PROFESSOR CLATTER’S PLAN
Standing there, facing their fellow students who were gathered in a
mocking crowd about the medicine wagon, Cap, Bill and Pete hardly knew
how to begin, nor what to talk about after they had started.
“Do you mean to say you’re going to stick up for—for _this_ person?”
demanded Bondy, and he put all the scorn of which he was capable into
the words.
“We certainly do,” declared Cap firmly. “If you’ll let us explain,
we’ll—”
“Young gentlemen, permit me,” broke in the voice of Professor Clatter.
“I believe I can—”
“No more of your patent medicine jargon!” interrupted some of Guilder’s
cronies. “We’ve had enough.”
“I wasn’t going to speak of my wares,” said the vendor simply. “I hope
you will give me credit for knowing how to deal with gentlemen—when I
see them.”
There was a laugh at this, and the Professor knew he had at least some
of his audience with him.
“I was going to ask my friends, the Smith boys, to allow me to make the
explanation,” Mr. Clatter went on. “I believe I can give all the facts
necessary.”
He looked at Cap, who nodded an assent. Then, mounting the steps beside
the lads, the vendor of the Peerless Permanent Pain Preventative and
the various other nostrums, told simply, but effectively, how, one
morning, he had met our three heroes as they were fleeing from home,
under the mistaken notion that they were to be tarred and feathered.
Mr. Clatter related how he had provided them with breakfast from his
wagon, how they had traveled about with him, selling his goods, taking
part in a sort of minstrel show, all as related in the first volume of
this series.
“And when I was arrested for innocently practicing palmistry, in an
effort to locate a man who had robbed their father, these boys kept on
with the business alone, and made money enough to pay my fine,” said
the professor. “I can never thank them enough for what they did, and
now they have more than ever put me in their debt by standing up in
this friendly fashion for me when—well, I know you young gentlemen
love fun, but this wagon and stock is all I have in the world,” he
concluded simply, and there was a break in his voice.
For a moment there was silence, and then the story, which the professor
told much more dramatically than either of our heroes could have
presented it, had its effect.
“By Jove! That was no end of a lark!” exclaimed Roundy Lawson. “I wish
I could travel around like that, and eat when I pleased.”
“That was _rich_!” declared Whistle-Breeches Anderson. “Why didn’t you
ever tell us that, Cap?” he demanded.
“I never thought you fellows would care about hearing it. But now,
boys, do you blame us for sticking up for Mr. Clatter?”
“Not a bit of it!” came in an emphatic chorus. “You’re all right,
professor!”
“Pass out some of that Rapid Resolute Resolvent!”
“I want some of that Spotless Soap!”
“Me for the Pain Killer. I ate too much dinner!”
“A little silver polish will about suit me!”
The students were clamoring for the wares, now, and the vendor, who had
shaken hands with our heroes, and whispered to them how grateful he
was, began passing out his goods. Whether the students really wanted
it, or only bought out of sympathy, or because of a class spirit,
mattered little as long as he sold the articles, and the professor did
a thriving trade.
“Come on,” disgustedly called the rich lad to the cronies in his own
particular set, “I might have known better than to come to Westfield.
I was warned that a number of common persons attended it, and now I’m
sure of it. I shall write father and have him withdraw me at once.”
“Why don’t you withdraw yourself, and save daddy the trouble?” asked
Whistle-Breeches as the rich lad passed on amid his chums, with a sneer
on his face.
All danger to the professor’s wagon was now over, and he at once made
friends among the students, for he was a man who had traveled much, and
his ways, while suiting his particular business, were genial and kindly
when once you knew him, though at first they might seem bombastic and
uncultured. He knew how to gain the attention of an audience.
“Well, it’s a real pleasure to see you boys again,” went on the
professor when the desire of the crowd for his wares had been
satisfied, and when most of the students had strolled away. “And so
you are attending school here? Well, what has happened since last we
met?”
“Lots,” declared Cap, and he proceeded to tell the main facts.
“Are you still traveling about in the same way?” asked Pete.
“Yes, but I don’t do any more palmistry. It’s too risky. But what’s the
matter with you, Bill? You don’t seem well.”
“Got hit with a ball,” explained the lad, touching the place where
there was still a lump on his head.
“Too bad, but you’ll soon be over it. Pactolus once kicked me, and it
was a week before the swelling went down.”
“The swelling is the least part of it,” spoke Bill gloomily, and Pete,
who had not yet heard of the result of the visit to the oculist, looked
in alarm at his brother’s tone.
“What’s the trouble?” inquired Mr. Clatter. “Perhaps some of my pain
killer will help you. It’s good stuff in spite of the way I sell it. I
used to know something of medicine. Let me wrap you up a bottle for old
times’ sake.”
