The Boy With the U. S. Life-Savers Part 17

"All right, Dan," he said, "I'll go you. I've still got some of the money I saved up from my work this summer and I was going to spend part of it on tutoring this winter, anyway. I'll tutor under you, whenever I'm off duty, and if you can teach me to like figures, you're a good one. Any way, your cottage is so near that I can get right on the job if the station calls."

True to his word, a few days later Eric appeared at the tiny little cottage--it was scarcely more than a hut--which was the home of the eccentric old puzzle-maker. The top part of it was a home-made observatory, and the whole building looked a good deal like a large beehive.

"String in the corner," said the old man, after welcoming him. "Get him."

"It's all knotted, Dan," the boy replied, holding up a piece of rope with a couple of dozen strings hanging from it, of various colors, all intertwined.

"Of course he is," the old man replied. "Read him."

"What?" asked the boy.

"Read him," repeated the old man.

"What does it mean?"

"He's what Incas used to count treasure with," the old man said. "He's quipu, a copy of one Cortez found in City of Sun. You like to read what he says?"

"You bet I would."

"Bring him here."

Wondering a good deal at the odd puzzle-maker's manner, for the lad had gone to the cottage in good faith with his books, expecting to work on the problems that were disturbing him, he brought over the knotted quipu.

"Green string means corn," said the puzzle-maker, "because he's the color of growing corn. What you suppose white is?"

"Silver," guessed the boy.

"Right. And yellow?"

"Gold."

"Right, too. And red?"

"Copper?" hazarded the boy.

"Not bad guess," the old man said. "Not copper color, red."

"Red stands for war," said Eric meditatively, then, with an inspiration, "in those days a country was rich if it had soldiers. Does the red mean soldiers, Dan?"

"Soldiers, right," the old man answered. "The Quipucamayocuna--"

"The what, Dan?"

"Knot officers," explained the other, "kept track of him all. They counted tens, single knot meant ten; double knot, hundred. Now read him.

Cross-knotting is for groups."

Eric worked for a quarter of an hour and then looked up.

"I've got it," he said.

"What is he?"

"In this town," said the boy, "there were seven regiments of soldiers, I've got down the exact number of men in each regiment. Some had plenty of food in the regimental storehouse, some had only a little. But--if I get it right--there was money belonging to each regiment in a treasure-house, somewhere, like a bank. I suppose they could exchange this for food. And, if I've read it right, there was one regiment which had money but no men. I suppose they were wiped out in battle."

"Very good," answered the puzzle-maker, looking pleased. "You keep accounts, your own money?"

"Of course," answered the boy, pulling out a little diary from his pocket.

"Here, string," said the old man. "Write your week's accounts in quipu."

Thoroughly interested, Eric took up a pile of colored strings, from the corner and started to convert his week's accounting into quipu. He worked for half an hour, but couldn't make it come out right. It proved an exasperating puzzle, because it seemed impossible and yet conveyed the suggestion that there ought to be some way of doing it. Already Eric had so keen a sense of the old man's comments that he hated to say that he couldn't do it. But, after a while, red in the face and quite ashamed, he said,

"I can't do it, Dan."

"No, he is not possible," said the puzzle-maker cheerfully. "That's what I wanted you to find. The quipu is wonderful but he's not wonderful enough, eh?"

"We'd have trouble trying to handle a big modern banking business by it, all right," the boy agreed. "But, Dan, how about this studying I'm supposed to do?"

"You know Latin numerals?" the old man replied.

"Of course!" Eric answered indignantly. "I couldn't even tell the time if I didn't!"

"Write 'Four,'" came the order.

Promptly the boy wrote "IV."

"Now look at watch."

"It's got four ones there," Eric said ruefully.

"The 'IV' form is late," said the puzzle-maker. "I show you something.

Copy column of pocket cash-book in Roman numerals, then, without thinking in figures, add up column."

Not in the least understanding what were the old man's ideas the boy did as he was told. It was easy enough to write down the numbers, but when he came to add them up, he found himself thinking of Arabic figures in spite of himself.

"I'm cheating," said Eric suddenly, "I can't help adding up in the old way."

"Good boy," said the puzzle-maker. "I knew that. I show you some more.

Simple addition. Write in Roman numerals one billion, seven hundred and forty-two million, nine hundred and eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twenty-seven and eleven-sixteenths."

Although pretty well posted, Eric had a hard time writing down the number and had to ask a lot of questions before he could even write it correctly. Then the puzzle-maker gave him half a dozen figures of the same kind. It looked weird on paper.

"Now add him up," the old man charged him.

The boy started bravely. But he hadn't gone very far before he got absolutely stuck. He wrestled with that sum of simple addition for nearly an hour. At last he got a result which seemed right.

"Put him down in ordinary figures," came the order. "Add him up."

Eric did so, having his own difficulties in re-transcribing from the Roman numerals.