He took a slant in the direction of the thermometer, gave it a casual glance, then jumped and brought his eyes closer to the top of the column of mercury.
“Gee Klismus!” he gasped, and the sweat began to start out on his parchmentlike face. “Him plenty hot—hot as blazes. My gettee fan befo’ my gettee sunstluck!”
With that he slumped weakly back into the hotel, peeling off his kimono as he went.
“That proves,” said Merry, joining in with the laughter of his chums, “that this climate business is about two-thirds imagination.”
“Sh-h!” whispered Clancy, “here comes the prof. He looks about as warm as a hundred and fifty pounds of ice. Let’s see what effect the thermometer has on him.”
Merry pulled his shirt open at the throat, fell back in his chair, and began mopping his face. Ballard leaned over the veranda rail and gasped like a spent fish. Clancy was also panting, seemingly in the last stages of exhaustion.
Professor Phineas Borrodaile had a book in his hand, one finger between the leaves to mark his place. He was bareheaded, and was evidently coming out to sit in the shade and read comfortably.
“Well, well, young gentlemen,” he murmured, coming to a startled halt as his eyes rested on the boys, “you act as though you were overcome with the heat. Why, I had not noticed that the weather was at all uncomfortable. It seems to me very pleasant, ve-ry pleasant.”
“Look—at the thermometer!” gasped Merry huskily, smothering his face in his handkerchief.
The professor walked over to the instrument and studied it. Another moment and he was tremendously excited.