munkee” refused to be found.
The boys went to school and returned, meeting in the barn chamber once more.
“There’s some business to be done, Mr. President,” said the “securtary,” in a very formal way. But where was the president? He was no more to be found than the monkey. A little later, Wort Wentworth was looking out of the window.
“Here comes Sid,” he shouted.
Sid was running through the yard, when, seeing the boys at the window, he stopped, and shouted excitedly: