The spell was still on him as he stumbled over the resounding steps.
But, twenty feet from the door, the spirit of irreverence overtook
him. Then, at the thought of the waiting Butsey, he began to pipe
forth voluminously the martial strains of Sherman's March to the Sea,
kicking enormous pebbles victoriously before him.
Butsey White, sitting on the doorstep of Laloo's, gazed at him from
the depths of a steaming frankfurter sandwich.
"Well, you look cheerful," he said in surprise.
"Why not?"
"How was he?"
"Gentle as a kitten."
"Come off! Were you scared?"
"Scared! Lord, no! I enjoyed myself."
"You're a cheerful liar, you are. What did he say to you?"
"Hoped I'd enjoy the place and all that sort of thing. And--oh, yes,
he spoke about you."
"He did, did he?" said Butsey, precipitately leaving the frankfurter
sandwich.
"He hoped I'd have a good influence on you," said Stover, whose
imagination had been too long confined.
Butsey rose wrathfully, but the answer he intended could not be made,
for, reckoning on his host, he was already in his third frankfurter,
and there was the Jigger Shop yet to be visited.
"Dink, if you ever have to tell the truth," he said, "it'll kill you.
Come in and meet Mr. Laloo."
Mr. Laloo was leaning gratefully on the counter--as, indeed, he was
always leaning against something--his legs crossed, lazily plying the
afternoon toothpick.
"Laloo, shake hands with my friend, Mr. Stover," said Butsey White
professionally. "Mr. Stover's heard about your hot dogs, way out in
California."
Laloo transferred the toothpick and gave Stover his hand in a tired,
unenthusiastic way.
"Well, now, they do be pretty good hot dogs," he drawled out. "Suppose
you want one?" He looked at Stover in sleepy reproachfulness, and then
slid around the counter in the shortest parabola possible.
"Pick him out a nice, young Pomeranian," said Butsey, peering into the
steaming tin.
Laloo forked a frankfurter, selected a roll and looked expectantly at
Stover.
"What's the matter?" said Dink, mystified.
"Mustard or no mustard?" Butsey said in explanation. "He likes to
talk, but the doctor won't let him."
"I'll have all that's coming to me," said Dink loudly.
A second later his teeth had sunk into the odorous mass. He shut his
eyes, gazed seraphically at the smooty ceiling and winked at Butsey.
"Umm?" said Butsey.
"Umm! Umm!"
"Isn't he the fancy young dog-catcher?"
"Well, I should rather!" said Dink, lost in the vapors. "I say, have
another?"
"Thanks, old chap, but I had a couple while you were chucking the
Doctor under the chin," said Butsey glibly. "Save up now; we've got a
couple more places to visit."
"How much?" said Dink.
Laloo, who was reclining against the nearest wall, elevated four
fingers and gazed out the window.
"Four!" said Stover.
"One and three."
"Three!" said Butsey in feigned surprise. "Oh, come, I didn't eat
three--well, I never; what do you think of that?"
Dink rubbed his ear thoughtfully, looked hard at Butsey and paid.
Laloo followed them to the door, leaned against the jamb and gazed
down the road.
"Now for Bill Appleby's," said Butsey cheerily. "He's rolling--rolling
in wealth. We'll go in later for lamps and crockery and all that sort
of thing. I thought we might sort of wash down the hot dogs before we
go up to the Jigger Shop--eh, what?"
In Appleby's general merchandise store Stover gravely shook hands with
a quick, business-like little man with a Western mustache, a Down-East
twang and a general air of being on the trigger.
"Well, Bill, how's business?" said Butsey affably, nudging Stover.
"It's bad, boys, it's bad," said Bill mournfully.
"Bad, you old robber," said Butsey; "why, that little iron safe of
yours is just cracking open with coin. How's the rootbeer to-day?"
"It's very nice, Mr. White. Just come in this morning."
"Yes, it did! Bet it came in with the Ark," said Butsey, to Stover's
great admiration. "Well, are you going to set us up to a couple of
bottles, or have we got to pay for them?"
"We've got some very fine Turkish paste, Mr. White," said Bill,
producing the rootbeer.
"Well?" said Butsey, looking at Stover.
"Sure!"
