's Clara all right," said Skippy. "We must set a watch on her."

"She has a mean and spiteful nature. She does it just to get me
punished."

"Leave it to me."

"What will you do?"

"Say, what's it worth?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I get if I catch her red hot?"

"I'll give a dollar," said Tootsie recklessly.

"That's too much," said Skippy, with an appearance of generosity. "I'll
sleuth for a quarter a day. Cash in advance. But my orders go. Savvy?"

Tootsie paid down the fee, and following instructions departed next
morning with the family for the beach, while Skippy, returning across
lots, wriggled on his stomach over the lawn and slipped into the house
by the cellar window. For three days Tootsie duly paid out her quarter
and received the most comforting of reports. On the fourth day, however,
a discussion arose.

"'Course if you sit there, no one's goin' to come," she said, fingering
her last quarter. "I know it's Clara by the look in her eyes."

"Sit there! What kind of a sleuth do you think I am?" he said
indignantly. "Look here. See that phonograph--see anything queer about
it? Pick it up."

Instantly the grating sounds of a dinner bell were heard and a horrible
crash.

"Lookout! Don't drop it, you chump! See that string that passes down the
back of the wall and into the closet?" said Skippy, proudly exhibiting a
patent alarm which he had constructed with the aid of a delicately
balanced dishpan. "I'm in the dining-room under the table. Well what?"

"Heavens! If Daddy ever sets that off!"

"He won't. You bet, I'll see to that," said Skippy hastily. "Well what?
Do I get another quarter?"

There was a slight mental indecision after which the quarter came
reluctantly to the detective. Tootsie went thoughtfully down to the
beach. The new method did redound to the stability of the phonograph,
but was Skippy really working as rapidly as he could?

"I should have offered a dollar and no more," said Tootsie to herself.
"If this keeps up I'll be broke in a week."

So distressing was this outlook, that her mind refused to be diverted,
and after a brief hesitation she returned to the house, intent on a more
satisfactory financial arrangement. Now Tootsie was as fond of mystery
stories as Skippy himself, and so with due regard to etiquette she
dodged down the hedge, slunk behind the lilacs, and noiselessly let
herself into the dining-room window. Then, cautiously, on hands and
knees, she approach