“About a month ago,” she answered.
“Then if it’s stolen,” Chub said, “I guess the fellow who got it has spent it by this time. I’m glad I didn’t pay that ninety cents, anyhow.”
Roy laughed.
“There’s just one of us here,” he said, “who probably knows who took it, and he can’t tell.”
“Who do you mean?” asked Chub.
“Methuselah, of course.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Harry. “That’s so, isn’t it? And to think that he can’t tell us!”
“You might ask him,” Dick suggested. The others smiled; all save Harry. She jumped up and walked gravely across to the cage. Methuselah ceased his chatter as she drew near, put his head on one side and studied her inquiringly with his beady eyes.
“’Thuselah,” said Harry, “won’t you please tell us who stole our money?”
The parrot blinked, ruffled his feathers and put one foot through the bars until his yellow claws were clasped tightly about Harry’s finger. Then he chuckled hoarsely.