The little group proceeded pell-mell up the stairs and were soon in Frank's room. Eager, curious eyes observed a box about two feet square on a little stand.
"There's holes in the top, and—hello! there's something alive in this box,
Frank," declared Bob.
"Yes, I can hear it scratching," put in Ritchie.
"Oho!" exclaimed Frank, enlightened now. "This end up—handle with care. I know."
"Know what, Jordan?" inquired Ned.
But Frank did not answer. He had detached the shipping tag, and was reading some words written on its reverse side.
"I am sending you my special pet, Rambo," the scrawl read, "because nothing is too good for you. Highly educated, gentle. I know you'll be good to him."
Frank recalled his new friend, Dave, with a smile of pleasure. He took the cover off the box. Nestled contentedly in some soft hay at its bottom was a wonder-eyed little monkey. Beside the animal was a thin, long chain.
To be sure, the boys made a lot of the cute little pet during the next hour. The word went around, and Rambo held quite a reception. A drink of water and a cracker put the animal in rare good humor, and he began to show off.
Rambo would sit in a chair and hold a book, pretending to read. He could whirl around, hanging by his tail from a hook in the ceiling. His agility, displayed in springs, curvets and climbing, was something prodigious.