"Then," said Roe, "I know where he is, for sure," and he went to a dingy, wooden building on State street, which had small windows with red curtains. This building was ornamented with a poetical sign, which every boy in town knew by heart, and could sing to the tune of "Oats, peas, beans."
W. WHEELER KEEPS IN HERE,
SELLS GROCERIES, CIDER, ALE, AND BEER;
HIS PRODUCE IS GOOD, HIS WEIGHT IS JUST,
HIS PROFITS SMALL, AND CANNOT TRUST;
AND THOSE WHO BUY SHALL BE WELL USED,
SHALL NOT BE CHEATED, NOR ABUSED.
"Is Professor Adams present?" said Monkey, as he opened the door and peered through a cloud of tobacco smoke.
An individual behind the stove returned a drowsy affirmative.
Roe stepped around to him, and with a great show of secrecy whispered something in his ear.
He sprang from his chair, exclaimed, "Good night, gentlemen! You will wake up to-morrow morning to find me famous," and dashed out at the door.
"What is it?" said one of the loungers, detaining Monkey as he was about to leave.
"A comet," whispered Monkey.
"A comet, gentlemen—a blazing comet!" repeated the man aloud; and the whole company rose and followed the astronomer to his observatory. When they arrived there, they found him sitting with his eye at the instrument, uttering exclamations of thankfulness that he had lived to make this great discovery.