"'Tatars' is Latin fur pertaters, ain't it? I never went ter no college, but l'arnin' comes nat'ral ter me, jist as it acts kinder opposite with you. I remember oncet, when I was young an' unsoapfixycated, a man says ter me——"
"Aw—cut it out," growled the disgusted Sanders. "Why did you throw that thing in the water?"
"So as ter put in me life's hist'ry—writ by special request of the chief quizzer of Quizzerville—that Neil Prescott, at the height of his career, was a-studyin' currents. Who's a-comin' up ter the office?"
Neil winked and chuckled many times on the walk back, and laughed gruffly at parting.
"We've learned an awful lot eh?" ventured Tommy Clifton.
"My eye, but I think Billee the Big hit it about right," said Sanders. "The feller ain't got no sense in him."
"One thing sure," remarked Sam Randall, "Neil had just shoved off that keg."
"Yep."
"And what in the dickens were those potatoes doing there?" put in Tommy.
The boys walked along in silence for a few steps, when Sam turned toward his companions, and said, abruptly, "I give it up. The whole thing is just a bit too deep for me."