"He tells rattling good stories," said Bob. "He told me a splendid one about a man who stole a parrot the other day. I'll tell it you sometime when I remember it. Is anything going to happen to-night, Pen?"
Pen shivered.
"Oh, dear, I don't know. Mind you come, too, Bob."
Bob vowed he wouldn't miss coming for worlds.
"I believe you're thinking of telling 'em you've done it," he said, and Pen said she was thinking of telling them.
"You won't tell me who it is? I'm as close as wax," urged Bob.
"I can't, dear," said Pen.
"Oh, by Jove, I remember Bill's parrot story, Pen. A man stole a parrot, and when he was caught he said he took it for a lark. And the man who owned it said he'd make a bally fine judge at a bird-show."
"Oh," said Pen, rather blankly; "but if he only took it for a lark, I suppose they let him off. Did they?"
"Let him off what?"