Ted had his ear cocked to the small iron door.
“Yep,” he sort of gasped. “It’s there! It’s kinda-tickin’.”
“Let me listen,” Nancy asked, dropping down beside him.
For some time brother, sister and the big dog were all crouched there, attentive, eager and somewhat excited.
“Just a little sound—like an egg-beater,” Nancy suggested. “And look, Ted, those broken weeds! Mr. Sanders must have been in here just now.”
“Sure, it’s his,” said Ted, in a manner as matter of fact as if an egg-beater “whistling” in the old fireplace was the most ordinary thing in the world to expect being put there by Mr. Sanders.
CHAPTER XX
THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
It was a very exciting story, indeed, that Ted and Nancy poured into their mother’s ears that evening. Had she any possible objections to adopting Nero as the fourth member of the family, they must have been quickly dispelled with the graphic account of that animal’s uncanny intelligence.
“He seemed to know just where to find the outlet to the chimney,” Nancy said, “for he ran directly to the little furnace place, and we didn’t really know it was there ourselves.”
“Of course, he knew,” said Ted importantly. “Dogs know lots of things that we don’t. And he’s going to sleep in the store, isn’t he, Mother?”