“Yes, make your assertion good, old chap!” echoed Buster, encouragingly.
“Well, why not? And here’s a splendid chance to make the test,” declared Frank, jumping down from his seat.
He strove to act as though badgered into the exposition of his belief, when to tell the actual truth, the stage had all been set beforehand for just this opening.
“What’s he going to do, boys?” asked Jack Eastwick.
“Oh, I get on to his curves. See there, on that window seat are a dozen little boxes. You know what they contain, fellows?” cried Lanky.
“The modeling clay Mr. Oswald uses in his geographic lectures!” said Tom Budd, as he placed his hands on the table Frank had just vacated, gave a hitch to his lower extremities, and after a whirl through the air like a cart wheel, once more calmly alighted on his feet.
“That’s just what. I’ve seen him show the topography of a dozen countries with that stuff. It’s a fad of Ossie’s. But what can Frank want with it? Is he going to manufacture some artificial hands to prove his words?” asked Jack, the doubter.
“Now, look here, you fellows who doubt my assertion. I’m going to make good; not only in my own case, but every one of you have got to be convinced by seeing how your own hands differ in a dozen ways. Each fellow take one of these trays, just as I am doing. Are you game to try?” asked Frank.
“I’m ready for the test, and I’m not giving back a word. Convince me, and I’ll own up, but I’ve got to be shown,” declared Lanky.
“Me, too!” echoed Jack, seizing a little box and leveling the clay with a pad used for the purpose, until it was perfectly smooth.