Skippy Bedelle Part 17

"It proves that blue attracts them more than red, that's all. We must now try other combinations."

"It proves one thing right here," said Snorky Green, dousing his legs with the second bottle of witch hazel. "I'm through on the human-experiment game, and that's flat."

"I'm inclined to believe we should concentrate on the sense of smell,"

said Skippy thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact the experiment turned out as I foresaw."

"It did, eh?" said Snorky wrathfully.

Skippy retreated to the other side of the table and hurriedly announced:

"I've been talking it over with Greaser here and the problem is narrowing down. Now what we've got to figure out is, shall we make it a washing solution or something that'll stick forever?"

"Washing solution."

"Sure we could wash the socks in some sort of preparation of citronella, couldn't we?"

"That's too easy. Any one could do that."

"Exactly! That's why we must experiment further. Greaser's got some very good ideas."

"Oh! Well, bring on your stinks; I can stand them."

"You can?"

"Sure."

"You swear?"

"I swear. What's the idea, Greaser?"

Greaser Tunxton looked at him hard and thoughtfully before replying.

"You see, citronella comes out in the wash, but there are one or two other things much stronger."

"Citronella's pretty strong!" said Snorky, who began to wonder if he had promised too rashly.

"Ever heard of asafoetida?" said Skippy, with his hand on the chemical genius.

"That's the stuff you put on the furnace at co-ed schools when you want a cut," said Snorky, who knew the story of d.i.n.k Stover's reasons for coming to Lawrenceville.

"It is quite possible," said Greaser in his smileless, scientific manner, "that, properly treated, a mixture of silk and cotton, possibly wool, will retain enough of the essential quality of asafoetida for at least a dozen washings--"

"Isn't citronella bad enough?" said Snorky, with a horrible misgiving.

"It's extremely doubtful," said Greaser, shaking his head, "but I don't want to say anything definitely before we make exhaustive experiments."

"Where?" said Snorky, shrinking. "If it's down at the pond again, good night!"

"Green!" said Skippy wrathfully.

"Bedelle to you!"

"The experiments can be conducted right here," said Greaser rea.s.suringly.

"Oh! Well, why didn't you say so?" said Snorky, feeling a little ashamed. "Perhaps after all asa--asa--well, whatever it is, will come out in the wash, too."

"If it does," said Greaser proudly, "I've got something worse."

"Worse!" said Snorky, with a sinking heart.

"_Worse!_" said Skippy joyfully.

"If you put that on," said Greaser, meditating, "the socks will be better than mosquito-proof--even rattlesnakes wouldn't bite you!"

"Criminy! What is it?"

"I know what it is," said Greaser, wagging his head wisely, "but I can't p.r.o.nounce it!"

Events now moved rapidly. The following morning, despite the draft which entered through three windows and swept out the door, the Roman stopped the morning recitation after five minutes of indignant commotion in the cla.s.s and, making a detailed investigation, dispensed with the presence of Mr. Snorky Green, Mr. Skippy Bedelle and Mr. Greaser Tunxton (the last with incredulous chagrin) with a request to produce each individual bath record for the week.

At eight o'clock that night Snorky Green deserted the communal laboratory, bag and baggage, announcing that he was through once and for all, and sought asylum of Dennis de Brian de Boru. Finnegan, after the first whiff, barricaded the door and seized a baseball bat to repel any aggression via the transom.

At eight-thirty, the inhabitants of the second floor held an indignation meeting on the steps.

"Holy Moses! What is it?" said the Triumphant Egghead, smelling in the direction of the offending room.

"It's a dead cat."

"Smells like ripe sauerkraut and garlic!"

"No, it smells like asafoetida."

"The deuce you say! Asafoetida is a maiden's perfume to this!"

"Well, some one's dead."

"It's the Greaser, then."

"My Lord! This is awful!"

"Skippy's found a pet skunk."

"How in blazes are we going to stand it?"

"We won't."

When the odor had finally rolled down the stairs a house meeting was called and the offenders were summoned to appear. Skippy Bedelle and Greaser Tunxton responded and the house adjourned through the windows.