“Ho!” shouted Charlie.  “There goes a man and a hand organ and a monkey.”

The dignity of the club was not sufficient to restrain Charlie and several others from an almost headlong rush for the out-door attraction, and they quickly surrounded the organ-grinder.  He owned a remarkable monkey, the boys thought, especially when he mounted by a spout to the window of Aunt Stanshy’s chamber, and, entering it, soon re-appeared shaking in his hand Aunt Stanshy’s spectacles!

“Put ’em on!” cried Sid.

“He can, he can!” said his master.  “Me taught him.”

The next moment the spectacles appeared on the monkey’s nose!

“He look like her,” said the organ-grinder.

But the monkey did not have time to continue his resemblance to the fair owner any longer, for the shadow of a broom fell over him, and if he had not made a very nimble spring for the spout, something besides a shadow would have fallen upon him, even the broom itself.  This was now seen at the window, and Aunt Stanshy behind it.  It was Tony who gallantly ran forward and rescued Aunt Stanshy’s spectacles as their wearer was about quitting the spout for the ground.

“We think that monkey is very smart, Aunt Stanshy,” said Sid.

“I expect you will make him an honorary member the next thing.”

“He’s bright enough,” said Sid.

“I wonder how bright one must be to be an honorary member if—­if—­a monkey is the standard?” thought Aunt Stanshy.

This visit from the monkey was not the only unusual thing happening that day.  The club heard with sorrow of the unexpected and total loss of their money!  Charlie, as “treasury,” had gone up the ladder, but returning, he reported that the dipper, the safe of the club, was missing.

“How much money was in it?” inquired Aunt Stanshy.

“Ten cents.”

“I said you might lose your money.”

This was entirely true, but it was poor consolation.  Indeed, it was quite aggravating.

“Did you have any mark on the dipper?”

“Yes; a shield on the bottom, though—­though—­’twas not a very good one.”

No, to that day it remained uncertain what the device really was, and its character had been hotly discussed in the club.

Charlie had discovered the theft on his return from school at noon.  Swallowing a potato and a few mouthfuls of steak, he then rushed from the house to report the loss to the club.  In a short time all the white shields had heard the news, and quickly gathered.

“Well, boys, what is to be done?” asked the president.

Nobody knew.

“Let’s climb the ladder and all take a look,” suggested the secretary.

Exceedingly nimble were the legs that went wriggling up the ladder, and very curious eyes were directed toward the depths of the “cupelo,” but the only result was a succession of “My!” and “That’s so!” and “Too bad!”