LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER XXII.

       A LIVELY CALL.

       Table of Contents

      "Whoop!" roared the big voice of the little man, and Professor Scotch shot into the air like a jumping-jack out of a box. "Wow!" he howled, clutching convulsively at that part of his person which had felt the hatpin. "What did I sit down on?"

      The widow looked frightened, and Professor Jenks looked astonished.

      "What did I sit down on?" repeated Professor Scotch, his red hair bristling with anger.

      "Why, you sat on the sofa, sir," squeaked Jenks.

      "Then there must be a whole nest of wasps concealed in that sofa!" shouted Scotch. "I was stung, or I was stabbed—I don't know which."

      "Why, I'm sure I cannot imagine what the matter with you can be," fluttered the widow, in distress.

      "Well, I don't know what is the matter with your old sofa."

      He spoke so loudly that she understood him, and she immediately turned up her nose.

      "Old sofa, sir—old sofa! There is nothing the matter with that sofa. Your language is surprisingly offensive, sir."

      "Te-he, he, he!" giggled Jenks. "Now you're getting it, Scotch! You've put your foot in it."

      "Beg your pardon—beg your pardon," roared the little man. "I did not mean any offense, Mrs. Cobb, but I assure you there must be a dagger concealed in that sofa, for some pointed weapon entered my person in a most painful manner. If you will excuse me, I'll take this chair, for I really do not dare sit down there again."

      The widow gave a sniff.

      "Your courage is very limited," she said. "Now, I do love to admire a man with courage enough to——"

      "Ex-cuse me," squealed Jenks, elevating his voice. "The sofa is good enough for me."

      Down he sat upon it, smiling triumphantly.

      Frank still had the hatpin—which he had found on the floor beneath the sofa—ready for use, but he held his hand a bit, knowing he could give Jenks a greater shock if he should be pricked after, he had sat there a while in apparent security.

      "Oh, you're a daring blade—you are!" sneered Scotch, fiercely, as he glared at Jenks. "You'd walk right up to the mouth of a cannon—if you knew it wasn't loaded!"

      "Well, I never yet got frightened by a hair-cloth sofa," squeaked Jenks.

      The widow smiled seductively on the long and lanky professor.

      "You don't find nothing the matter with the sofy, do you, professor?" she asked.

      "Not a thing," piped Jenks. "It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience. Now, my conscience is easy, and so I do not feel——We-e-e-ow! Murder! I'm stabbed! I'm killed! We-e-ow!"

      Professor Jenks shot into the air with such suddenness and vigor that he thumped his head against the low ceiling, which seemed to fling him back upon the sofa, and Frank promptly gave him a second dose of hatpin.

      "Wo-o-ouch!" squealed the tall professor, bounding up again, and dancing wildly round the room, with his hands concealed beneath the tails of his coat. "That sofa is filled with broadswords and bayonets! It is stuffed with deadly weapons!"

      Professor Scotch literally roared with laughter.

      "Oh, there's nothing the matter with the sofa!" he laughed. "Just go right back and sit down there. Ha! ha! ha! It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience. Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!"

      "Shut up!" piped Jenks, coming close to Scotch, at whom he shook his fist threateningly. "Shut up, or I will thump you!"

      "Don't you dare do it here. If you do, I'll——"

      "What?"

      "I'll see you later."

      "Landy massy!" spluttered Nancy. "I do believe you've both been tooken crazy!"

      Behind the organ were two boys who were holding their hands over their mouths to keep from roaring with laughter, while Frank, under the sofa, was finding it no easy task to be silent.

      The widow was frightened, and both of the professors immediately sought to reassure her. They pranced up on either side, and Scotch began:

      "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Cobb; we'll not fight——"

      "You're not tight? Well, you act as if you were, and that's a fact."

      "Oh, go fall on yourself, Scotch!" advised Jenks, dropping into the slang he had overheard some boy use. "This is an unfortunate affair."

      "What's the matter with my hair?" indignantly asked the widow, as she caressed her corkscrew curls. "You are getting very personal, sir."

      "Ho! ho!" laughed Scotch, guardedly. "Now you are getting it, Jenks!"

      "You make me tired!"

      "Go have your voice filed, so you won't be an old woman."

      "Who be you callin' an old woman?" cried Nancy, catching the words with wonderful quickness. "I must say your language is most surprisin' and offensive, sir."

      "Excuse me," roared Scotch. "I was speaking to Mr. Jenks."

      "But he isn't a woman," said Nancy, suspiciously. "I don't know why you should use such language to him."

      "You've put your foot in it now," snickered the little man.

      "And I don't know what he's grinnin' and laughin' about. You both act as if too much studyin' and tooterin' was beginnin' to affect your brains. Now, why, don't you both git married, and give up this awful wearin' life you are leadin'?"

      "That's just what I called to see about," declared Professor Scotch, bracing up. "I called to pro——"

      "Hold on!" squealed Jenks, excitedly. "I was here first, and I will have my first say. Mrs. Cobb, my heart has long yearned for domestic joys and comforts."

      "Oh, I don't keer how much you've earned; it's what you've saved that counts."

      "Oh, if I had that voice, I'd go break it!" sneered Scotch. "Try again, Hyson, and you'll get her so twisted that I'll stand a good show of winning her."

      So Jenks braced up and tried again.

      "I say my heart has yearned——"

      "Sody-water or magneeshy is good for heartburn," smiled the widow.

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