Zeb Fuller had struck a new idea that day. He had happened along in front of the Widow Wood’s, as Zeb was very apt to happen along, just when Brayton was making his transfer, and he had promptly offered his services.
“Yes, Zeb, thank you,” replied Brayton. “Just carry up those dumb-bells to my room.”
The pointing finger left no doubt as to what was meant, but Zeb incautiously remarked:
“I never saw that kind of a hammer before. What’s it for?”
The explanation that followed, with incidental references to Indian clubs, boxing-gloves, lifting machines and baseball, was a sort of a new revelation to the Ogleport champion, and Brayton had unconsciously completed the conquest he had so well begun at the lecture-room.
“Who ever heard before,” thought Zeb, “of a teacher who knew more than any of the boys?”
It was the first time any such phenomena had been seen in Ogleport.
“Fact,” he said to himself; “I’m beginning to be afraid we ain’t able to teach him anything. Seems so very ready and willing to learn, too. Very different from old Sol.”
He was walking down the street, half an hour later, when he was hailed by Hy Allen.
“Zeb, did y’hear ’bout Puff Evans’s boat?”