"Think I'll do?"
"Sure pop. Of course, there are times when the digestion's jumping fences and you get sort of in the thunder glums. Then just answer, 'Is that the best you can do to-day?' or 'Why, you're a real funny man, aren't you?' sarcastic and sassy."
"I see."
"But better be original."
"Of course."
"Oh, it's all a knack."
"And to think that's all there is to it!" said Stover, profoundly moved.
"When you know," said Dennis in correction.
"Dennis, I have a thought," said Stover suddenly. "Let's get out and try the system."
"Presto!"
"The Jigger Shop?"
"Why tarry?"
On the way over Dink stopped short with an exclamation.
"What now?" said Finnegan.
"Tough McCarty and a female," said Stover in great indignation.
They stood aside, awkwardly snatching off their caps as McCarty and his companion passed them on the walk. Stover saw a bit of blue felt with the white splash of a wing across, a fluffy shirtwaist, and a skirt that was a skirt, and nothing else. His glance went to McCarty, meeting it with the old, measuring antagonism. They passed.
"Damn him!" said Stover.
"Why, Dink, how shocking!"
"He's grown!"
In the joy of his own increased stature he had never dreamed that like processes of Nature produce like results.
"Ten pounds heavier," said Dennis. "He ought to make a peach of a tackle this year!"
"Bringing girls around!" said Stover scornfully, to vent his rage.
"More to be pitied than blamed," sang Dennis on a popular air. "It's his sister. Luscious eyes—quite the figure, too."
"Figure—huh!" said Stover, who hadn't seen.
At the Jigger Shop the Gutter Pup, looking up from a meringue entirely surrounded by peach jiggers, hailed them:
"Hello, Rinky Dink! Changed your mind, eh? Thought you were homesick."
"Sure I was, but Dennis came in with a bucket and caught the tears," said Stover gravely. "I'll call you in next time. Al, how be you? Here's what I owe you. Set 'em up."
"Très bien!" said Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan.
That night, as they started on the problem of interior decorations, Stover threw himself on the bed, rolling with laughter.
"Well, I'm glad you've decided to be cheerful; but what in blazes are you hee-hawing at?" said the Tennessee Shad, mystified.
"I'm laughing," said Stover, loud enough for Dennis down the hall to hear, "at the Superiority of the Superlative over the Comparative."
"Why, look at the Dink!" said Lovely Mead the next afternoon, asStover emerged in football togs which he had industriously smeared with mud to conceal their novelty.
"He must be going out for the 'Varsity!" said Fatty Harris sarcastically.
"By request," said the Gutter Pup.
"Why, who told you?" said Stover.
"You trying for the 'Varsity?" said Lovely Mead incredulously. "Why, where did you play football?"
"Dear me, Lovely," said Stover, lacing his jacket, "thought you read the newspapers."
"Huh! What position are you trying for?"
"First substitute scorer," said Stover, according to Finnegan's theory. "Any more questions?"
Lovely Mead, surprised, looked at Stover in perplexity and remained silent.
Dink, laughing to himself at the ease of the trick, started across the Circle for the 'Varsity football field, whither already the candidates were converging to the first call of the season.
He had started joyfully forth from the skeptics on the steps, but once past the chapel and insight of the field his gait abruptly changed. He went quietly, thoughtfully, a little alarmed at his own daring, glancing at the padded figures that overtopped him.
The veterans with the red L on their black sweaters were apart, tossing the ball back and forth and taking playful tackles at one another. Stover, hiding himself modestly in the common herd, watched with entranced eyes the lithe, sinuous forms of Flash Condit and Charlie DeSoto—greater to him than the faint heroes of mythology—as they tumbled the Waladoo Bird gleefully on the ground. There was Butcher Stevens of the grim eye and the laconic word, a man to follow and emulate; and the broad span of Turkey Reiter's shoulders, a mark to grow to. Meanwhile, Garry Cockrell, the captain, and Mr. Ware, the new coach from the Princeton championship eleven, were drawing nearer on their tour of inspection and classification. Dink knew his captain only from respectful distances—the sandy hair, the gaunt cheek bones and the deliberate eye, whom governors of states alone might approach with equality, and no one else. Under the dual inspection the squad was quickly sorted, some sent back to their House teams till another year brought more weight and experience, and others tentatively retained on the scrubs.
"Better make the House team, Jenks," said the low, even voice of the captain. "You want to harden up a bit. Glad you reported, though."
Then Dink stood before his captain, dimly aware of the quick little eyes of Mr. Ware quietly scrutinizing him.
"What form?"
"Third."
The two were silent a moment studying not the slender, wiry figure, but the look in the eyes within.
"What are you out for?"
"End, sir."
"What do you weigh?"
"One hundred and fifty—about," said Dink.
A grim little twinkle appeared in the captain's eyes.
"About one hundred and thirty-five," he said, with a measuring glance.
"But I'm hard, hard as nails, sir," said Stover desperately.
"What football have you played?"
Stover remained silent.
"Well?"
"I—I haven't played," he said unwillingly.
"You seem unusually eager," said Cockrell, amused at this strange exhibition of willingness.
"Yes, sir."
"Good spirit; keep it up. Get right out for your House team——"
"I won't!" said Stover, blurting it out in his anger and then flushing: "I mean, give me a chance, won't you, sir?"
Cockrell, who had turned, stopped and came back.
