The Varmint Part 13

"Haven't you, Sport?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "CRACKY, WHAT A PRIZE! SAY, I'D LIKE TO MAKE A BID MYSELF."]

Stover confessed that he had.

"Come on; make him a better price, Doc.".

"I'd have to consult my client."

"Well, consult your old client."

Macnooder disappeared.

"Stand firm now," said the Tennessee Shad, "you can beat him down. Doc wants to make his commish. I tell you what I'd do if I were you."

"What?"

"If I were looking for a real trophy I'd make him a bid on this. This is the best thing in the whole caboodle. Come over here. Say, just cast your eyes on this!"

Stover gazed in awe. On the wall, suspended on the red and black flag of the school, were a pair of battered and torn football shoes, while underneath was a photograph of Flash Condit and the score--Princeton 'Varsity, 8; Lawrenceville, 4.

"Gee!" said Stover. "He wouldn't sell those!"

"He might," said the Tennessee Shad. "Between you and me and the lamppost, Doc is devilishly hard up. Offer him a couple of dollars and see."

"The shoes that made the touchdown," said d.i.n.k reverentially. The Tennessee Shad did not contradict him.

Half an hour later d.i.n.k Stover sallied forth with the ecstasy of a collector who has just discovered an old master. Klondike Jackson, who shook up the beds at the d.i.c.kinson, preceded him, drawing in an express wagon the lamp, the padlocked kerosene can and the souvenir set, slightly reduced. Wrapped in tissue paper, tucked under Stover's arm, were the precious shoes, which he had purchased on the distinct understanding that Macnooder should have the right to redeem them at any time before the end of the term, on the payment of costs and fifty-per-cent interest. In Stover's pocket was a new fountain pen, a box of elastics, a pair of Boston garters and a patent nail clipper.

Only the limits of his exchequer had prohibited his availing himself of the opportunity to purchase, at a tremendous bargain, a pair of snow-shoes, a tobogganing cap and a pair of corduroy trousers, slightly spotted.

Luckily for d.i.n.k, marching warily behind the vanguard, the three o'clock recitation had begun, and but a scattering of his schoolmates were abroad to witness his progress.

He arrived thus, virtually unnoticed, at the Green and, with the help of Klondike, arranged his possessions so as to make the greatest display.

He was standing in the middle of the floor, clutching the historic shoes and searching the walls for the proper place of honor, when Butsey White blew in.

"Where in thunder have you been?" he exclaimed, and then stopped at the sight of the twisted lamp. He looked at d.i.n.k, gave a grunt and examined the new purchase.

"Broken-winded, spavined, has the rickets--bet it leaks and won't burn. Where in----"

All at once he perceived the kerosene can, with its attached padlock.

"What's this thing?" he said, in genuine surprise, picking it up with two fingers and regarding it with a look of blank incomprehension.

"That's the safety can," said Stover, yielding to a vague feeling of uneasiness.

"What's this?"

"That's a padlock."

"What for?"

"Why, for the kerosene."

"What kerosene?"

"The kerosene for the lamp."

"Why, you nincomp.o.o.p, we don't furnish the kerosene."

"We don't?" said Stover faintly, with a horrible sinking feeling.

"Don't furnish the kerosene?"

"Who got hold of you?" said Butsey, too astounded to laugh.

"I met Macnooder----"

"And the Tennessee Shad, I'll bet my pants on it," said Butsey.

"Yes, sir."

"What else did they unload on you?"

"Why--why, I bought a souvenir set."

"A what?"

"A souvenir toilet set."

Butsey wheeled to the washstand, uttered a shriek and fell in convulsions on the bed.

Stover stood stockstill, gazing in horror from the variegated crockery to Butsey, who was thrashing to and fro in hysterical flops, holding both the pillows where they would most ease the agony. Then, with a sudden deft movement, d.i.n.k dropped the historic shoes, sent them under the bed with a savage kick and, rushing to the window, threw the safety can into the tall gra.s.s of the fields beyond. Then he returned solemnly, sat down on the edge of the bed, took his head in his hands and began to do some rapid thinking. Butsey White, p.r.o.ne on the bed, burying his head in the covers, by painful degrees returned, gasping, to self-control.

"Mr. White," said d.i.n.k solemnly.

There was a slight commotion opposite and a hand fluttered beseechingly, while Butsey's weak voice managed to say:

"Take it away--take it away."

d.i.n.k rose and cast a towel over the set of seven colors, and then resumed his seat.

"It's all right; I've hidden it," he said.

Butsey rolled from the bed, tottered over to his own washstand and drank deeply from the water pitcher. Then he turned on the melancholy Stover.

"Say!"

"Go ahead! Soak it to me!"