In the middle of the night Jot got out of bed softly and padded his way across to the bureau, to feel of the three five-dollar bills they had left together under the pincushion for a paper weight.  He slid his fingers under carefully.  What!  He lifted the cushion.  Then he struck a match—­two matches—­three, in agitated succession.

The money was gone!

CHAPTER II.

Jot gasped with horror.  The last match went out and left him standing there in the dark.  After one instant’s hesitation he made a bound for the bed.  “Kent!  Kent!  Wake up!” he whispered shrilly.  He shook the limp figure hard.

“Thieves!  Murder!  Wake up, I tell you, Kent!  We’re robbed!”

“M-m—­who’s rob—­Oh, say, lemme alone!” murmured poor Kent, drowsily.

Jot shook him again.

“I tell you thieves!” he hissed in his ear.  “The money’s gone!  Do you hear?  It isn’t under the pin-cushion where we left it!  It’s gone!  We’ve been robbed, Kent Eddy!”

The limp figure strengthened as if electrified and rose to a sitting position.  Kent’s eyes flew open.

“What?” he cried.

“Get up quick, Kentie, and we’ll wake Old Tilly up!  Maybe we can catch ’em!”

“Catch who?  I wish you’d talk English, Jot Eddy!”

Old Tilly was slumbering peacefully, oblivious to thieves and five-dollar bills alike.  It took a long time to wake him and longer yet to make him understand the dire thing that had happened.

“Get up!  Get up!  We’ve got to catch ’em!” concluded Jot.

“Yes, the thieves—­catch the thieves, you know!” Kent explained.  “I don’t s’pose you’ll lie there all night and let ’em cut off with our money, if you are Old Tilly!”

Then something funny happened.  Anyway, it seemed funny to Old Tilly.  He buried his face in the pillow and choked with laughter.

“It’s gone to his head!” whispered Jot, in alarm.

“No, to his t-toe!” giggled Old Tilly, purple in the face.

“Yes, sir, he’s crazy as a loon.  Let’s call father, Jot!”

“Hold on!—­wait!  It’s all right, boys!  The money is, and I am, and everybody is!  Just wait till I get my laugh out, won’t you?”

“No, sir, but we’ll wait till you get out o’ bed and that’s this very minute!” Jot exclaimed wrathfully.  He was dancing up and down with impatience.

Old Tilly slowly brought a lean, shapely leg into view from beneath the sheet.  To the boys’ amazement it was covered with a long black stocking.  Old Tilly, like the other boys, had been barefooted all day.

“Thought I might as well get a good start in dressing!” he chuckled.  “Nothing like being read—­”

“Oh, come off!”

“Well, I wish it would; there’s something in the toe that hurts.  Ow!”

He drew off the stocking and gravely examined the snug little wad in the toe.