"I'd like to show you some of our new crockery sets, Mr. Stover," said
Appleby softly. "Just come in this morning. Want a student's lamp?"
"No time now, Bill," said Butsey, hastily consulting the clock. "See
you later."
Other groups came in; Appleby moved away. Stover, quenching the hot
dogs in rootbeer, heard again the opening salutations:
"Well, Bill, how's business?"
"It's bad, Mr. Parsons. It's bad."
"Well, Bill, ta-ta," said Butsey, as they moved off. "Seen Doc
Macnooder this morning?"
"No, Mr. White, I haven't saw him to-day."
"Always make him answer that," said Butsey chuckling, "and always ask
him about business. We all do. It's e-tiquette. There's Firmin's," he
said, with a wave of his hand--"post-office, country store, boots and
shoes and all that sort of thing. And here's the Jigger Shop!"
Stover had no need of the explanation. Before a one-story,
glass-fronted structure a swarm of boys of all ages, sizes and colors
were clustered on steps and railings, or perched on posts and backs of
chairs, all ravenously attacking the jigger to the hungry clink of the
spoon against the glass. They elbowed their way in through the joyous,
buzzing mass to where by the counter, Al, watchdog of the jigger,
scooped out the fresh strawberry ice cream and gathered in the nickels
that went before. At the moment of their arrival Al was in what might
be termed a defensive formation. One elbow was leaning on the counter,
one hand caressed the heavy, drooping mustache, one ear listened to
the promises of a ravenous, impecunious group, but the long, pointer
nose and the financial eyes were dreamily plunged on the group
without.
"Gee, did you ever see such an eye?" said Butsey, who had reasons of
his own for quailing before it. "It's almost up to the Doctor's. You
can't fool him--not for a minute. Talk about Pierpont Morgan! Why, he
knows the whole blooming lot of us, just what we're worth. Why, that
eye of his could put a hole right through any pocket. Watch him when
he spots me." Pushing forward he exclaimed: "Hello, Al; glad to see
me?"
Al turned slowly, fastening his glance on him with stony intentness.
"Don't bother me, you Butsey," he said shortly.
"Al, I've sort of set my sweet tooth on these here strawberry jiggers
of yours."
The Guardian of the Jigger made a half motion in the air, as though to
brush away an imaginary fly.
"Two nice, creamy, double strawberry jiggers, Al."
Al's eyes drooped wearily.
"My friend, Mr. Vanastorbilt Stover, here's setting up," said Butsey
in conciliating accents.
The eyes opened and fastened on Stover, who advanced saying:
"That goes."
"Ring a couple of dimes down, Astorbilt," said Butsey. "Al's very fond
of music."
"Give me change for that," said Stover, rising to the occasion with a
five-dollar bill.
"And, for the love of Mike, hustle 'em," said Butsey White. "I've only
got a second."
The shop began to empty rapidly as the hour of the two o'clock
recitation neared. Stover gazed into the pink, fruity depths of his
first strawberry jigger, inserted his spoon gingerly and took a
nibble. Then he drew a long, contented breath, gazed into the land of
dreams, and gave himself up to the delights of a new, of an
incomparable sensation.
Butsey White, gobbling against time, flung out occasional,
full-mouthed phrases:
"Got to run--'xcuse us--jemima! Isn't it the stuff--see you at
three--better bring some back in box--don't tell any one,
though--especially the Coffee-colored Angel."
Across the fields the bell suddenly, impatiently, brutally clanged
out. With a last convulsive gulp Butsey White finished his glass, and
burst from the shop in the helter-skelter company of the last
laggards. Stover, left alone, looked inquiringly at Al.
"Recitation," said Al. "They've got a two-twenty sprint before the
bell stops. We're out of hours, now, except for the Upper House."
"Meaning me?" said Stover, rising.
"Sit where you are," said Al. "You're all right for to-day. Where do
you hang out?"
"Green House," said Dink, who, beginning to feel hungry, ordered
another jigger and selected a chocolate eclair.
"You're not rooming with Butsey White?"
"The same."
"You are?" said Al pityingly. "Well, just let me give you one word of
advice, young fellow. Sew your shirt to your back, or he'll have it
off while you're getting into your coat."
"I wasn't born yesterday," said Dink impudently, gesturing with his
spoon. "And I rather fancy I'm a pretty cute little proposition
myself."