"What makes you think you can play?" he said not unkindly.
"I've got to," said Stover desperately.
"But you don't know the game."
"Please, sir, I'm not out for the 'Varsity," said Stover confusedly. "I mean, I want to be in it, to work for the school, sir."
"You're not a Freshman?" said the captain, and the accents of his voice were friendly.
"No, sir."
"What's your name?" said Cockrell, a little thrilled to feel the genuine veneration that inspired the "sir."
"Stover—Dink Stover."
"You were down at the Green last year, weren't you?"
"Yes, sir," said Stover, looking down with a sinking feeling.
"You're the fellow who tried to fight the whole House?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Dink, this is a little different—you can't play football on nothing but nerve."
"You can if you've got enough of it," said Stover, all in a breath. "Please, sir, give me a chance. You can fire me if I'm no good. I only want to be useful. You've got to have a lot of fellows to stand the banging and you can bang me around all day. I do know something about it, sir; I've practiced tackling and falling on the ball all summer, and I'm hard as nails. Just give me a chance, will you? Just one chance, sir."
Cockrell looked at Mr. Ware, whose eye showed the battling spark as he nodded.
"Here, Dink," he said gruffly, "I can't be wasting any more time over you. I told you to go back to the House team, didn't I?"
Stover, with a lump in his throat, nodded the answer he could not utter.
"Well, I've changed my mind. Get over there in the squad."
The revulsion of feeling was so sudden that tears came into Stover's eyes.
"You're really going to let me stay?"
"Get over there, you little nuisance!"
Dink went a few steps, and then stopped and tightened his shoelaces a long minute.
"Too bad the little devil is so light," said Cockrell to Mr. Ware.
"Best player I ever played against had no right on a football field."
"But one hundred and thirty-five!"
"Yes, that's pretty light."
"What the deuce were you chinning so long about?" said Cheyenne Baxter to Dink, as he came joyfully into the squad.
"Captain wanted just a bit of general expert advice from me," said Dink defiantly. "I've promised to help out."
The squad, dividing, practiced starts. Stover held his own, being naturally quick; and though Flash Condit and Charlie DeSoto distanced him, still he earned a good word for his performances.
Presently Mr. Ware came up with a ball and, with a few words of introduction, started them to falling on it as it bounded grotesquely over the ground, calling them from the ranks by name.
"Hard at it, Stevens."
"Dive at it."
"Don't stop till you get it."
"Oh, squeeze the ball!"
Stover, moving up, caught the eye of Mr. Ware intently on him, and rose on his toes with the muscles in his arms strained and eager.
"Now, Stover, hard!"
The ball with just an extra impetus left the hand of Mr. Ware. Stover went at it like a terrier,dove and came up glorious and muddy with the pigskin hugged in his arms. It was the extent of his football knowledge, but that branch he had mastered on the soft summer turf.
Mr. Ware gave a grunt of approval and sent him plunging after another. This time as he dove the ball took a tricky bounce and slipped through his arms. Quick as a flash Dink, rolling over, recovered himself and flung himself on it.
"That's the way!" said Mr. Ware. "Follow it up. Can't always get it the first time. Come on, Baxter."
The real test came with the tackling. He waited his turn, all eyes, trying to catch the trick, as boy after boy in front of him went cleanly or awkwardly out to down the man who came plunging at him. Some tackled sharply and artistically, their feet leaving the ground and taking the runner off his legs as though a scythe had passed under him; but most of the tackling was crude, and often the runner slipped through the arms and left the tackler prone on the ground to rise amid the jeers of his fellows.
"Your turn, Stover," said the voice of the captain. "Wait a minute." He looked over the squad and selected McCarty, saying: "Here,Tough, come out here. Here's a fellow thinks all you need in this game is nerve. Let's see what he's got."
Dink stood out, neither hearing nor caring for the laugh that went up. He glanced up fifteen yards away where Tough McCarty stood waiting the starting signal. He was not afraid, he was angry clean through, ready to tackle the whole squad, one after another.
"Shall I take it sideways?" said Tough, expecting to be tackled from the side as the others had been.
"No, head on, Tough. Let's see if you can get by him," said Cockrell. "Let her go!"
McCarty, with the memory of past defiances, went toward Stover head down, full tilt. Ordinarily in practice the runner slackens just before the tackle; but McCarty, expecting slight resistance from a novice, arrived at top speed.
Stover, instead of hesitating or waiting the coming, hurled himself recklessly forward. Shoulder met knee with a crash that threw them both. Stunned by the savage impact, Stover, spilled head over heels, dizzy and furious, instinctively flung himself from his knees upon the prostrate body of McCarty, as he had followed the elusive ball a moment before.
"That's instinct, football instinct," said Mr. Ware to Cockrell, as they approached the spotwhere Dink, still dazed, was clutching Tough McCarty's knees in a convulsive hug.
"Let go! Let go there, you little varmint," said Tough McCarty, considerably shaken. "How long are you going to hold me here?"
Some one touched Dink on the shoulder; he looked up through the blur to see the captain's face.
"All right, Dink, get up."
But Stover released his grip not a whit.
"Here, you young bulldog," said Cockrell with a laugh, "it's all over. Let go. Stand up. Sort of groggy, eh?"
Dink, pulled to his feet, felt the earth slip under him in drunken reelings.
"I missed him," he said brokenly, leaning against Mr. Ware.
