A JOKE ON THE PARSON.
Mark did not lose any time in telling Grace Fuller all about the cave.
He called on her at the West Point Hotel, where she boarded with her
father, and found her sitting on the piazza.
“A real cave!” she cried, with a smile. “How romantic! Have you
told----”
“Nobody but you,” said Mark. “It’s our secret. We may want to haze some
yearlings there, you know. So not a word.”
“But you say it was furnished! How wonderful!”
“Yes,” said Mark, “even carpets. It seems that this place was once the
den of a gang of counterfeiters. I see you open your eyes in surprise.
We found all their dies and molds and everything.”
“But how do you know they aren’t there still?” inquired Grace Fuller in
alarm.
“That is the grewsome part of the story. They are all dead. We found
that the cave was divided by a heavy iron door. I went into the other
part and the door slammed and shut me in. I was scared almost to death,
far more than I was the day I swam out to help you. The rest of the
fellows opened it at last, and I found that I was shut in with six
skeletons. I don’t wonder you look horrified. Those criminals had been
trapped accidentally in their own cave, just as I was, but they had
been suffocated. And there they had lain, we found out afterward, for
forty or fifty years.”
“It is perfectly terrible!” gasped the girl, her cheeks pale. “I don’t
see how you will ever dare go into the place again.”
“It is a big temptation,” laughed Mark. “You see if the cadets continue
to try unfair tactics in their efforts to haze us poor unfortunate
plebes we can scare some of them into submission up there. And besides,
our learned Boston friend, Parson Stanard, has gotten the gold fever.
He vows he’s going on a treasure hunt in that cave.”
“A treasure hunt!”
“Yes. You see it’s probable those men had some money, to say nothing
of all the bad money they made. And it’ll be a case of ‘finding’s
keepings.’”
“I see,” said Grace, thoughtfully. And then suddenly she broke into
one of her merry, ringing laughs, that compelled Mark to join.
“I think the Parson’s such a queer old chap!” she cried. “Isn’t he
comical? He’s so solemn and learned. I can just imagine him prying all
about that cave, the same way he does for his fossils.”
“I never shall forget the day I first met the Parson,” responded Mark.
“It was when we were just getting up the Banded Seven to try to stop
the hazing. The yearlings had tied his long, bony frame in a sack. He
had gotten out and chased the whole crowd of them about the parade
ground. And he came into my room in barracks perfectly furious with
indignation. Yea, by Zeus!”
“He found out I was interested in geology,” said Grace. “I studied
it once, and he’s never ceased to give me lectures since he found
that out. And I never hear anything nowadays but shistose slates,
and sandstone conglomerates, and triassic eras, and orohippusses and
pertodactyles and brontotheriums.”
“He gives us long discourses over in camp, too,” laughed Mark. “I can
see his lank, bony figure now. It was more comical still when he wore
his ‘geology coat,’ with huge coat tails and pockets for fossils.
Anyhow, he gets very much worked up when he’s telling us about the
glories of geology. And poor Dewey, who’s such an inveterate joker,
always has to get into trouble by interrupting him. Yesterday, for
instance, the Parson was telling us about seashores. He didn’t see
how any one could fail to appreciate what a wonderful thing a beach
was. Here was being written a record that men might read millions of
years later. It would be hardened then into imperishable stone. Here,
for instance, was the track of a bird. Little by little sand would
be scattered over it; more sand on top of that; and so on until it
was crushed into rock. That is the way all sandstones are made. Huge
convulsions of earth would bring that up to the surface; men would find
it, break it open, and there the track of the bird! Wonder of wonders!”
Here Mark paused for breath, and began to laugh.
“What did Dewey say?” inquired Grace.
“He wanted to know if the Parson would classify the summer girl as
a bird. He said he’d seen lots of their tracks on the beach. Then
he wanted to know if a learned geologist could tell the track of a
Chicago girl from that of a Boston girl. Then he went on to imagine
the contents of a Coney Island sandstone. The Parson had told of
Megatheriums’ bones and teeth and skeletons. Dewey wanted to know
how about empty sarsaparilla bottles and peanut shells, and tickets
to the Turkish dancers and Shoot the Chutes, and popcorn balls, and
frankfurters.”
“What did the Parson say?” laughed the girl.
