“Then the cube of A,” the Shark went on, “will be a rectangular block, ten inches in each direction. On three of its faces we place what I may term flat blocks, each ten inches square and five inches thick—they’re the A squared B fellows. Then come what we’ll describe as the long blocks, five inches two ways and ten inches the other. Finally, there’s the cube of B, a block five inches high, five inches wide, five inches thick. Putting these together, and picturing each clearly in mind——”
Step’s long arm shot out. His hand fell on the Shark’s shoulder.
“You villain! You traitor! Doing stunts like that—in vacation! You ought to be——”
But the Shark didn’t wait to hear the punishment he deserved. He shook off Step’s hand. He glared at the critic.
“Course I’m not fooling with any kindergarten fifteen!” he cried hotly. “Just mentioned that to try to get down to your understanding. But I have been working ninety-seven, and I tell you——”
But what the Shark had to tell was to remain his secret. From without the house came sounds, clearly to be distinguished from the tumult of the gale.
Blows were falling upon the door. The boys sprang to their feet, but before they could respond to the summons the door was thrust back, and into the room reeled a man, covered with snow from head to foot. After him hobbled a second man, like the first plainly in sore straits from his battle with the blizzard, but holding fast to the end of a rope, which was passed about the leader’s body and knotted securely below his shoulder blades.
From the club rose a shout, which mingled wonder and welcome. For the man who held the rope was Lon Gates, and the man he drove before him was Peter Groche.
CHAPTER XXVII
PETER’S GRUDGE
Groche, stumbling forward, pitched in a heap on the floor. Lon, staggering to the wall, clung to it for support.