"H'm, not so bad," said the coach gruffly.
"How do you feel?" said Garry Cockrell, looking at him with his quiet smile.
Dink saw the smile and misjudged it.
"Give me another chance," he cried furiously. "I'll get him."
"What! Ready for another tackle?" said the captain, looking at him intently.
"Please, sir."
"Well, get your head clear first."
"Let me take it now, sir!"
"All right."
"Hit him harder than he hits you, and grip with your hands," said the voice of Mr. Ware in his ear.
Dink stood out again. The earth was gradually returning to a state of equilibrium, but his head was buzzing and his legs were decidedly rebels to his will.
The captain, seeing this, to give him time, spoke to McCarty with just a shade of malice.
"Well, Tough, do you want to take it again?"
"Do I?" said McCarty sarcastically. "Oh, yes, most enjoyable! Don't let me interfere with your pleasure. Why don't you try it yourself?"
"Would you rather watch?"
"Oh, no, of course not. This is a real pleasure, thank you. The little devil would dent a freight train."
"All ready, Stover?" said Cockrell.
The players stood in two lines, four yards apart. No one laughed. They looked at Stover, thrilling a little with his communicated recklessness, grunting forth their approval.
"Good nerve."
"The real stuff."
"Pure grit."
"Little devil."
Stover's face had gone white, the eyes had dwindled and set intensely, the line of the mouth was drawn taut, while on his forehead the windlifted the matted hair like a banner. In the middle of the lane, crowding forward, his arms out, ready to spring, his glance fixed on McCarty, he waited like a champion guarding the pass.
"All right, Stover?"
Some one near him repeated the question.
"Come on!" he answered.
McCarty's one hundred and seventy pounds came rushing down. But this time the instinct was strong. He slacked a bit at the end as Stover, not waiting his coming, plunged in to meet him. Down they went again, but this time it was the force of Stover's impact that threw them.
When Cockrell came up, Dink, altogether groggy, was entwined around one leg of McCarty with a gaunt grin of possession.
They hauled him up, patted him on the back and walked him up and down in the cool breeze. Suddenly, after several minutes, the mist rose. He saw the fields and heard the sharp cries of the coaches prodding on the players. Then he looked up to find Garry Cockrell's arm about him.
"All right now?" said the captain's voice.
Stover hastily put the arm away from him.
"I'm all right."
"Did I give you a little too much, youngster?"
"I'm ready again," said Stover instantly.
Cockrell laughed a short, contented laugh.
"You've done enough for to-day."
"I'll learn how," said Dink doggedly.
"You know the real things in football now, my boy," said the captain shortly. "We'll teach you the rest."
Dink thought he meant it sarcastically.
"You will give me a chance, won't you?" he said.
"Yes," said the captain, laying his hand on his shoulder with a smile. "You'll get chance enough, my boy. Fact is, I'm going to start you in at end on the scrub. You'll get all the hard knocks you're looking for there. You won't get any credit for what you do—but you boys are what's going to make the team."
"Oh, sir, do you mean it?"
"I'm in the habit of meaning things."
"I'll—I'll——" began Stover, and then stopped before the impossibility of expressing how many times his life should be thrown to the winds.
"I know you will," said the captain, amused. "And now, you young bulldog, back to your room and shake yourself together."
"But I want to go on; I'm feeling fine."
"Off the field," said the captain with terrific sternness.
Dink went like a dog ordered home, slowly, unwillingly, turning from time to time in hopes that his captain would relent.
When he had passed the chapel and the strife of the practice had dropped away he felt all at once sharp, busy pains running up his back and over his shoulders. But he minded them not. At that moment with the words of the captain—hiscaptain forever now—ringing in his ears, he would have gone forth gratefully to tackle the whole team, one after another, from wiry little Charlie DeSoto to the elephantine P. Lentz.
Suddenly a thought came to him.
"Gee, I bet I shook up Tough McCarty, anyhow," he said grimly. And refreshed by this delightful thought he went briskly across the Circle.
At the steps Finnegan, coming out the door, hailed him excitedly:
"Hi, Dink, we've got a Freshman who's setting up to jiggers and éclairs. Hurry up!"
"No," said Dink.
"What?" said Dennis faintly.
"I can't," said Dink, bristling; "I'm in training."
The Tennessee Shad, reclining in an armchair softened by sofacushions, gave critical directions to Dink Stover and Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, to whom, with great unselfishness, he had surrendered all the privileges of the hanging committee.
"Supposeyouagitate yourself a little," said Dink, descending from a rickety chair which, placed on a table, had allowed him to suspend a sporting print from the dusty moulding.
"The sight of you at hard labor," said Finnegan, from a bureau on the other side of the room, "would fill me with cheer, delectation and comfort."
The Tennessee Shad, by four convulsive processes, reached his feet.
"Oh, very well," he said carelessly. "Thought you preferred to run this show yourselves."
Picking up a poster, he selected with malicious intent the most unsuitable spot in the room and started to climb the bureau, remarking:
"This is about it, I should say."
The artistic souls of Dink and Dennis protested.
"Murder, no!"
"You chump!"
"Too big for it."
"Well, if you know so much," said the Tennessee Shad, halting before the last upward struggle and holding out the poster, "where would you put it?"
Stover and Dennis indignantly bore the poster away and with much effort and straining tacked it in an appropriate place.