“Oh, he just said something about being ‘frivolous.’ But the climax
came a few minutes later when the Parson told how Cavier and other
famous scientists had become so wondrously learned that they could tell
what an animal was from the tiniest bit of its skeleton, its frame, as
he called it. And that started Dewey. He put on his most serious face
and told us how he’d read of a great mystery, a geologist who had found
the frame of an animal hard as iron, and almost smashed to pieces in
some rocks. There was what looked like the body of a man lying near.
The first-mentioned thing, so Dewey said, had eighteen teeth in front
and seven behind. And the geologist didn’t know what on earth it was.”
Mark interrupted himself here long enough to indulge in a little silent
laughter, and then he went on.
“Well, the Parson took it seriously. He put on his most learned air,
and looked it up in ‘Dana,’ his beloved geological text-book. ‘Eighteen
in front and seven behind? The rear ones must be molars. Probably,
then, it was a Palæothere, but they were extinct before primæval man
appears. And it couldn’t be one of the Zenglodons, and surely not a
Plesiosaurus. Oh, yes! Why, of course, it must be an Ichthyornis!’ And
the Parson was smiles all over. ‘How stupid of that geologist not to
have guessed it! An Ichthyornis!’ But then Dewey said no, it wasn’t.
‘Then what is it?’ cried the Parson.”
“And what did he say?” laughed Grace.
“He said it was a ’97 model, seventy-two gear, and the rider had
coasted down the hill on it. The teeth weren’t molars, they were
sprockets. Somebody yelled ‘Bicycle!’ and the Parson wouldn’t speak to
him all day.”
The girl’s merry laughter over the story was pleasant to hear; it was a
great deal more pleasant to Mark than the original incident had been.
“I think it’s a shame to fool him so,” said Grace. “The Parson is so
solemn and dignified. And it hurts his feelings.”
“He gets over it all,” laughed Mark, “and then he enjoys it, too, else
we wouldn’t do it; for every one of us likes our old geological genius.
I don’t see what we should do without him. He knows everything under
the sun, I’m sure, especially about fossils.”
“I don’t think it would be possible to fool him,” said she.
Mark chuckled softly to himself.
“That remark of yours just reminds me of something else,” he said. “The
Banded Seven have put up a job to try.”
“Try to fool the Parson, you mean?” cried Grace.
By way of answer Mark fumbled under his jacket where the girl had
noticed a peculiar lump. He drew forth a bit of stone and handed it to
her.
“What would you call that?” he asked.
“It looks for all the world like a fossil,” she said.
“Yes,” said Mark. “That’s what we all thought. Dewey found it, and it
fooled him. He thought it was the bone of a Megatherium, or one of
those outlandish beasts. We were going to give it to the Parson, only
I had the luck to recognize it. It’s nothing but a bit of a porcelain
jug. And then Dewey suggested that we try it on him, too.”
“I should like to see how it goes with the Parson,” responded Grace,
with a laugh. “I wish you’d try it while I’m around.”
The two as they had been talking were gazing across from the piazza
in the direction of the summer encampment of the corps. And suddenly
the girl gave an exclamation of surprise, as she noticed a tall,
long-legged figure leave the camp, and proceed with great strides
across the parade ground.
“There he goes now!” cried she.
Mark put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. The Parson
faced about and stared around anxiously; then, as he saw a handkerchief
waving to him from the hotel, he turned and strode in that direction. A
minute later his solemn face was gazing up at the two.
“What is it?” he inquired. “I dare not come up there. No, tempt me not.
The little volume of instructions designated as the Blue Book denies
the pleasure of visiting the hotel without a permit. I fear exceedingly
lest I be violating some regulation by standing so near the forbidden
ground.”
“I’m quite used to getting permits to visit here,” laughed Mark. “I
think I’ll order them by the wholesale soon, that is if Miss Fuller
stays much longer.
“I’ll bet,” Mark added, whispering to the girl, as he noticed the
Parson edging off. “I’ll bet I can make him break a rule and come up
here.”
“How?” inquired the girl.
“Parson! Oh, Parson!” cried Mark. “Come up here!”
“Tempt me not!” protested Stanard. “The danger is great and----”
“I’ve got a fossil to show you,” called the other.
The Parson stared incredulously for a moment at the object Mark held
up. He suspected a ruse. But no, it was a fossil! And oblivious to
duty, danger, demerits and all the rest of the universe, he gave a
leap, dashed up the stairs, and fairly pounced upon the two.
“A fossil!” he cried. “By the immortal gods, a fossil! Yea, by Zeus,
let me see it.”