“The same,” answered the professor, “though whether he is still engaged in making it rain, or whether he is doctoring horses I know not. He changes his occupation from day to day, and from night to night, like the phases of the moon, but I expect him.”
“Then we’ll come,” decided Cap earnestly. “I should like to see him again. Dear old Duodecimo! He was a queer chap.”
“And he hasn’t changed any,” was the professor’s opinion. “Well, I shall expect you then. Remember, on the other side of town. Now can’t I give you some soap, or pain killer or—or something?”
He seemed so eager about it that they did accept a bottle of the pain killer, which was excellent for sprains. Then they took their leave, promising to come back that night.
“I expect to do a little business early in the evening so if I am clattering when you arrive, just wait in the crowd for me. I still do some singing and banjo playing to draw a throng. I don’t s’pose you boys would like a try at your old job?” and he laughed heartily.
“I’m afraid it would hardly be in keeping with our characters as students at Westfield,” said Pete. “But say, if you’ll stay around here long enough maybe we can get the glee club to do a stunt for you.”
“That would be asking too much,” declared the genial professor, with a wave of his fat hand on which still sparkled the diamond ring. “Well, farewell until the shades of night do fall.”
“The same old professor,” remarked Cap, as he and his brothers strolled toward the school buildings.
“Yes, I’m glad we could help him—they would have put him on the blink for keeps,” said Pete earnestly if a bit slangily.
Bill said nothing, but there were bitter thoughts in his heart as he walked on, and nothing his brothers could say or do served to cheer him.