“Take all the time you want,” replied Mr. Folsom heartily. He was evidently in a most genial mood this afternoon. While Kid opened the volume carefully so as not to display the story-paper, he looked on benignly and puffed at his pipe. Kid, frowning, turned page after page, in the hope that Mr. Folsom would turn his back long enough for him to pull the paper out. But Mr. Folsom didn’t turn. He just stood there behind Kid and his eyes seemed to be boring into the back of Kid’s head. Kid turned the pages more wildly, seeing nothing.
“Maybe I can help you,” suggested the instructor presently. “What is it you’re looking for, Fairchild?”
“Er—er—” Kid’s mind was a blank. What was he looking for? “Why—er—” Horrors! He had almost blurted “Hairbreadth Harry!”
“Well, well!” Mr. Folsom laughed. “Surely you haven’t forgotten!”
“No, sir; I’m looking for—for ‘tristichous’.”
“For what?”
“Tristichous, sir.” Somewhere, months ago, Kid had come across the word and, as frequently happens, it had stuck in his memory. He hadn’t the slightest idea as to its meaning and Mr. Folsom’s surprise caused him an uneasy fear that perhaps tristichous was something he oughtn’t to know about.
“Tristichous,” mused the instructor. “That’s new to me, Fairchild. Of course we know what a tristich is—”
“Yes, sir,” murmured Kid, who hadn’t the least idea what it was.
“But tristichous—” Mr. Folsom paused and frowned. “Perhaps of the nature of a tristich, but that isn’t entirely satisfactory, is it?”