eyes," said Tootsie incoherently, and between rage and tears she
repeated her account in a manner to be completely unintelligible. Mr.
Bedelle was a theorist afflicted with indigestion. He carefully selected
his diet with due regard for starch values and never ate a raw tomato
without first carefully removing the seeds. He was likewise particularly
careful never to sit down to a process of digestion in an agitated mood.
His irritation therefore considerably aggravated by his daughter's case
of nerves, he hastened on to the house.

"I looked everywhere, Daddy, honest I did and it--" Suddenly Tootsie
stopped and her jaw fell. There in its accustomed place, reposing on the
table, was the phonograph.

"Tootsie!" said Mr. Bedelle in puffy rage.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Go to that machine. Put your hand on it. Feel it. Is it or is it not a
phonograph?"

"It is."

"Is it yours?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Write out fifty times 'I must not get excited before mealtime,' Don't
leave the house until you have done it."

"Very well, Daddy."

Mr. Bedelle went to his easy-chair on the back porch and began to fan
himself. Tootsie, staring at the phonograph, began seriously to
consider. Her suspicions were aroused and her first suspicion was the
instinctive one of sister to sister.

"Good gracious! I believe the child thinks I did it," said Clara, at
luncheon, after Tootsie's stare had remained in fixed accusation upon
her.

"Not a word! Not another word about that phonograph," said Mr. Bedelle
wrathfully, "If this whole family has got to be upset every time I sit
down to the table, I will have the whole thing made into mincemeat."

"Well, it's my phonograph," said Tootsie sullenly, and immediately
departed for her room--by request.

For two days the phonograph remained quiescent, but about this time Miss
Clara Bedelle announced that some one had been tampering with her
figure.

"Your figure, Clara? How shocking!" said the older brother.

"My dressmaker's figure, and what's more, some one," said Clara,
looking hard at Tootsie, "_Some one_ has been in my closet and disturbed
my dresses!"

"How _very_ strange," said Tootsie sarcastically. "Are you sure it isn't
your imagination--child?"

"And I know who did it."

"Perhaps you know, too, who stole my phonograph," said Tootsie angrily.

The next afternoon the phonograph departed for four hours. Tootsie
searched her sister's bedroom and then called Skippy into consultation.

"It