“No,” answered Bill wearily, “it isn’t the pain. But I can’t pitch any
more,” and he told the whole story, sitting inside the wagon, which was
equipped for living in Gypsy fashion, his brothers and the professor
listening sympathetically.
“Can’t pitch; eh?” murmured Pete. “That’s tough.”
“It sure is,” declared Bill. “And I’ve got to wear glasses when I read.
I might as well resign from the team right away.”
Professor Clatter looked critically at the lad who sat near him. Though
it had been many years since the vendor had played ball, he had not
lost his love for the game, though he never belonged to a regular nine.
But he appreciated what it meant to Bill.
“When do you get your reading glasses?” he asked casually.
“Oh, I’m in no hurry to become a ‘four-eyes,’” replied Bill bitterly.
“I’ll get them next week. Jove, but it’s tough!” and he shook his head.
“Well, we must be getting back,” said Cap, after a pause. “I’ve got
some boning to do.”
“Same here,” added Pete. But Bill got up in silence to follow his
brothers.
“Can’t you come and see me again?” asked Professor Clatter anxiously
as his young friends descended the steps. “I’m going to stay in this
neighborhood for some days and I’d like to talk over old times with
you. Yes, Pactolus, I’m going to unharness you, and let you crop of the
green herbage,” and he proceeded to release the horse from the shafts.
“Pactolus and I understand each other,” he went on. “At least he knows
what I say to him, though I have not yet mastered his language. It
takes Dean Swift for that.”
“Has he stumbled into the river of gold yet?” asked Cap.
“Not yet, but I look at every stream eagerly as we pass over or through
it, when it is not too deep. Some day perhaps the sands will be
golden,” and the medicine man laughed gaily. “But do come out and see
me some night when you have a chance. I’m going to camp on the other
side of town. Come out to-night, if you will. I’ll probably have an old
friend there to greet you.”
“Who?” asked Pete. “Not the thumbless man?”
“No, he’s safe in jail, I hope. But what would you say to Duodecimo
Donaldby?”
“The weather prophet?” asked Bill, with a show of interest.
“The same,” answered the professor, “though whether he is still engaged
in making it rain, or whether he is doctoring horses I know not. He
changes his occupation from day to day, and from night to night, like
the phases of the moon, but I expect him.”
“Then we’ll come,” decided Cap earnestly. “I should like to see him
again. Dear old Duodecimo! He was a queer chap.”
“And he hasn’t changed any,” was the professor’s opinion. “Well, I
shall expect you then. Remember, on the other side of town. Now can’t I
give you some soap, or pain killer or—or something?”
He seemed so eager about it that they did accept a bottle of the pain
killer, which was excellent for sprains. Then they took their leave,
promising to come back that night.
“I expect to do a little business early in the evening so if I am
clattering when you arrive, just wait in the crowd for me. I still do
some singing and banjo playing to draw a throng. I don’t s’pose you
boys would like a try at your old job?” and he laughed heartily.
“I’m afraid it would hardly be in keeping with our characters as
students at Westfield,” said Pete. “But say, if you’ll stay around here
long enough maybe we can get the glee club to do a stunt for you.”
“That would be asking too much,” declared the genial professor, with a
wave of his fat hand on which still sparkled the diamond ring. “Well,
farewell until the shades of night do fall.”
“The same old professor,” remarked Cap, as he and his brothers strolled
toward the school buildings.
“Yes, I’m glad we could help him—they would have put him on the blink
for keeps,” said Pete earnestly if a bit slangily.
Bill said nothing, but there were bitter thoughts in his heart as he
walked on, and nothing his brothers could say or do served to cheer him.
Meanwhile Professor Clatter, standing in the back room of his wagon,
which was his house, his store, his sleeping apartment and his theatre
of entertainment, watched the three boys.
“Fine fellows,” he murmured. “It’s too bad about Bill. I wonder if I
couldn’t help him? He’ll have to wear glasses—wear glasses and play
ball—I wonder if it could be done? I don’t see why not, especially in
the pitcher’s box. Now I wonder if Duodecimo will be on hand?
“If he comes I have a plan to propose to him! Jove, I don’t see why it
wouldn’t work. If he hasn’t forgotten all he used to know about eyes it
ought to! I’ll chance it, anyhow. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Maybe I can
fix up a scheme so that Bill can pitch on the Varsity team after all.
I’d like to. Yes, I’ll propose it to Duodecimo, and see what he says,”
and, filled with pleasant anticipations about his plan, Professor
Clatter proceeded to get his simple meal on the little oil stove he
carried in his wagon.
“What ho! Mercurio!” he cried, clapping his hands. “Come, base varlet,
set out the magic table, for I am an hungered and would’st dine!”
And then, having given his orders to his menial, Mr. Clatter, highly
pleased, proceeded to carry them out himself.