For two solid weeks Stover, brooding desperately, sought to avert his glance from the profane spectacle before chance came to his rescue. One Saturday night, after a strenuous game with the Princeton Freshmen, Dink, afraid of going stale, decided to quicken his jaded appetite by an application of sardines, deviled ham and rootbeer.
The feasting-table happened to be directly beneath the abhorrent poster, so that Stover, as he lifted the bottle to open it, beheld with fury the offending tights. He gave the bottle instinctively a shake and with that disturbing motion suddenly came his plan.
"This rootbeer has been flat as the deuce lately," he said.
"They're selling us poor stuff," said the Tennessee Shad, with the tail of a sardine disappearing within.
"I wonder if I could put life in the blame thing if I shook it up a bit," said Stover, suiting the action to the word.
Now, the Tennessee Shad knew from experience what that result would be, but as Stover was holding the bottle he dissembled his knowledge.
"Give it a shake," he said.
Stover complied.
"Shake her again."
"How's that?"