“What makes you think he plays a lute?” asked Bee flippantly.
“I’m going up there,” asserted Hal resolutely.
“Better not,” counselled Jack. “Anyway, I don’t see how you can. There’s no ladder in sight.”
“I don’t need any ladder. You fellows lift me up and I can push off that hatch and get through. I don’t believe it’s locked.”
“I don’t like it,” said Jack. “After all, the things didn’t cost very much, and you’ve bought new oars and—”
“I don’t care if they only cost ten cents,” replied Hal doggedly. “They’re mine and I mean to have them if they’re there. If you fellows won’t help me I’ll go out and find a ladder; or I’ll move the table under here and—”
“Don’t be a silly goat,” pleaded Bee. “If your things are up there the hatch is sure to be locked. Come on and be sensible.”
“It can’t be locked. There’s no lock there. Look for yourself.” Hal measured the distance from floor to ceiling with his eye and looked speculatively at the table on which the yellow cat had curled himself up and was washing his face. “Anyhow, I mean to have a try at it and I think you fellows might give me a lift. If they were your things that were stolen I’d try to help you get them instead of siding with the thief!”
“Well—” began Bee irresolutely.