"Why, that is better," said the Tennessee Shad admiringly, regaining his chair, not too openly. "Much better. Looks fine! Great! Say, I've got an idea. Stick the ballet girl under it."
"What?"
"You're crazy!"
"Well, where would you put it?"
"Here, you chump."
"Why, that's not half bad, either," said the Tennessee Shad, once more back among the cushions. "A trifle more to the left, down—now up—good—make fast. First rate; guess you have the best eye. Now where are you going to put this?"
By this process of self-debasement and generous exterior admiration the Tennessee Shad successfully perceived the heavy hanging and arranging brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
The vital touches were given, the transom was hung with heavy black canvas; a curtain of the same was so arranged as to permit its being drawn over the telltale cracks of the door. Dennis and Stover, sent to reconnoiter from the hall, waited while the Tennessee Shad passed a lighted candle back and forth over the sealed entrance. One traitor crack was discovered and promptly obliterated.
"Now we're secure," said the Tennessee Shad. "Cave of Silence and all that sort of thing. The Old Roman would have to smell us to get on."
"How about the windows?" said Dink.
"They're a cinch," said the Shad. "When you get the shade down and the shutters closed a blanket will fix them snug as a bug in a rug. Now, at nine o'clock we can go to bed without suffering from drafts. Ha, ha—joke."
"Burn the midnight oil, etceteray—etcetera."
"To-morrow," said the Tennessee Shad, "Volts Mashon is going to install a safety light for us."
"Elucidate," said Dink.
"A safety light is a light that has a connection with the door. Shut door, light; open door, where is Moses? Midnight reading made a pleasure."
"Marvelous!"
"Oh, I've heard of that before," said Finnegan.
The Tennessee Shad, meanwhile, had been busy stretching a string from his bed to the hot-air register and from a stick at the foot of his bed to a pulley at the top.
Stover and Finnegan waited respectfully until the Shad, having finished his operations, deigned to give a practical exhibition.
"This thing is simple," said he, stretching out on his bed and pulling a string at one side. "Opens hot-air register. No applause necessary. But this is a little, comforting idea of my own. Protection from sudden change of temperature without bodily exposure." Extending his hand he pulled the other rope, which, running through the pulley over his head, brought the counterpane quickly over him. "How's that? No sitting up, reaching down, fumbling about in zero weather."
"That's good as far as it goes," said Dennis, whose natural state was not one of reverence; "but how about the window? Some one has to get up and shut the window."
"Simple as eggs," said the Shad, yawning disdainfully. "A string and a pulley do the trick, see? Down comes the window. All worked at the same exchange. Well, Dink, you may lead the cheer."
Now, Stover suddenly remembered a device he had been told of, and, remembering it, to give it the appearance of improvisation he pretended to deliberate.
"Well," said the Tennessee Shad, surprised, "my humble little inventions don't seem to impress you."
"Naw."
"They don't, eh! Why not?"
"Oh, it's the right principle," said Stover, assuming a deliberate look; "but crude, very crude, backwoods, primitive, and all that sort of thing."
The Tennessee Shad, amazed, looked at Finnegan, who spoke:
"Crude, Dink?"
"Why, yes. All depends on whether the Shad wakes up or not. And then, why hand labor?"
"I suppose you have something more recherché to offer," said the Tennessee Shad cuttingly, having recovered.
"Why, yes, I might," said Stover coolly. "A real inventor would run the whole thing by machinery. Who's got an alarm clock?"
Dennis, mystified, returned running with his.
Stover, securing it with strings, fastened it firmly on the table, which he moved near the scene of operations. He then lowered the upper half of the window, assuring himself that a slight impetus would start it. To the sash heattached a stout string which he ran through a pulley fixed to the top of the window frame; to the string he fastened a weight which he carefully balanced on the edge of a chair; to the weight, thus fastened, he attached another string which he led to the clock and made fast to the stem that wound the alarm. Then he straightened up, cast a glance over the Shad's handiwork and went to the register.
"When the window shuts it should open the register, of course—first principles," he said crushingly. He disconnected the string from the bed and arranged it on the window. Having wound the clock he addressed his audience:
"It's a simple little thing," he said with a wave of his hand. "I happened to remember that the key of an alarm clock turns as the alarm works. That's all there is to it. Set the alarm when you want to wake up—see—like this. Alarm goes off, winds up spring, throws weight off balance, weight falls, shuts the window, opens the register and you stay under the covers. Practical demonstration now proceeding."
The mechanism worked exactly as he had predicted. The Tennessee Shad and the Wild Irishman, transfixed with awe, watched with dropped mouths the operation. Finnegan, the first to recover, salaamed in true Oriental fashion.
"Mr. Edison," he said in a whisper, "don'ttake advantage of two innocent babes in the wood. Did you honestly just work this out?"
"Oh, no, of course not," said Dink loftily. "My father told me,—it cost him a fortune; he gave years of his life to perfecting it!"
"And this to me!" said the exponent of the superlative reproachfully.
The Tennessee Shad rose and offered his hand with a gesture worthy of Washington.
"Sir to you. I am your humble servant. Wonderful! Marvelous! Smashing! Terrific! Sublime!"
"Do it again," said Dennis de Brian de Boru.
The alarm being wound and set, the operation was repeated with the same success, while Dennis danced about excitedly and the Tennessee Shad contemplated it with dreamy absorption.