"So!"
"If any of these smart Alecs can get the best of me," said Dink
grandiloquently, egged on by the other's tone of disbelief, "he'll
have to get up with the chickens!"
[Illustration: "WHY, SOME OF 'EM ARE SO SLICK THAT WHEN THEY COME IN
I LOCK THE CASH DRAWER AND STUFF COTTON IN MY EARS"]
"All clear," said the Tennessee Shad from the window.
"All's well on the Rappahannock," returned the scout at the door.
Macnooder, with a well-executed double shuffle, the Tennessee Shad,
with a stiff-jointed lope of his bony body, advanced and shook hands.
"Al, we come not to take your hard-earned money, but do you good,"
said Macnooder as usual, genially shaking an imaginary hand.
The Tennessee Shad camped on the back of a chair, drew up his thin,
long legs, laid one bony finger against a bony nose and looked
expectantly at Macnooder.
Meanwhile Al, without turning his back, carefully moved over to the
glass counter that sheltered appetizing trays of eclairs, plum cakes
and cream puffs and, whistling a melancholy note, locked the door,
scanned the counter, and placed a foot on the cover of the jigger tub.
Doc Macnooder, whose round, bullet head and little rhinoceros eyes had
followed the hostile preparation, said sorrowfully:
"Al-bert, your conduct grieves us."
"Go ahead, now," said Al in a tired voice.
"Go ahead?" said Macnooder, looking in surprise at the equally
impassive Tennessee Shad.
"What's the flimflam to-day?"
"Al," said Macnooder, in his most persuasive tones, "you wrong me. My
motives are honorable. At four o'clock this very afternoon Turkey
Reiter will proceed to cash a check and settle for a fountain pen, a
pair of suspenders and a safety razor I sold him. Just trust me till
then--will you?"
"Nothing doing," said Al.
"Honor bright, Al!"
"No use."
"You _must_ trust me till then."
Al, producing a patent clipper, began to pare his nails.
"Al?"
"What?"
"Won't you trust me?"
"Don't make me laugh!"
"Al's right, Doc," said the Tennessee Shad, entering the discussion.
"You ought to put up some guarantee."
Al slowly turned his gaze on the Tennessee Shad and waited hopefully
for the real attack.
"Well, what?" said Macnooder.
"How about your watch?"
"It's loaned."
"You haven't got a stick-pin on you?"
"Left 'em at home--never thought Al would go back on me."
Al smiled.
"That's a very nice spring coat you've got on," said the Tennessee
Shad, as though struck by an inspiration. "Why don't you put that up
for a couple of hours?"
"Not on your life," said Macnooder indignantly. "This coat's brand
new, worth thirty dollars."
Al, suddenly shifting, leaned forward, both elbows on the counter, and
studied the coat with a reminiscent air.
"Oh, put it up," said the Tennessee Shad.
"Never. I've got associations about this coat and, besides, I've got
to make a swell call in Princeton to-morrow."
"What's the diff?" said the Tennessee Shad, yawning. "It's only a
couple of hours; and you know you said you were going to clean off the
whole slate with Al, sure as Turkey boned up."
Macnooder seemed to hesitate.
"It's idiotic to put up a real, high-life coat for a couple of
jiggers."
"Hurry up; I'm hungry."
"Stop," said Al, drawing back satisfied. "I wouldn't bother about that
coat if I were you."
"Why not?" exclaimed the two partners.
"'Cause I remember that coat gag now," said Al with a far-off look. "I
bit once--way back in '89. It's a good game, specially when the real
owner comes ramping in the next day."
"What do you mean?" said Doc Macnooder indignantly.
"I mean that it don't button, you young pirate," said Al scornfully,
but without malice. "When you try anything as slick as that again you
want to be sure the real owner ain't been around. That coat belongs to
Lovely Mead."
Doc Macnooder looked at the Tennessee Shad.
"Have we really got to pay for them?" he said mournfully.
"Looks that way."
"Oh, well," said Doc, slapping down a quarter, "fill 'em up."
Al heaped up the glasses, adding an appreciative extra dab with the
magnanimity of the victor, and said:
"Say, you boys want to rub up a little. Here's Stover, over there,
just come. He's about your size."
