Sally gave the question some thought. "I don't know," she said at last.
"Wrong again. Next! Charlie!"
Charlie had his mouth full. He looked up in surprise. "What?" he spluttered.
"What would my little lizard have done this morning?"
Charlie was no Fletcherite. He swallowed his mouthful very nearly whole. Then he gasped a little which is not to be wondered at.
"Little lizard would take his little snow-shovel and shovel a great big place—" he began. Then an idea seemed to strike him and he stopped with his mouth open. "No," he cried; "little lizard would be dead."
"Very possibly, Charlie. That's the nearest answer, so far." The professor turned and regarded his son curiously. "I should really like to know how you arrived at that conclusion."
"Lizard died a long time ago," Charlie answered. "Couldn't wake up this morning because you've got the bones upstairs."
The professor laughed. "A very just observation," he remarked. "You have a logical mind, Charles."
Charles slid down from his chair. "I'm through my breakfast," he announced. "Want to shovel."