"Anything you like," agreed Prescott.
"But what have you thought up?"
"Nothing."
"Cut that!"
"Honest, fellows, I haven't."
"Never mind," sang out Dave. "We fellows will just roam around town for a while and see what is happening. Something will pop into our minds, and then we can have a bit of mischief."
"Hullo!" muttered Toby. "Say! Just look at Hoof!"
"Whatcher got there, Hoof?" demanded a laughing chorus.
For Hoof Sadby, looking more sheepish than ever before in his life, had appeared on the scene carrying a baby. It was a real, live one, too—his year-and-a-half-old brother, to be exact.
"Say, don't guy me too much, fellows," begged Hoof sadly. "I'm in a pickle, sure. Pop and mother are going to a sociable to-night. That is, they've already gone. And they said——" Hoof paused. "They said——" he tried again. Then, in final desperation he shot it out quickly. "They said I'd have to stay home, and—mind the baby!"