“That will make no difference according to this plan. If I am in full view, too, that will add to the mystery, and help keep up the fun. The folks will be breaking their heads to learn who it is on the platform. No; it’s settled. You are the distinguished professor and phreno-what-do-you-call-it.”
The girls on the veranda were still in dejected debate as the boys reappeared. “Ladies, we’ve got this thing fixed for you,” announced Jack. “We have just wirelessed and engaged that world-famous thought-stealer, bumpologist and general seer, Prof. Mahomet Click, of Constantinople, to plug up that hole in your program to-night. He stated that it would give him great pleasure to come to the assistance of such charming young women, et cetera, and that he could be counted upon.”
“You two mean things!” exclaimed Kate. “We saw you with your heads together out there, laughing. This is no joking matter at all.”
“We are serious,” Jack protested. “Positively. You go ahead and announce that owing to an attack of croup, or any other reason, Prof. Robison will not be able to appear, but that Prof. Click has kindly consented to substitute, and we will look after the rest.”
“Do you really mean it?” cried the girls.
“On our word as full-grown gentlemen,” responded Jack. “But we’re not going to explain.
“Come on, Alex, until we have further debate with the distinguished Turk up in the garret. He probably has arrived by this time.”
Whatever doubts Kate had as to the seriousness of the boys’ intentions, they had not only been dissipated by noon, but had given place to lively curiosity and expectation. Alex and Jack had devoted the entire morning to their mysterious preparations; had made numerous trips to the church school-room, to the stores; had borrowed needles, thread, mucilage; had turned the library shelves upside-down in a search for certain books; and once, coming on them unawares, she had surprised them practising strange incantations with their fingers.
It was late in the afternoon that the serious, and what was to prove the most important, feature of the evening’s performance developed. On a return trip to the dry-goods store Jack drew Alex to a halt with an exclamation, and pointed across the street. Burke, the real estate man, was walking slowly along with a shrivelled-up little old gentleman in dilapidated hat, faded garments, and top-boots.
“The victim!” said Jack with deep disgust. “Old Uncle Joe Potter.