“Oh, I’m a very steady young man,” protested Billy.
“There—you’re taken!” said Allan.
“What, already! Why, it didn’t hurt a bit. I’d never know anything had happened to me!”
“I’m going to put out a sign,” Allan said; “‘Painless Photography.’”
“Good idea,” Big McConnell said. “‘Pictures Taken Without Pain.’ Everybody would come. There would be a crush. ‘Line forms on this side. Walk up, ladies, and gentlemen, and kids! You’ll never know what hit you.’ There’s millions in it!”
And Big McConnell went away with a parting warning that he wasn’t one of those folks who are willing to wait very long for their proofs. “And if I don’t look handsome,” he said, “I’ll sit again—or stand, until I’m suited.”
“‘Is this pleasant enough?’ asked Billy.”
Allan had planned several schemes for October, but the first thing that happened in October was entirely unexpected. Mr. Merring, one of the men on the Daily Tablet, who knew Dr. Hartel and his family, was writing an article on foot-ball for one of the magazines—he had been a great half-back himself in his day; and he asked Allan if he would run up to New Haven with him on a Saturday to make some shots at the Yale team in practice.
“I suppose I ought to have a camera myself,” said Merring, “but I’ve never had the time, somehow, to get at it. But you and I could work together down there.”