“Yes, that’s it, fellows!” exclaimed the sorrowful one, quickly. “Tell me, have either of you set eyes on the little jewel since—well, say last Saturday noon?”
“Huh! just why do you go and pick out that day, of all the blessed week?” demanded “Elephant” Small, a boy who had been given this nickname in derision, since he was anything but ponderous; and who at home chanced to be called Fenimore Cooper.
“I’ll tell you,” replied Andy Bird, promptly; “honestly then, because that’s the last time I can remember handling the same. I was tightening up a nut that had come loose on my bike—perhaps you may have seen me do it.”
“Oh! yes,” remarked Larry, the fourth member of the group, “that was the day we took that long spin on our wheels, and Frank cooked us a bully good camp dinner when we rested on the side of Thunder Top mountain, wasn’t it?”
“Sure it was,” responded Andy. “And just before we got ready to start off again I fastened that bolt. Then it was goodbye to my dandy little wrench, that I always expected to make a bushel of money patenting some fine day.”
“Well, I’ve got an idea, and a bright one too!” observed Elephant, calmly.
“Then it’ll be the first you ever had,” declared Larry, derisively.
“Don’t hold your breath till you forget it, Elephant. Let’s hear the wonderful stunt that’s struck you!” suggested the broken-hearted loser, looking interested.
Elephant never hurried. Perhaps after all it was because of his slowness that his name had been changed so radically.
“Why, you see, it occurred to me that the old bald-headed eagle we watched circling around and around that noon, may have dodged down when nobody was looking, and carried the cute little wrench away in his talons.”