"Jemima!" said Dennis. "And it works for any time?"
"Any time," said Dink, with one hand gracefully resting on his hip.
"Cracky!" exclaimed Dennis, prancing excitedly toward the door. "I'll get the whole House up."
"Dennis!"
Finnegan stopped, surprised at the note of authority in the Tennessee Shad's voice.
"Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan; back and sit down."
"What's wrong?"
"You would call in the whole House, would you?"
"Why not?" said Dink, thirsting for the applause of the multitude.
"Dink, oh, Dink!" said the Shad, in profound sorrow. "You would throw away a secret worth millions, would you?"
Dink looked at Dennis, who returned the look, and then with a simultaneous motion they sat down.
"This invention has millions in it, millions," said the Tennessee Shad, promoter. "It is simple, but revolutionary. Every room in the school must be equipped with it."
"Then there's all the apartment houses," said Dennis eagerly.
"That will come later," said the Tennessee Shad.
"We'll patent it," said Stover, seeing clouds of gold.
"Certainly," said the promoter. "We will patent the principle."
"Let's form a company."
The three rose and solemnly joined hands.
"What shall we call it?"
"The Third Triumvirate?" said Dennis.
"Good!" said the Tennessee Shad.
"What shall we charge?" said Dink.
"We must make a dollar profit on each," said the Tennessee Shad. "That means—four hundred fellows in the school—allowing for roommates; we should clear two hundred and ten dollars at the lowest. That means seventy dollars apiece profit."
"Let's begin," said Dennis.
"I'm unalterably opposed," said Dink, "to allowing Doc Macnooder in the firm."
"Me, too," said Dennis.
"Doc is strong on detail," said the Tennessee Shad doubtfully.
"I'm unalterably opposed," said Dink, "to allowing Doc Macnooder to swallow this firm."
"Me, too," said Dennis.
"Doc has great business experience," said the Tennessee Shad; "wonderful, practical mind."
"I'm unalterably——" said Dink and stopped, as the rest was superfluous.
"Me, too," said Dennis.
"Some one's got to work for us in the other Houses."
"Make him our foreign representative," said Stover.
"And give him a commission?"
"Sure—ten per cent."
"No more," said Dennis. "Even that cuts down our profits."
"All right," said the Tennessee Shad. "Asyou say, so be it. But still I think Doc Macnooder's business sagacity——"
At this moment Doc Macnooder walked into the room. The three future millionaires responded to his greeting with dignity, keeping in mind that distance which should separate a board of directors from a mere traveling man.
"Hello," said Macnooder glibly. "All ship-shape and ready for action. Tea served here and chafing-dish ready for the midnight rabbit. Ha, ha, Dink, still got the souvenir toilet set, I see."
"Still, but not long," said Dink. "But that story comes later. Sit down, Doc, and pay attention."
"Why so much chestiness?" said Doc, puzzled. "I haven't sold anything to any of you, have I?"
"Doc," said Stover, "we have formed a company and we want to talk business."
"What company?"
"The Third Triumvirate Manufacturing Company," said Dennis.
"What does it manufacture?"
"This," said Stover, indicating the appliance. "A combined window closer and alarm clock that also opens the register."
"Let's see it," said Macnooder, all excitement.
The demonstration took place. Macnooder theenthusiast was conquered, but Macnooder the financier remained cold and controlled. He sat down, watched by three pairs of eyes, took from his pocket a pair of spectacles, placed them on his nose and said indifferently:
"Well?"
"What do you think of it?"
"It's a beaut!"
"I say, Doc," said Finnegan, "now, won't every fellow in the school be crying for one, won't be happy till he gets it, and all that sort of thing?"
"Every fellow in the school will have one," said Macnooder carefully, making a distinction which was perceived only by the Tennessee Shad.
"Now, Doc," said Dink, still glowing with his triumph over the Tennessee Shad, "let's talk business."
Macnooder took off the glasses and minutely polished them with his handkerchief.
"You've formed a company, eh?"
"The Third Triumvirate—the three of us."
"Well, where do I come in?"
"You're to be our foreign representative."
"Commission ten per cent," added Finnegan carefully.
The Tennessee Shad said nothing, waiting expectantly. Macnooder rose whistling through his teeth and stood gazing down at the alarm clock.
"Foreign representative, commission ten per cent," he said softly.
"We thought we'd give you first whack at it," said Stover in a careless, business-like way.
"So. What's your idea of developing it?"
"Why, we thought of installing it for a dollar."
"With the clock?"
"Oh, no! The clock extra."
"Charging a dollar for string and pulley?"
"And the invention."
"Humph!"
"Well, Doc, is it a go?" said Dink, observing him fall into a revery.
"No, I guess I'm not much interested in this," said Macnooder, taking up his hat. "There's no money in it."
"Why, Doc," said Finnegan, aghast, "you said yourself every fellow would have to have it."
"Would have it," said Macnooder in correction. "The invention's all right, but it's not salable."
"Why not?"
"Nothing to sell. First fellow who sees it can do it himself."
Finnegan looked at Stover, who suddenly felt his pockets lighten.
"Doc is very strong on detail," said the Tennessee Shad softly, in a reminiscent way.
"You might sell it to one fellow," said Macnooder, "without telling him. But soon as you set it up every one will copy it."
"Great business head," continued the Tennessee Shad.
