“Got it? Why shouldn’t I get it?” “Well, open it, and let us see what it contains.” This Mr. Fox proceeded to do. But no sooner did his glance rest on its contents than his lower jaw fell, and his eyes opened wide in perplexity. “Well, what are you staring at like a fool?” demanded his wife, who was not so situated that she could see the contents of the pocketbook. “Look at this, Mrs. F.,” said her husband, in a hollow voice. “There’s no money here--only this piece of newspaper.” “Well, well, of all the fools I ever saw you are about the most stupid!” ejaculated Mrs. Fox. “What you undertake you generally carry through, do you? After all the fuss you’ve brought down a pocketbook stuffed with waste paper.” “I don’t understand it,” said Fox, his face assuming a look of perplexity. “Surely the boy told the truth when he said he had fifteen dollars.” “Of course! Joel saw the money--a roll of bills, and saw him take them out of his pocketbook. He must have taken them out. Did you search all his pockets?” “No; when I found the pocketbook I thought I was all right.” “Just like a man!” retorted Mrs. Fox. “I’ll go up myself, and see if I can’t manage better than you.” “Then you’d better take this wallet, and put it back in his pocket.” “Give it to me, then.” With a firm step Mrs. Fox took the candle, and took her turn in going up the attic stairs. CHAPTER IV MRS. FOX COMES TO GRIEF Harry confidently anticipated a second visit to his chamber. He was rather surprised when the door was again opened, and Mrs. Fox entered. Opening his eyes a little way, he saw her, after a brief glance at the bed, go to the chair containing his pantaloons, and put back the deceptive wallet. She was about to prosecute a further search, when Harry decided that matters had gone far enough. He did not fancy their night visits, and meant to stop them if he could. Chance favored his design. A puff of air from the door, which Mrs. Fox had left wide open, extinguished the candle, and left the room, as there was no moon, in profound darkness. “Drat the candle!” he heard Mrs. Fox say. Then a mischievous idea came to Harry. In his native village lived a man who had passed a considerable time in the wild region beyond the Missouri River, and had mingled familiarly with the Indians. From him Harry had learned how to imitate the Indian warwhoop. “I’ll scare the old lady,” thought Harry, smiling to himself. Immediately there rang out from the bed, in the darkness and silence, a terrific warwhoop, given in Harry’s most effective style. Mrs. Fox was not a nervous woman ordinarily, but she was undeniably frightened at the unexpected sound. “Heavens and earth, what’s that?” she ejaculated, and dropping our hero’s clothes, retreated in disorder, almost stumbling downstairs in her precipitate flight. Dashing into the chamber where Mr. Fox was waiting for her, she sank into a chair, gasping for breath.