Tiring of this, they locked arms again and, taking by hazard a side street, continued their quest for adventure.
“Mornings are a dreadful bore,” said McNab, pulling down his hat.
“They certainly are.”
“Who was the old duck we tackled first?”
“Don’t know—familiar whiskers.”
“Seemed to me I’ve seen him somewhere.”
“Say, look at the ki-yi.”
“It’s a Shetland poodle.”
“It’s a pen-wiper.”
Directly in front of them a shaggy French poodle, bearing indeed a certain resemblance to both a Shetland pony and a discarded pen-wiper, was gleefully engaged in the process of shaking to pieces a rubber which it had stolen.
“If it sees itself in a mirror it will die of mortification,” said Buck Waters.
“And yet, Buck, he’s happier than we are,” said McNab, who had been unjustifiably forced to flunk twice in one morning’s recitation.
“I say, Dopey,” said Waters in alarm, “quit that!”
“I will.”
“Look at the fireworks,” said Waters, stopping suddenly at a window, “pinwheels, rockets, Roman candles.”
“What are they doing there this time of the year?” said McNab angrily.
“Election parade, perhaps.”
“That’s an idea to work on, Buck.”
“It certainly is.”
“We must tell Tom Kelly about that.”
“We will.”
“Why, there’s that ridiculous ki-yi again!”
“He seems to like us.”
“I’m not complimented.”
At this moment, with the poodle sporting the rubber about fifteen feet ahead of them, they beheld an Italian barber lolling in the doorway of his shop, as profoundly bored by himself as they affected to be in conjunction.
“Fine dog,” said the barber with a critical glance.
“Sure,” said McNab, halting at once.
The poodle, for whatever reason, likewise halted and looked around.
“Looka better, cutta da hair.”
“You’re right there, Columbus,” assented Buck Waters. “His fur coat looks as though it came from a fire sale.”
“He ought to be trim up nice, good style.”
“Right, very, very right!”
“Give him nice collar, nice tuft on da tail, nice tuft on da feet.”
“Right the second time!”
“I clip him up, eh?” said the barber hopefully.
“Why not?” said McNab, looking into the depth of Buck Waters’s eyes.
“Why not, Beecher?” said Waters, giving him the name of the President of the College Y. M. C. A.
“I think it an excellent suggestion, Jonathan Edwards,” said McNab instantly.
With considerable strategic coaxing, the dog was enticed into the shop, where to their surprise he became immediately docile.
“You see he lika da clip,” said the barber enthusiastically, preparing a table.
“He’s a very intelligent dog,” said McNab.
“You’ve done much of this, Columbus?” said Waters with a businesslike air.
“Sure. Ten, twenta dog a day, down in da city.”
“Edwards, we shall learn something.”
The dog was induced to come on the table, and Waters delegated to hold him in position.
“Something pretty slick now, Christopher,” said McNab, taking the attitude a connoisseur should take. “Explain the fine points to us, as you go along.”
“Sure.”
“I like the way he handles the scissors, Beecher—strong, powerful stroke.”
“He’s got a good batting eye, too, Edwards.”
“My, what a nice clean boulevard!”
“Just see the hair fly.”
“It’ll certainly improve the tail.”
“Clip a little anchor in the middle of the back.”
“Did you see that?”
“I did.”
“He’s a wonder.”
“He is.”
“Columbus, a little more off here—oh, just a trifle!”
“First rate; shave up the nose and part the whiskers!”
“Look at the legs, with the dinky pantalets—aren’t they dreams?”
“I love the tail best.”
“Why, Columbus is an artist. Never saw anyone like him.”
“Would you know the dog?”
“Why, mother wouldn’t know him,” said McNab solemnly.
“All in forty-three minutes, too.”
“It’s beautifully done, beautifully.”
“Exquisite!”
The barber, perspiring with his ambitious efforts, withdrew for a final inspection, clipped a little on the top and to the side, and signified by a nod that art could go no further.
“Pretta fine, eh?”
“Mr. Columbus, permit me,” said Waters, shaking hands.
McNab gravely followed suit. The dog, released, gave a howl and began circling madly about the room.
“Open the door,” shouted McNab. “See how happy he is!”
The three stationed themselves thoughtfully on the doorstep, watching the liberated poodle disappear down the street in frantic spirals, loops and figure-eights.
“He lika da feel,” said the barber, pleased.
“Oh, he’s much improved,” said Waters, edging a little away.
“He fine lookin’ a dog!”
“He’ll certainly surprise the girls and mother,” said McNab, shifting his feet. “Well, Garibaldi, ta-ta!”
“Hold up,” said the barber, “one plunk.”
“One dollar, Raphael?” said Buck Waters in innocent surprise. “What for, oh, what for?”
“One plunk, clippa da dog.”
“Yes, but Garibaldi,” said McNab gently, “that wasn’t our dog.”
“Shall we run for it?” said Waters, as they went hurriedly up the block.
“Wait until Garibaldi gives chase—we must be dignified,” said McNab, with an eye to the rear.
“Dagos have no sense of humor. Here he comes with a razor—scud for it!”
They dashed madly for the corner, doubled a couple of times, joined by the rejuvenated friendly poodle, and suddenly, wheeling around a corner, ran straight into the dean, who as fate would have it, was accompanied by the very dignified citizen who had been the first victim of their old clothes act and upon whom the frantic poodle, with canine expressions of relief and delight, immediately cast himself.
“Buck,” said McNab, half an hour later, as they went limply back, “Napoleon would have whipped the British to an omelet at Waterloo if he’d known about that sunken road.”
“We are but mortals.”
“How the deuce were we to know the pup belonged to Professor Borgle, the eminent rootitologist?”
“Well, we paid the dago, didn’t we?”
“That was outrageous.”
“I say, Dopey, what’ll you do if they fire us?”
“Don’t joke on such subjects.”
“Dopey,” said Waters solemnly, “while the dean has the case under consideration, just to aid his deliberations, I think we had better—well, study a little.”
“I suppose we must flirt with the textbooks,” said McNab, “but let’s do it together, so no one’ll suspect.”
IX
The last week of the football season broke over them before Stover could realize that the final test was almost at hand. The full weight of the responsibility that was on him oppressed him day and night. He forgot what he had been at end; he remembered only his present inadequacy. It had been definitely decided to keep him
