his eyes already."

"Better quit for a day or two," said the Tennessee Shad.

"Never!"

Now the advantage of Dink's method of signaling was in its absolute
naturalness. For the growing boy wiggles his ears as a pup tries his
teeth or a young goat hardens his horns. Moreover, as Dink held to his
plan of judicious flunking, The Roman's suspicions were completely
diverted. For three days more the lover of the gerund and the
gerundive sought to localize and detect the sources of information
without avail.

Finally on the sixth day The Roman arrived with a briskness that was
at once noted and analyzed. P. Lentz was called and translated.

"We will now take up our daily recreation," said The Roman, in a
gentle voice. "It has been a matter of pleasure to me--not unmixed
with a little surprise, incredulous surprise--to note the sudden
affection of certain members of this class for those elusive forms of
Latin grammar known as the gerund and the gerundive. I had despaired,
in my unbelief I had despaired, of ever satisfactorily impressing
their subtle distinctions on certain, shall we say athletic,
imaginations. It seems I was wrong. I had not enough faith. I am
sorry. It is evident that these Scylla and Charybdis of prosody have
no longer any terrors for you, Lentz. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir," said P. Lentz hesitatingly.

"So--so--no terrors? And now, Lentz, take up your book, take it up.
Direct your unfailing glance at the first paragraph, page sixty-two.
Is it there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Pick out the first gerund you see."

P. Lentz, beyond the aid of human help, gazed into the jungle and
brought forth a supine.

"Is it possible, Lentz?" said The Roman. "Is it possible? Try once
more, but don't guess. Don't guess, Lentz; don't do it."

P. Lentz closed the book and sat down.

"What! A sudden indisposition? Too bad, Lentz, too bad. Now we'll try
Lazelle. Lazelle won't fail. Lazelle has not failed for a week."

The Gutter Pup rose in a panic, guessed and fell horribly over an
ordinary participle.

"Quite mysterious!" said The Roman, himself once more. "Sudden change
of weather. Mead, lend us the assistance of your splendid faculties.
What? