“What’s the matter with you? Can’t you talk?” asked Jack. “You look—Oh, shucks, fellows, it’s only a stuffed parrot!”
“Wonder where he stole it,” said Hal, prodding it through the bars of the cage to make certain that it was really not alive. Just then there was a noise behind them and the three turned startledly to see a big yellow cat emerge from beneath the stove, arching his back and blinking gravely across at them.
“Gee, you scared me, pussy,” said Bee.
“What’s your name? Come over here and have your back rubbed, you old rascal.” The cat accepted the invitation, crossing the room to rub against their legs and purr ecstatically.
“Nice old kitty,” murmured Bee, scratching the cat’s neck. “Isn’t he a dandy, Hal?”
“Yes, I wonder where he stole him,” replied Hal darkly. Jack laughed.
“Hal, you haven’t a very good opinion of our friend Bill, have you? Well, there’s plenty of truck here, fellows, but I don’t see any compasses or fog-horns, although there’s a brass trumpet up there. If those are your oars out there, Hal, what do you suppose he did with the boat-hook?”
“And that new rope,” added Bee.
“They’re here somewhere, I guess,” answered Hal, surveying the room again. “Maybe the rope’s in the shed. There was a lot there.”
The cat leaped to the table and began to lick one of the dishes. “That’s the way Bill gets his things washed up, I suppose,” said Bee. “I wonder if we couldn’t get a cat, fellows. It would save us a lot of bother!”