“Great Scott!” thought Rodney.
CHAPTER IV
PHINEAS KITTSON
Phineas Kittson, or Kitty, as he was called, was sixteen years of age, but looked a year older. He was large—perhaps bulky would be the better word—very broad shouldered, very deep chested. His legs were short and so were his arms, giving him the appearance of being all body. He had a large, round face, somewhat sallow, but not unhealthy, of which the principal features were his eyes and his mouth. The eyes were of the palest green and unusually prominent and caused him to look as though he had just made a most astounding, stupendous discovery and was on the point of breaking into excited announcement of it. He wore a pair of rubber-rimmed spectacles with big round lenses, which magnified his eyes to an uncanny extent. His mouth was wide and very serious, turning down at the corners as though in gentle disapproval of the world. His nose was not remarkable, but appeared to belong on someone else, being small and narrow and seemingly quite lost on such a broad expanse. His hair was dark brown and stood in need of trimming. It also appeared to stand in need of brushing, but later Rodney found that brushing had little effect on Phineas Kittson’s hair. Its constantly touseled appearance was due to the fact that it had never decided in which direction to grow and so was trying them all. There was a tuft over his left eye that grew straight, a tuft over his other eye that grew down, a patch on the top of his head that curled to the right, and a patch over one ear that shot straight out. And there were other patches that were still experimenting.
Phineas wore a suit of some indescribable shade of grayish green which looked as though he had slept in it, and carried in one hand a much worn suitcase and in the other a brown straw helmet with a green-lined brim and a metal peak on top for ventilation. Afterward Rodney made the discovery that his hands were very small, as were his feet, and that of the latter the left one was encased in a dusty black Oxford and the right one in a low-cut Blucher that had at one time been tan.
“How are you,” said Phineas, advancing and shaking hands. “Glad to know you.” He had a deep, pleasant voice and spoke slowly, pronouncing each word very distinctly. When he had shaken hands he looked Rodney over attentively with his startled eyes and asked, “Ever try inhaling?”
“I don’t smoke,” replied Rodney disapprovingly. The green eyes blinked.
“Not smoke, air. Fresh air. Try it. Fine for the lungs. Take long walks and inhale. Expand. Nothing like it, Merriwell.”
“Merrill,” corrected Rodney, amused.