"What horse?" demanded Bob.
"Mr. Lewis Bolter's black mare, Ida Bellethorne."
"Oh!"
"And, oh, Bob!" cried Betty, "there's another Ida Bellethorne, and this Ida has gone away to see her. She's her aunt."
"Who's her aunt?" grumbled Bob, who was having some difficulty just then in driving the car and so could not give his full attention to the matter the girls were chattering about.
"Why, see!" cried Betty, rummaging in her bag. "Here's the piece of newspaper with the society item, or whatever it is, in it that made Ida go away so suddenly this morning. It's about her aunt, the great concert singer. Ida's gone to meet her where that says," and she put the piece of paper into Bob's hand.
"All right," he said. "Here's Markham and Boggs' place. You said you were in this store yesterday, Betty."
"So I was. Come on, Bobby," cried the other girl, hopping out of the car. "I suppose we shall have to go to the manager or the superintendent or somebody. Dear me! If we don't find my locket I don't know what I shall do."
When Betty and Bobby came out of the store, much dissappointed, they found Bob grinning—as Bobby declared—"like a Cheshire cat."