The Tennessee Shad and Doc Macnooder about faced and stared at Stover,
who all the while had remained in quiet obscurity, dangling his legs
over the counter.
"Just come, Stover?" said Macnooder at last.
"Yes, sir."
"On the noon stage?"
"Yes, sir."
"What form?"
"Second, sir."
"Why, shake, then, brother," said the Tennessee Shad, offering his
hand. "Shake hands with Doc Macnooder."
Doc Macnooder grasped his hand with extra cordiality, saying:
"What house?"
"Green House, sir," said Stover, awed by the sight of a 'varsity
jersey. "I'm rooming with--with Mr. White."
"What'll you have?"
"I beg pardon."
"What'll you have?"
"Why," said Stover, quite taken back by the offer, "I think it's up to
me, sir."
"Rats!" said Macnooder. "If you've been in tow of Butsey, I'll bet
you've been paying out all day. Butsey White's a low-down,
white-livered cuss, who'd take advantage of a freshman. Step up."
"I'll have another one of these," said Stover gratefully, feeling his
heart warm toward the unexpected friends.
"Bet Butsey's stuck you pretty hard," said the Tennessee Shad, nodding
wisely. "He's just loaded with the spondulix, too."
"Well, he did sort of impose on me," said Stover, thinking of the
frankfurters at Laloo's.
"It's a shame," said Macnooder indignantly.
"You're pretty slick?"
"As slick as they make 'em."
"Say, bub," said Al, with his dreamy drawl, "is this the line of talk
you've been putting out to that bunch of Indians down in the Green?"
"Oh, I'll put it out."
"Say, you're going to have a wonderful time here!"
"Watch me," said Dink, cocking his head; but with less confidence than
when he had announced his intentions on the stage-coach.
"Young fellow," said Al, leaning back and looking at him from under
his eyelids, "you're in wrong. You don't know what you've come to.
Why, there's a bunch of young stock jobbers around here that would
make a Wall Street bunco-steerer take to raising chickens! Slick? Why,
some of 'em are so slick that when they come in I lock the cash drawer
and stuff cotton in my ears."
"Bring 'em on," said Dink disdainfully.
At this moment there was a loud flop by the window in the rear, and
the Tennessee Shad rose slowly from the floor. At the same moment Doc
Macnooder, ambling innocently by on the farther sidewalk, turned,
dashed across the street, bounded into the shop and, returning to the
door, carefully surveyed the approaches.
"Glad to do it," said Macnooder, without enthusiasm. "Finish up and
we'll fit you out in a jiffy."
When the three went shuffling down the street Al did an unusual, an
unprecedented thing. He actually made the turn of the counter and
stationed himself at the door, watching the group depart--Macnooder
with his arm on Stover's shoulder, the Tennessee Shad guarding the
other side.
When they disappeared beyond Bill Orum's, the cobbler's, in the
direction of the Dickinson, he said slowly, in profound admiration:
"Well, I'll be jiggered! If those body-snatchers don't get
electrocuted, they'll own Fifth Avenue!"
V
"Come up to my room and we'll see what's on hand," said Doc, entering
the Dickinson. "Too bad you're stuck down in the Green--no house
spirit there--you must get in with us next year."
"Doc's a great fellow," said the Tennessee Shad, as Macnooder went
quickly ahead, "a great business man. He's a sort of clearing house
for the whole school. Say, he's taken a regular fancy to you."
"What did he get his 'L' for?" said Stover, as the Tennessee Shad, to
gain time, showed him the lower floor.
"Quarter on the eleven last fall. Here's the Triumphant Egghead's
room. Isn't it a peach? They've got a good crowd here; you must be
with them or us next year. Here's Turkey Reiter's and Butcher Stevens'
quarters. They're crackerjacks, too; on the eleven and the nine. Come
on, now. We'll strike Doc. You know he studies medicine and all that
sort of thing. Wait till I give the countersign. Doc's most
particular."
Stover found himself in a den, a combination of drug-store,
taxidermist's shop and general warehouse. All about the room were
ranged an extraordinary array of bottles--green bottles that lurked
under the bed, red, blue and white bottles that climbed the walls and
crowded the mantelpiece, tops of bottles that peered out of
half-opened boxes, all ticketed and mustered in regiments. From the
ceiling a baby alligator swung on a wire, blinking at them horribly
with shining glass eyes; a stuffed owl sat in one corner; while
opposite, a muskrat peered into a crow's nest. The closet and all
available floor space were heaped high with paper boxes and wooden
cases, while over all were innumerable catalogues.
