“What’s the use of guessing?” returned her boy chum. “That won’t get you anywhere. You’re a poor detective, Aggie.”
“Don’t make fun,” complained Agnes, who was very much excited about the automobile robbery. They had just got their car, and she had longed for it so deeply that she was beginning to be worried for fear something would happen to it.
“Shut Tom Jonah into the garage at night,” Neale suggested. “I warrant no thieves will take it.”
Mr. Howbridge, while he was about it, had had a cement block garage built on the rear of the Stower premises facing Willow Street, for the housing of the Corner House girls’ motor car.
“Mr. Collinger’s auto was stolen right on the street,” said Agnes, doubtfully.
“That’s the worst of these flivvers,” retorted Neale, with a grin. “People are apt to come along and pick ’em up absent-mindedly and go off with them. Say! have you heard the latest?”
“What about?” asked Agnes, dreamily.
“About the flivver. Do you know what the chickens say when one of ’em goes by?”
“No,” declared the girl.
“Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” mimicked the boy.