The Varmint Part 11

"Bet Butsey's stuck you pretty hard," said the Tennessee Shad, nodding wisely. "He's just loaded with the spondulix, too."

"Well, he did sort of impose on me," said Stover, thinking of the frankfurters at Laloo's.

"It's a shame," said Macnooder indignantly.

"You're pretty slick?"

"As slick as they make 'em."

"Say, bub," said Al, with his dreamy drawl, "is this the line of talk you've been putting out to that bunch of Indians down in the Green?"

"Oh, I'll put it out."

"Say, you're going to have a wonderful time here!"

"Watch me," said d.i.n.k, c.o.c.king his head; but with less confidence than when he had announced his intentions on the stage-coach.

"Young fellow," said Al, leaning back and looking at him from under his eyelids, "you're in wrong. You don't know what you've come to.

Why, there's a bunch of young stock jobbers around here that would make a Wall Street bunco-steerer take to raising chickens! Slick? Why, some of 'em are so slick that when they come in I lock the cash drawer and stuff cotton in my ears."

"Bring 'em on," said d.i.n.k disdainfully.

At this moment there was a loud flop by the window in the rear, and the Tennessee Shad rose slowly from the floor. At the same moment Doc Macnooder, ambling innocently by on the farther sidewalk, turned, dashed across the street, bounded into the shop and, returning to the door, carefully surveyed the approaches.

"Glad to do it," said Macnooder, without enthusiasm. "Finish up and we'll fit you out in a jiffy."

When the three went shuffling down the street Al did an unusual, an unprecedented thing. He actually made the turn of the counter and stationed himself at the door, watching the group depart--Macnooder with his arm on Stover's shoulder, the Tennessee Shad guarding the other side.

When they disappeared beyond Bill Orum's, the cobbler's, in the direction of the d.i.c.kinson, he said slowly, in profound admiration:

"Well, I'll be jiggered! If those body-s.n.a.t.c.hers don't get electrocuted, they'll own Fifth Avenue!"

V

"Come up to my room and we'll see what's on hand," said Doc, entering the d.i.c.kinson. "Too bad you're stuck down in the Green--no house spirit there--you must get in with us next year."

"Doc's a great fellow," said the Tennessee Shad, as Macnooder went quickly ahead, "a great business man. He's a sort of clearing house for the whole school. Say, he's taken a regular fancy to you."

"What did he get his 'L' for?" said Stover, as the Tennessee Shad, to gain time, showed him the lower floor.

"Quarter on the eleven last fall. Here's the Triumphant Egghead's room. Isn't it a peach? They've got a good crowd here; you must be with them or us next year. Here's Turkey Reiter's and Butcher Stevens'

quarters. They're crackerjacks, too; on the eleven and the nine. Come on, now. We'll strike Doc. You know he studies medicine and all that sort of thing. Wait till I give the countersign. Doc's most particular."

Stover found himself in a den, a combination of drug-store, taxidermist's shop and general warehouse. All about the room were ranged an extraordinary array of bottles--green bottles that lurked under the bed, red, blue and white bottles that climbed the walls and crowded the mantelpiece, tops of bottles that peered out of half-opened boxes, all ticketed and mustered in regiments. From the ceiling a baby alligator swung on a wire, blinking at them horribly with shining gla.s.s eyes; a stuffed owl sat in one corner; while opposite, a muskrat peered into a crow's nest. The closet and all available floor s.p.a.ce were heaped high with paper boxes and wooden cases, while over all were innumerable catalogues.

"Pretty fine, isn't it?" said the Tennessee Shad.

"It's wonderful," said Stover, not quite at ease.

"It's not bad," said Doc. "I'd like to have a nice, white skeleton over there in that corner; but they're hard to get, nowadays. Now let's get down to business. Sit down."

Stover took the only chair; the Tennessee Shad curled up languidly on the bed, after brushing aside the debris; while Macnooder, perched on a drygoods box, poised a pencil over a pad of paper.

"You want a crockery set, first; a student lamp, and an oil can to keep your oil in."

"Especially the can," said the Tennessee Shad gravely. "Better get a padlock with it, or the whole Green House will be stealing from you."

"I don't know whether I have a can on hand," said Macnooder anxiously.

"But here's a lamp."

He placed a rather battered affair in the middle of the floor, saying:

"It's a little squee-geed, but you don't care about looks. They ask you all kinds of prices for them when they're new; but you can have this for two-twenty-five. There's a bite out of the shade, but you can turn that side to the wall. They're rather hard to get second hand."

"All right," said Stover.

"Better light it up first," said the Tennessee Shad professionally.

"That's business-like," said Macnooder, who lit a match and, after an unsuccessful attempt, said: "There's no oil in it. Still, if Stover wants----"

"Never mind that," said Stover loudly, to show his confidence.

"Now for the toilet set."

"Say, how about the can?"

"Oh, the can. Let me look," said Macnooder, disappearing among the packing boxes in the closet.

"You want that," said the Tennessee Shad confidentially.

"Hope he's got one," said Stover.

Macnooder reappeared with an ordinary kerosene can and a padlock, announcing:

"This is the only one I've got on hand. It's my own."

"Let him have it," said the Tennessee Shad. "No one can get in here; you're always locked and bolted."

Macnooder hesitated.

"How does it work?" said Stover, interested.

"The spigot is plugged up and the top cover is padlocked to the side.

See? Now no one can get it. I don't particularly care about selling it, but if you want it take it at one-twenty-five."