"Pretty fine, isn't it?" said the Tennessee Shad.
"It's wonderful," said Stover, not quite at ease.
"It's not bad," said Doc. "I'd like to have a nice, white skeleton
over there in that corner; but they're hard to get, nowadays. Now
let's get down to business. Sit down."
Stover took the only chair; the Tennessee Shad curled up languidly on
the bed, after brushing aside the debris; while Macnooder, perched on
a drygoods box, poised a pencil over a pad of paper.
"You want a crockery set, first; a student lamp, and an oil can to
keep your oil in."
"Especially the can," said the Tennessee Shad gravely. "Better get a
padlock with it, or the whole Green House will be stealing from you."
"I don't know whether I have a can on hand," said Macnooder anxiously.
"But here's a lamp."
He placed a rather battered affair in the middle of the floor, saying:
"It's a little squee-geed, but you don't care about looks. They ask
you all kinds of prices for them when they're new; but you can have
this for two-twenty-five. There's a bite out of the shade, but you can
turn that side to the wall. They're rather hard to get second hand."
"All right," said Stover.
"Better light it up first," said the Tennessee Shad professionally.
"That's business-like," said Macnooder, who lit a match and, after an
unsuccessful attempt, said: "There's no oil in it. Still, if Stover
wants----"
"Never mind that," said Stover loudly, to show his confidence.
"Now for the toilet set."
"Say, how about the can?"
"Oh, the can. Let me look," said Macnooder, disappearing among the
packing boxes in the closet.
"You want that," said the Tennessee Shad confidentially.
"Hope he's got one," said Stover.
Macnooder reappeared with an ordinary kerosene can and a padlock,
announcing:
"This is the only one I've got on hand. It's my own."
"Let him have it," said the Tennessee Shad. "No one can get in here;
you're always locked and bolted."
Macnooder hesitated.
"How does it work?" said Stover, interested.
"The spigot is plugged up and the top cover is padlocked to the side.
See? Now no one can get it. I don't particularly care about selling
it, but if you want it take it at one-twenty-five."
"That's too much," said the Tennessee Shad. "One plunk's enough."
"You're paying cash?" said Macnooder, considering.
"Sure!" said Stover.
"Well, call it one bone, then."
Stover looked gratefully at the Tennessee Shad, who winked at him to
show him he was his friend.
"Now, about a crockery set," said Macnooder, scratching his head.
"I've got two, plain and fancy, what we call a souvenir set--but you
wouldn't understand that. I'll show you the regular kind."
"What's a souvenir set?" said Dink, mystified.
"Oh, it's a sort of school fad," said the Tennessee Shad, as Doc
disappeared. "Every piece is different, collected from all sorts of
places--swap 'em around like postage stamps, don't you know. We've got
rather tired of the ordinary thing, you know."
"Say, that's a bully idea," said Dink, whose imagination was appealed
to.
"Some of the fellows have perfect beauts," said the Tennessee Shad,
yawning; "got at hotels, and house parties, and all that sort of
thing."
"Why, that beats hooking signs all hollow," said Dink, growing
enthusiastic.
"I didn't know you'd be interested," said the Tennessee Shad
carelessly. "Like to see one?"
"You bet I would."
"I say, Doc, old boy," said the Tennessee Shad; "bring out the
souvenir set, too, will you, like a good fellow?"
"Wait till I get this out," said Macnooder, who, after much rummaging,
puffed back with a blue-and-white set which he ranged on the floor.
"How's that appeal to you?" he said with a flourish of his hand. "Good
condition, too; only the soap dish has a nick. You can have it for
two-fifty."
But Dink had no eyes for the commonplace.
"Could I see the other," he said, "before I decide?"
Macnooder appeared loth to exert himself to no purpose.
"You wouldn't cotton to it, bub," he said, with a shake of his head.
"I'm not so sure about that," said the Tennessee Shad. "This chap's no
bottle baby; he's more of a sport than you think. I'll bet you he's
got a few swagger trophies, in the line of signs, himself."
