"Get my friend, Mr. James Casey; very intelligent young man; understands the job thoroughly. You will undoubtedly find him playing duck-on-a-rock in a vacant lot back of Holyoke, or badgering the Dago fruit-man on the corner. If you don't find him, drop a package of cigarettes somewhere, and watch it; you will catch a mucker right away."
"A better way than that," said Jack, "is to chain Blathers to the iron railing of the Pudding, and stand behind the door. In five minutes all the best talent in muckerdom will be there with tin-cans and stones."
Jack had no need, however, to expose his faithful hound. He found a covey of muckers, in the vacant lot before mentioned, and on demanding whether any of them could read, was at once besieged with volunteers to "drive the pony." "Chimmie" Casey was among them, and Jack secured his services. "Chimmie" had been at school to some advantage, for he could read Bohn's translations with great fluency (which is the English of "driving the pony"), and made many a half dollar by his learning.
Jack took him round to De Laye's room, where eight or ten men were already assembled, with books, pipes, and siphons of seltzer, ready for the services. The mucker was put in the middle of the room with the "trot"; the students sat around him and followed the translation in their Greek texts. The following is a short specimen of Prof. Casey's flowing delivery of the Iliad:
"Den puttin' on deir shinin' mail, dey moved apart from de great crowd of admirin' Trojans and well-greased Greeks. Den Jones spake——"
"What!"
"I can't say dese hard names. Mr. Burleigh told me to call 'em all Jones when I got stuck."
"All right, go ahead."
"Jones spake wid words of hate. 'Dog-eyed son of—son of—' Gosh! dat's a hard name to call a feller."
"Let it go at Jones."