“Vell, dot fellow vas de most redicular boy whatever lived. His shoes vas patent leathers, and his neckties alvays silks, and so loud dey could almost talk. And he vas so clean! Oh, you nefer saw a fellow what washed himself so much and combed his hair so often. Vell, I don’t t’ink he vas so clean now, nor so dudish either, ha-ha!” exploded Uncle Hans. “T’ree years ago Villiam Philander Dubbs’s uncle dies and he leaves all his property to dot young man.”
“That was nice enough,” put in Randy.
“You t’ink so? You know what dat property vas? Dat property vas a brickyard where dey makes t’ousands and t’ousands of bricks.”
“A brickyard!” cried Tom, with a grin. “Really?”
“Dot’s it, Dom. And now Villiam Philander Dubbs he sells bricks, t’ousands and t’ousands of ’em. And not only dat, he goes down py de yard and he sees dat dose bricks are made shust right. Now, can you beat him?” and once again Uncle Hans roared.
“Well, that’s the way it goes,” said Tom, laughing also. “The fellow who would like to become an artist runs a shoe factory, and the fellow who would like to be a carpenter has a music store willed to him.”
Hans Mueller had kept track of quite a few of the former pupils of Putnam Hall, and he told Tom many interesting bits of news. In the course of this talk he mentioned several jokes that had been played and then turned to Andy and Randy.
“You must not t’ink dot your fader was alvays so meek like a donkey,” he said, closing one eye suggestively. “Your fader could play more jokes like a dog could scratch fleas.”
“Now, see here, Hans! You mustn’t give me away like that,” remonstrated Tom. “The boys will get the idea that I was a regular cut-up.”