"I've got two or three might strike your fancy," said Dink with a
reckless look.
"Come on, Doc, don't be so infernally lazy. You're the deuce of a
salesman. Out with the crockery."
"What's the use?" said Doc half heartedly, moving back into the litter
of the closet.
"Don't get it unless you can afford it," said the Tennessee Shad in a
friendly whisper.
When at length the souvenir set had been carefully displayed on the
top of a box, cleared for the occasion, Stover beheld a green and
white pitcher, rising like a pond lily from the depths of a red and
white basin, while a lavender tooth mug, a blue cup and a pink soap
dish gave the whole somewhat the effect of an aurora-borealis.
The Tennessee Shad sprang up and examined each piece with a
connoisseur's enthusiasm. The lavender tooth mug, especially,
attracted his curiosity. He looked it over, handled it gingerly,
holding it to the light.
"Don't think this is up to the rest," he said finally, looking at Doc.
"It's cracked."
"Suppose it is!" said Doc scornfully. "Do you know whose that is? That
was swiped out of the set of Brother Baldwin."
"No?"
"Fact. Last day of spring term, when he was giving a math exam."
"You don't say so!"
"What are the rest?" said Stover, wondering what sum could possibly
compensate for such treasures.
"The rest are not so much; from the other houses, but they're good
pieces. The water pitcher was traded by Cap Kiefer, catcher of the
nine, you know. But there's one article," said Doc, pointing
melodramatically, "that's worth the whole lot. Only I'll have to put
you under oath--both of you."
The Tennessee Shad, puzzled, looked hard at Macnooder and raised his
right hand. Stover, blushing, followed suit.
"That," said Macnooder, "came direct from Foundation House. That
belonged to his Nibs himself!"
"Come off!" said the Tennessee Shad, not daring to look at Macnooder.
"That's a bunco game."
"I didn't say it was swiped," said Macnooder indignantly. "Just give
me a chance, will you? It was smashed up at the fire scare and thrown
away with a lot of other things. Tough McCarty, down at the Green, I
think, has got the slop jar."
"Excuses!" said the Tennessee Shad. "I did think for a moment you were
trying to impose on my young confidence. Gee! Just think, of it!
Cracky, what a prize! The Doctor himself--well--well! Say, I'd like to
make a bid myself."
"It goes with the set," said Macnooder. "It ain't mine; I'm only
getting the commission."
Stover, having caressed each article, drew a long breath and said
falteringly:
"I suppose it comes pretty high!"
"Of course it's worth more than the other set."
"Oh, of course."
"The price set on it was four flat."
"That's a good deal of money," said the Tennessee Shad. "Specially
when you've got to fit yourself out."
"Well, the other's cheaper at two-fifty," said Macnooder.
"Stover's sort of set his heart on this," said the Tennessee Shad.
"Haven't you, Sport?"
[Illustration: "CRACKY, WHAT A PRIZE! SAY, I'D LIKE TO MAKE
A BID MYSELF."]
Stover confessed that he had.
"Come on; make him a better price, Doc.".
"I'd have to consult my client."
"Well, consult your old client."
Macnooder disappeared.
"Stand firm now," said the Tennessee Shad, "you can beat him down. Doc
wants to make his commish. I tell you what I'd do if I were you."
"What?"
"If I were looking for a real trophy I'd make him a bid on this. This
is the best thing in the whole caboodle. Come over here. Say, just
cast your eyes on this!"
Stover gazed in awe. On the wall, suspended on the red and black flag
of the school, were a pair of battered and torn football shoes, while
underneath was a photograph of Flash Condit and the score--Princeton
'Varsity, 8; Lawrenceville, 4.
"Gee!" said Stover. "He wouldn't sell those!"
"He might," said the Tennessee Shad. "Between you and me and the
lamppost, Doc is devilishly hard up. Offer him a couple of dollars and
see."
"The shoes that made the touchdown," said Dink reverentially. The
Tennessee Shad did not contradict him.