"It's a good idea," said Macnooder condescendingly. "You might get a vote of thanks, but that's all you would get. Do you see the rub?"
"I see," said Dink.
"Me, too," said Dennis.
"And a wonderful practical mind," concluded the Tennessee Shad dreamily.
"Well, let's be public benefactors then," said Dennis in a melancholy tone.
"And such a beautiful idea," said Dink mournfully.
"I move the Third Triumvirate disband," said the Tennessee Shad; and there was no objection.
"Now," said Doc Macnooder briskly, sitting down, "I'll put my own proposition to you amateurs. There's only one way to make the thing go, and I've got the way. I take all responsibility and all risks. All I ask is control of the stock—fifty-one per cent."
Ten minutes later the Third Triumvirate Manufacturing Company was reformed on the following basis:
"Now," said Macnooder, when the articles were safely signed and the capital paid up, "here's the way we work it. We've got to do two things: first, conceal the way it's done until we sell it; and second, keep those who buy from letting on."
"That's hard," said the Tennessee Shad.
"But necessary. I'm thinking out a plan."
"Of course the first part is a cinch," said Dennis. "A few extras, etcetera, etceteray. It's putting the ribbons in the lingerie, that's all."
"Exactly."
"You don't think it's selling goods under false pretenses?"
"Naw," said Macnooder. "Same principle as the patent medicine—the only wheel that goes round there is a nice, fat temperance measure of alcohol, isn't it? We'll have the first publicdemonstration to-morrow afternoon. I'll distribute a few more pearls to-night. Ta, ta."
The three sat quietly, listening to the fall of his departing steps.
"If we'd asked him in the first place," said the Tennessee Shad, gazing out the window, "we'd only given up twenty-five per cent.—great business head, Doc; great mind for detail."
Macnooder, that night, formed the Eureka Purchasing Company,incorporated himself, and secured, at jigger rates, every second-hand alarm clock on which he could lay his hands—but more of that hereafter.
At five o'clock the next afternoon the combined Kennedy House packed itself into the Tennessee Shad's room, where Doc Macnooder rose and addressed them:
"Gentlemen of the Kennedy: I will only detain you an hour or so; I have only a few thousand words to offer. We are gathered here on an auspicious occasion, a moment of history—the momentishistorical. Your esteemed Housemate, Mr. Dink Stover, has completed, after years of endeavor, an invention that is destined to be a household word from the northernmost wilds of the Davis House to the sun-kissed fragrance of the Green, from the Ethiopian banks of the fur-bearing canal to the Western Tins of Hot-dog Land! Gentlemen, I will be frank——"
"Cheese it!" said a voice.
"I will be frank," repeated Macnooder, turning on them a countenance on which candorstruggled with innocence. "I did not wish or encourage the present method of procedure. As a member of the Dickinson House I combated the proposition of Mr. Stover and his associates to make this invention a Kennedy House sinecure. I still combat it—but I yield. If they wish to give away their profits they can. Gentlemen, in a few moments I shall have the pleasure of placing before you an opportunity to become shareholders in one of the most epoch-making inventions the world has ever known."
"What's it called?" said a voice.
"It's called," said Macnooder slowly, secure now of the attention of his audience, "it's called The Complete Sleep Prolonger. The title itself is a promise and a hope. I will claim nothing for this wonderful little invention. It not only combats the cold, but it encourages the heat; it prolongs not only the sleep, but the existence; it will increase the stature, make fat men thin, thin men impressive, clear the complexion, lighten the eye and make the hair long and curly."
"Let's have it," cried several voices.
"Gentlemen," said Macnooder, seeing that no further delay was possible, "our first demonstration will be entitled The Old Way."
Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, in pajamas, appeared from a closet, went to thewindow, opened it, shut the register, yawned, went to his bed and drew the covers over his head. The faint sounds of a mandolin were heard from the expert hands of the Tennessee Shad.
"Scene," said Macnooder, fitting his accents to low music as is the custom of vaudeville—"scene represents the young Lawrenceville boy, exhausted by the preparation of the next day's lessons, seeking to rest his too conscientious brain. The night passes, the wind rises. It grows cold. Hark the rising bell. He hears it not. What now? He rises in his bed, the room is bitter cold. He bounds to the window over the frozen ground. He springs to the register and back to his bed. He looks at his watch. Heavens! Not a moment to lose. The room is bitter cold, but he must up and dress!"
Finnegan, completing the pantomime, returned with thunders of applause.
"Gentlemen," cried Macnooder, "is this picture a true one?"
And the roar came back:
"You bet!"
"Our next instructive little demonstration is entitled The Scientific Way or The Sleep Prolonger Watches Over Him. Observe now the modest movements of the Dink, the Kennedy House Edison."
Dink, thus introduced, connected the hot-air register to the window sash, the window sash to the weight—specially covered with tin foil—and brought forth the table on which was the now completed Sleep Prolonger. Only the face of the clock appeared, the rest was buried under an arrangement of cardboard boxes and perfectly useless spools, that turned with the rope that took a thrice devious way to the alarm key. In front, two Kennedy House flags were prominently displayed.
"Is everything ready, Mr. Stover?" said Macnooder, while the crowd craned forth, amazed at the intricacy of the machine.
"Ready, Mr. President."
"Second demonstration," said Macnooder.
Finnegan again entered, fixed the register, lowered the window and, going to the clock, set the alarm.
