Skippy Bedelle Part 18

Now it happened that the Roman was dining in Princeton that night and the conduct of discipline was in the hands of a young a.s.sistant master, lately transferred from the wilds of the d.i.c.kinson, Mr. Lorenzo Blackstone Tapping.

Tabby, as he was more affectionately known, was apt to be somewhat confused, as is natural, before an extraordinary crisis, and had made one or two lamentable blunders. In the present case, after immediately sending in a hurry call for the plumber, he departed in a panic for Foundation House, holding before him on a pair of tongs a pair of reeking football stockings which he had seized in the wash basin, while Skippy Bedelle, under strict orders, remained twenty paces to the rear and out of the wind.

Arrived before the dark and awesome, ivy-hidden portals of the Head Master's dread abode, Mr. Tapping carefully deposited the unspeakable mess against the stone steps, stationed the rebellious Skippy under an opposite tree and entered, in a fever of excitement.

"Great heavens!" said the Doctor, starting from his chair. "Are you ill?"

"No, sir, it's not myself. That is, it's--it's the whole house; it's young Bedelle, sir. The fact is, Doctor, the situation was so serious that I--I thought I'd best come to you directly, sir."

"Try to give the details a little more calmly and coherently, Mr.

Tapping," said the Doctor, retreating behind a handkerchief and studying the young a.s.sistant with a growing suspicion. He indicated his guest and added, "Professor Rootmeyer of Princeton--Mr. Tapping, one of our younger masters."

Ten minutes later Skippy, shivering under the apple tree, beheld Tabby reappear, take up the tongs gingerly and return to the house. Almost immediately the window of the Doctor's study opened with a bang and there was an iron clank in the near roadway.

"I never smelled such a smell! Is it possible?" said the Doctor, coughing. "What is it?"

"Please, sir, I don't know," said Mr. Tapping miserably.

"You don't know and you are a B. S.?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Well, what is your explanation, or have you any explanation of this extraordinary occurrence?"

"I think, sir, the boy is completely unbalanced."

"Bedelle! He's always been steady and well conducted."

"He's been acting queerly lately, sir, and he absolutely refuses to give any explanation. The house, sir, is quite untenantable. I--I don't think the boys can sleep there to-night."

"Where is Bedelle now?"

"He is outside, sir--waiting."

"Perhaps I had better examine into this myself," said the Doctor, frowning. "Bedelle is a good boy--a bit of a dreamer, but a good, reliable boy. Mr. Tapping, you may return to the Kennedy and quiet them.

I shall be over later. Keep Bedelle waiting--outside."

"Jim," said Professor Rootmeyer, the distinguished chemist, "there are only two things in G.o.d's universe can produce a smell like that--a dead Indian and butyl mercaptan."

The Doctor immediately discarded the first hypothesis.

"Frank, you've hit it. It _is_ butyl mercaptan," he said, laughing.

"Well, how did you know?"

"I remember once when I was a shaver--"

"Go on," said Professor Rootmeyer as the Doctor came to a hurried stop.

"H'm, we are living in the present," said the Doctor after a second thought.

He rose and went to the doorstep.

"Bedelle!"

"Yes, sir."

The stench began to swell with the hurried approach.

"Stop there," said the Doctor hastily, and, having had his imagination sharpened by frequent contact with the genus boy, he added with sudden inspiration: "Go round to my study window. I will speak to you from inside."

A moment later Skippy's white face appeared, framed against the night.

"Bedelle, Mr. Hopkins reports that you were dismissed from first recital this morning, for being in a condition which unfitted you for a.s.sociation with your fellow beings. Is that true?"

"Please, sir, it was the citronella."

"Mr. Tapping reports that the stench arising from your room has made the house untenantable. Is that true?"

"Please, sir, that was asafoetida and--"

"And butyl mercaptan; I'm quite aware of that," said the Doctor quickly, to continue the tradition of omniscience.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Bedelle, what is your explanation? Were you trying to poison any one?"

"Oh, no, sir!"

"You were not contemplating self-destruction, were you?" said the Doctor, whose curiosity led him to adopt a light coaxing manner.

"Please, sir, I was experimenting."

"Experimenting! What for?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't tell you," said Skippy defiantly. He had foreseen the test, but he was resolved to be drawn and quartered before yielding up the secret of his future millions.

"You--can't--tell--ME?" said the Doctor in his pulpit sternness.

"No, sir. I've taken an oath."

"Do you realize, Bedelle, that you owe me an explanation, that if there is no explanation for this extraordinary attack on the discipline and morale of the school that I should be quite justified in requesting your immediate departure?"

"I know, sir. Yes, sir."

"And you refuse still?"

"It's an invention, sir. That's all I can tell you, sir. I'm sorry, sir.

Please, Doctor, I'd like to stay in the school."