Lee (to Peter). Thanks, old man. (Turns to Ber.) When I was at Yale I was connected with a college magazine and I have several times been told that I had a great future ahead of me as a newspaper man or magazine editor. My friend Pomeroy here had to leave college last year because an invalid uncle who had brought him up was dying. The uncle left Pete all his money and when I got into a mess with dad, Pete suggested that he buy a magazine he had heard about that was on its last legs and see if we could give it a brace. I jumped at the chance. It was what I would most like on earth. Pete bought it and we have started to publish and edit a startling fiction magazine called The Red Cap. For a starter we have announced a serial detective story—“The Mystery of the Seven Pipes.”
Ber. Well, by tunket!
Peter. It’s going to be the greatest thing on record. We write all but the last chapter and offer a prize for the best solution of the mystery. Gee! Folks run after the first issue as if it was soothing syrup and they had a kid with the colic. I had been down on the Cape, so I suggested that we lay the scene down here somewhere.
Lee. And to give local color I suggested that we come down and carry out some of the story ourselves. Last night when we arrived there was a thick fog and it seemed a good chance to make a start. We drew lots and it fell to Pete to steal the pipes.
Peter. We planned on stealing seven but I only got as far as three.
Lee (laughing). For the love of Pete, have you any idea who took the other four?
Ber. Yes, by tunket, I have! This beats the Dutch and no mistake! You go find Obed and Lem and tell them what you have told me. Then you bring them back here and we will clear up the mystery.
Lee (jumping up). Done, by jingo!
Peter. Lead us to it!
[They exeunt.