"He sets the alarm for half-past seven," said Macnooder in cadence. "One half-hour gained. The night passes. The wind rises. It grows cold. Hark the rising bell. He hears it not; he doesn't have to. The Sleep Prolonger is there."
The alarm shot off with a suddenness that brought responsive jumps from the audience, the weight fell, and to the amazement of all, the window closed and the register opened.
"Watch him now, watch him," cried Macnooder, hushing the tumult of applause. "Observe the comfort and the satisfaction in his look. He has not stirred, not a limb of his body has been exposed, and yet the room grows warm. His eye is on the clock; he will rise in time, and he will rise in comfort!
"Gentlemen, this great opportunity is now before you. This marvel of human ingenuity, this baffling example of mechanical intricacy is now within your reach. It can do anything. It is yours. It is yours at prices that would make a miner turn from picking up gold nuggets. It is yours for one dollar and twenty-five cents—twenty-five cents is our profit, gentlemen, and you get one profit-sharing bonus. And, furthermore, each of the first fifteen purchasers who will pay the sum of one-fifty will receive not one, but three eight-per-cent., accumulative, preferred bonuses."
"Bonus for what?" said an excited voice.
"Twenty-five per cent. of the net profits," cried Macnooder, thumping the table, "will be set aside for pro-rata distribution. The device itself remains for three days a secret, until the completion of the patents. Orders from the model set up and installed in twenty-four hours now acceptable, cash down. No crowding there, first fifteen get three bonuses—one at a time;keep back there—no crowding, no pushing—no pushing, boys. Here, stop! Owing to the extraordinary demand, have I the advisory board's consent to give every purchaser present who pays one-fifty three bonuses? I have? Let her go! Mr. Finnegan, take down the names. Cash, right over here!"
"I don't like this idea of bonuses," said Finnegan, when the rooms had returned to their quiet again.
"Twenty-five per cent., Doc!" said the Tennessee Shad reproachfully.
"Why, you chump," said Macnooder proudly, "that's what's called the profit-sharing system. It keeps 'em quiet, and it also keeps 'em from going out and giving the game away. Mark my words."
"But twenty-five per cent.," said the Tennessee Shad, shaking his head.
"Of the profits—net profits," said Macnooder. "There's a way to get around that. I'll show you later."
"We must get to work and round up some alarm clocks," said Stover.
"I've already thought of that," said Doc, as he took his leave. "Don't worry about that. Now I'll canvas the Dickinson."
"A slight feeling of uneasiness," said the Tennessee Shad solemnly, when Macnooder haddeparted—"a slight feeling of uneasiness is stealing over me, as the poet says."
"Let's have a look at the articles of incorporation," said Stover, who sat down with Dennis to study them.
"We're the advisory board," said Dennis stoutly.
"He's got fifty-one per cent. of the stock, though," said Dink.
"But we've got forty-nine!"
The Tennessee Shad, who had not risen from his chair as it involved extraordinary exertion, was heard repeating in a lonely sort of way to himself:
"A slight feeling of uneasiness."
By the next nightfall every room in the Kennedy was equipped with a Complete Sleep Prolonger. Their reception was exactly as Macnooder had foreseen. At first a roar went up as soon as the simplicity of the device was unearthed, but the thought of the precious bonuses soon quelled the revolt.
Besides, there was no doubt of the great humanizing effects of the invention, and the demand that it would awaken throughout the whole school.
But an obstacle arose to even the deep-laid plans of Macnooder himself. As the Third Triumvirate Manufacturing Company had boughtits stock from the Eureka Purchasing Company—which had cornered the alarm-clock market—it followed that the alarm clocks were distinctly second rate.
The consequence was that, though all were set for half-past seven, the first gun went off at about quarter-past two in the morning, bringing Mr. Bundy, the assistant house master, to the middle of the floor in one terrified bound, and starting a giggle that ran the darkened house like an epidemic.
At half-past three another explosion took place, aggravated this time by the fact that, the window pulleys being worn, the sash flew up with enough force to shatter most of the glass.
At four o'clock, when three more went off in friendly conjunction, The Roman met Mr. Bundy in the hall in light marching costume, and made a few very forcible remarks on the duties of subordinates—the same being accentuated by the wailing complaint of the youngest Roman which resounded through the house.
From then on the musketry continued intermittently until half-past seven, when such a salvo went off that the walls of the house seemed jarred apart.
The Third Triumvirate went down to breakfast with small appetite. To add to their apprehension, during the long wakeful reaches of thenight there had been borne to their ears faint but unmistakable sounds from the opposite Dickinson and the Woodhull, which had convinced them that there, too, the great invention of the age had been betrayed by defective supplies.
The Roman looked haggard; Mr. Bundy haggard and aggressive.
"Northwester coming," said the Tennessee Shad under his breath. "I know the signs."
"It's all Macnooder," said Stover bitterly.
At first recitation The Roman flunked Stover on the review, on the gerund and gerundive, on the use of hendiadys—a most unfair exhibition of persecution—on several supines, and requested him to remain after class.
"Ahem, John," he said, bringing to bear the batteries of his eyes on the embattled Dink, "you were, I take it, at the bottom, so to speak, of last night's outrage. Yes? Speak up."
"May I ask, sir," said Dink, very much aggrieved—for masters should confine themselves to evidence and not draw deductions—"I should like to know by what right you pick on me?"