Half an hour later Dink Stover sallied forth with the ecstasy of a
collector who has just discovered an old master. Klondike Jackson, who
shook up the beds at the Dickinson, preceded him, drawing in an
express wagon the lamp, the padlocked kerosene can and the souvenir
set, slightly reduced. Wrapped in tissue paper, tucked under Stover's
arm, were the precious shoes, which he had purchased on the distinct
understanding that Macnooder should have the right to redeem them at
any time before the end of the term, on the payment of costs and
fifty-per-cent interest. In Stover's pocket was a new fountain pen, a
box of elastics, a pair of Boston garters and a patent nail clipper.
Only the limits of his exchequer had prohibited his availing himself
of the opportunity to purchase, at a tremendous bargain, a pair of
snow-shoes, a tobogganing cap and a pair of corduroy trousers,
slightly spotted.
Luckily for Dink, marching warily behind the vanguard, the three
o'clock recitation had begun, and but a scattering of his schoolmates
were abroad to witness his progress.
He arrived thus, virtually unnoticed, at the Green and, with the help
of Klondike, arranged his possessions so as to make the greatest
display.
He was standing in the middle of the floor, clutching the historic
shoes and searching the walls for the proper place of honor, when
Butsey White blew in.
"Where in thunder have you been?" he exclaimed, and then stopped at
the sight of the twisted lamp. He looked at Dink, gave a grunt and
examined the new purchase.
"Broken-winded, spavined, has the rickets--bet it leaks and won't
burn. Where in----"
All at once he perceived the kerosene can, with its attached padlock.
"What's this thing?" he said, in genuine surprise, picking it up with
two fingers and regarding it with a look of blank incomprehension.
"That's the safety can," said Stover, yielding to a vague feeling of
uneasiness.
"What's this?"
"That's a padlock."
"What for?"
"Why, for the kerosene."
"What kerosene?"
"The kerosene for the lamp."
"Why, you nincompoop, we don't furnish the kerosene."
"We don't?" said Stover faintly, with a horrible sinking feeling.
"Don't furnish the kerosene?"
"Who got hold of you?" said Butsey, too astounded to laugh.
"I met Macnooder----"
"And the Tennessee Shad, I'll bet my pants on it," said Butsey.
"Yes, sir."
"What else did they unload on you?"
"Why--why, I bought a souvenir set."
"A what?"
"A souvenir toilet set."
Butsey wheeled to the washstand, uttered a shriek and fell in
convulsions on the bed.
Stover stood stockstill, gazing in horror from the variegated crockery
to Butsey, who was thrashing to and fro in hysterical flops, holding
both the pillows where they would most ease the agony. Then, with a
sudden deft movement, Dink dropped the historic shoes, sent them under
the bed with a savage kick and, rushing to the window, threw the
safety can into the tall grass of the fields beyond. Then he returned
solemnly, sat down on the edge of the bed, took his head in his hands
and began to do some rapid thinking. Butsey White, prone on the bed,
burying his head in the covers, by painful degrees returned, gasping,
to self-control.
"Mr. White," said Dink solemnly.
There was a slight commotion opposite and a hand fluttered
beseechingly, while Butsey's weak voice managed to say:
"Take it away--take it away."
Dink rose and cast a towel over the set of seven colors, and then
resumed his seat.
"It's all right; I've hidden it," he said.
Butsey rolled from the bed, tottered over to his own washstand and
drank deeply from the water pitcher. Then he turned on the melancholy
Stover.
"Say!"
"Go ahead! Soak it to me!"
"I thought you were old enough to go out alone."
"They lied to me," said Stover, kicking a chair.
"Say that again."
"They lied," repeated Dink, but with a more uncertain note.
"This from you!" said Butsey maliciously.
A great ethical light burst over Dink. He scratched his head and then
looked at Butsey, grinning a sheepish grin.
"Well, I guess it was coming to me--but they are wonders!" he said,
with reluctant admiration. "I'll take my medicine, but I'll get back
at them, by jiminy! You see if I don't."
"For the love of Mike, give us the story!"
"You'll keep it twenty-four hours?"
"So help me----"
"I'm a sucker, all right," said Dink ruefully. Then he stopped and
blurted out: "Say, White, I guess it was about what I needed. I guess
I'm not such a little wonder-worker, after all. I've been
fresh--rotten fresh. But, say, from now on I'm holding my ear to the
ground; and when it comes to humbly picking up a few crumbs of
knowledge you'll find me ready and willing. I'm reformed. Now, here's
the tale:"