LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER XIII.

       THE "CENTIPEDE" JOKE.

       Table of Contents

      "Sh!"

      "What's up?"

      "There's a carmine haze on the moon."

      "That's clear as mud! What's the racket?"

      "You room next to Mulloy and Dunnerwust?"

      "Yes."

      "Well, you will hear the racket just about the time taps sound."

      "But I want to know what's up," persisted the second speaker, whose curiosity was aroused. "Has somebody put up a job on those two marks, Mulloy and his Dutch chum?"

      "You've guessed it."

      "Who?"

      "Guess again."

      "Merriwell."

      "Right. Take your place at the head of the class."

      This hasty and guarded conversation was carried on between two plebe cadets who had met in a corridor of the academy "cockloft." The first speaker was a jolly-faced little fellow, whose name was Sammy Smiles, and whose companions had failed to invent a nickname for him that fitted as well as his real name—Smiles.

      The other boy's name was also Samuel, or the first part of his name was Samuel; but the cadets declined to have two Sams among the plebes, and so Samuel Winslow had gradually come to be known as "Poke."

      "What's Merriwell up to now?" asked Poke, a look of delighted suspense on his face. "He's making things rather lively round here lately."

      "You bet!" grinned Sammy Smiles. "There's more fun in him than there is in a barrel of monkeys."

      "But what's he up to now?" reiterated Winslow. "Don't keep a fellow in suspense!"

      "He smuggled in a basket of crawfish."

      "Well?"

      "Well, you don't suppose he got 'em to eat, do you?"

      "'Course not. Is he going to make the Dutchman eat them?"

      "No, but they may take a few bites out of the Dutchman."

      "You don't mean——"

      "He's put the crawfish into Dunnerwust's and Mulloy's beds."

      "Jeewhiz!"

      Poke clapped a hand over his mouth, and looked round hastily. Then he asked:

      "How could he do it? Beds ain't made up till after tattoo, and he wouldn't have time to——"

      "Tattoo sounded fifteen minutes ago. It doesn't take Mulloy more than two minutes to make up his beds. Hans is slower, but I hustled 'em both up to-night. I dodged into their room the instant tattoo sounded, and told 'em Gray wanted 'em both to come to his room, but they mustn't come till after their beds were made, for they might stay till it was too late to make the beds before taps. They both hustled up the beds, and then skipped over to see Gray. Merriwell was watching, and he didn't lose more than an hour getting that basket of crawfish into their room, and stowing the lively little birds in the beds. Oh, my! won't there be a howl when they yank themselves into bed!"

      Sammy Smiles doubled up with suppressed laughter. He was convulsed at the thought of what would happen when the Dutch boy and the Irish lad hastily jumped into their beds.

      "Merriwell takes the cake," Poke declared, with a chuckle. "He's been on a regular frolic for the last week, and he can invent more kinds of fun than any fellow living—besides himself."

      "That's right," agreed Sammy. "Frank is a dandy! Things would be rather dull here this winter if it wasn't for him."

      "Well, he'll never let them get dull, and I believe he is the best fellow that ever lived!"

      "Right again," nodded the other lad, with a moment of seriousness. "Merriwell is the prince of good fellows, and there's not a white man in the academy who wouldn't fight for him. I know some fellows are down on him, but that's pure jealousy. They're sore because he has become so popular. I don't believe he cares much."

      "If he wouldn't stick up for Hodge the way he does——"

      "That shows his loyalty. I can't see what he finds to admire in Hodge, though the fellow can fight and play ball. He and Frank do not seem very well matched for roommates. I don't see how Merriwell can keep from working jokes on Hodge all the time. Jingoes! but wouldn't I laugh if he had put some of those crawfish in Hodge's bed!"

      This fancy convulsed Sammy again, and, just then, Poke hissed:

      "'Sh! Somebody's coming! Skip!"

      Both made haste to get into their rooms, and, as Sammy roomed with Ned Gray, he found Barney Mulloy and Hans Dunnerwust being entertained there. Ned was telling them stories, and pretending to be greatly absorbed in their society. As Sammy slipped in, with the inevitable grin on his face, although he was doing his best to suppress it, Ned looked up and asked:

      "How's the weather outside?"

      "It is settled," replied Sammy, with a meaning wink.

      "Do you think it will be a cold night?"

      "It will be for some folks."

      "When the weather is cold down East, they call it nipping."

      "Well, it will be nipping to-night for some people."

      "In that case, somebody will have to be stirring."

      "That's right."

      "Yaw," said Hans, with a lazy yawn, "I pet me your life some folks peen plame fools enough to peen sdirring to-nighd. Dot makes me dired. Vy in dunder don'd dey gid in dere peds und sday dere, ain'd id?"

      "Oh, some people don't know enough for that," said Ned Gray. "And then there are people who are afraid to go to bed at this season of the year."

      "Vot vos dot? Afrait uf vot?"

      "Centipedes."

      "Vot vos cendibedes?"

      "They are a creature with a poisonous bite, and they are all sizes from the bigness of a pea to one as large as your hand."

      "Oh, phwat are yez givin' av us!" cried Barney Mulloy, derisively. "Is it idiots or fools ye take us fer, Oi dunno?"

      "Oh, I am telling you the sober truth," declared Ned, with the utmost seriousness, while Sammy Smiles got behind the visitors and stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth to keep from shrieking with laughter. "The centipedes of tropical countries are smaller than our regular winter centipedes, which are sometimes as large as a man's hand. Their bite is deadly poison."

      "Dunder und blitzens!" gasped Hans. "I don'd tole you dot!"

      "Get away wid yer blarney!" exclaimed Barney, disbelievingly. "Pwhat do yez take us fer, Oi warnt to know? It's nivver a bit do ye shtuff sich a yarrun down aour throats, me b'y."

      "You are not compelled to believe it."

      "Cintipades in th' winter!" snorted the Irish lad. "Thot bates th' band!"

      "Well, you may think what you like, but you may see some of our winter centipedes some time, and then it is possible you will feel that you owe me an

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