The Roman, knowing thoroughly the subject under hand, did not condescend to argue, but smiled a thin, wan smile.
"You were, John, weren't you?"
"I was—that is, I invented it."
"Invented it?" said The Roman, sending one eyebrow toward the ceiling. "Invented what?"
"The Sleep Prolonger," said Dink very proudly.
"Prolonger!" said The Roman, with the jarring memories of the night upon him. "Explain, sir!"
Dink went minutely over the detailed construction of the invention of the age. By request, he repeated the same while The Roman followed, tracing a plan upon his pad. At the conclusion Dink waited aggressively, watching The Roman, who continued to stare at his sketch.
"One question, John," he said, without raising his eyes. "Was the Kennedy the only house thus favored?"
"No, sir. Macnooder installed them in the Dickinson and the Woodhull."
"Ah!" As though finding comfort in this last statement, The Roman raised his head and said slowly: "Dear me! I see, I see now. Quite a relief. It is evident from your recital, John, that at least there was no concerted effort to destroy the property of the school. I withdraw the term outrage, in so far as it may suggest outrages of pillage or anarchy. As to the continued usefulness of what you so felicitously term the Sleep Prolonger, that will have to be a subject of consultation with the Doctor, but—but, as your friend, I should advise you, for the present, not to risk any further capital in the venture. Don't do it, John, don't do it."
"Tyrant!" said Stover to himself. Aloud he asked: "Is that all, sir?"
"One moment—one moment, John. Are you contemplating any further inventions?"
"Why, no, sir."
"On your honor, John?"
"Why, yes, sir."
"Good—very good. You may go now."
At noon, by virtue of an extraordinary order from headquarters, all alarm clocks were confiscated and ordered to be surrendered.
"It's all the Old Roman," said Stover doggedly. "He knew it was my invention. He's got it in for me, I tell you."
"Anyhow," said Finnegan, "since Doc planted a few Prolongers in the Dickinson and the Woodhull we ought to be able to stack up a few nice, round plunks."
The Tennessee Shad looked very thoughtful.
At this moment the Gutter Pup and P. Lentz, representing the profit-sharing stockholders, called to know when the surplus was to be divided.
"Macnooder is now at work on the books," said Dink. "We expect him over at any time."
But when at eight o'clock that evening no word had been received from the president, the Third Triumvirate held a meeting and sent the Tennessee Shad over to the Dickinson, with orders to return only with the bullion, for whichpurpose he was equipped with a small, black satchel.
Just before lights the Tennessee Shad's dragging step was heard returning.
"I don't like the sound," said Dink, listening.
"He always shuffles his feet," said Dennis, clinging to hope.
The door opened and the Tennessee Shad, carrying the black satchel, solemnly entered. Dink flung himself on the bag, wrenched it open and let it drop, exclaiming:
"Nothing!"
"Nothing?" said Dennis, rising.
"Nothing," said the Tennessee Shad, sitting down.
"But the profits?"
"The profits," said the Tennessee Shad, pointing sarcastically to the bag, "are in there."
"Do you mean to say——" began Dink and stopped.
"I mean to say that the Third Triumvirate Manufacturing Company is insolvent, bankrupt, busted, up the spout."
"But then, who's got the coin?"
"Doc Macnooder," said the Tennessee Shad, "and it's all legal."
"Legal?"
"All legal. It's this way. Our profits depended upon the price we paid for alarm clocks.See? Well, when Doc Macnooder, as president of the Third Triumvirate Manufacturing Company looked around for clocks, he found that Doc Macnooder, as president of the Eureka Purchasing Company, had cornered the market and could dictate the price."
"So that?" said Stover indignantly.
"So that each clock was charged up to us at a rate ranging from one dollar and forty cents to one dollar and fifty."
"By what right?" said Dennis.
"It's what is called a subsidiary company," said the Tennessee Shad. "It's quite popular nowadays."
"But where's the stock we subscribed?" said Dennis, thinking of his one dollar and fifty cents. "We get that back?"
"No."
"What!" said the two in unison.
"It's this way. Owing to executive interference, the Third Triumvirate Manufacturing Company is liable to the Eureka Purchasing Company for ten alarm clocks, which it has ordered and can't use."
"But then, out of the whole, blooming mess," said Dennis, quite overcome, "where do I stand?"
The Tennessee Shad unfolded a paper and read:
"You owe the Eureka, as your share of the assessment, two dollars and forty cents."
"Owe!" said Finnegan with a scream.
"Just let him come," said Dink, doubling up his fists. "Let him come and assess us!"
The three sat in long silence. Finally the Tennessee Shad spoke:
"I am afraid Doc was sore because we tried to freeze him out at first. It was a mistake."
No one noticed this.
"Great Willie Keeler!" said Dennis suddenly. "If this thing had been a success we'd have been ruined!"
"But what right," said Dink, unwilling to give up the fight, "had he to pay the Eureka such prices. Who authorized him?"
"A vote of fifty-one per cent. of the stock," said the Tennessee Shad.
"But he never said anything to us—the forty-nine per cent. Has the minority no rights?"
"The minority," said the Tennessee Shad, speaking beyond his horizon, "the minority has only one inalienable right, the right to indorse."
"I'll get even with him," said Dink, after a blank period.
"I suppose," said Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, "that's what's called Finance."
And the Tennessee Shad nodded assent:
"Higher Finance, Dennis."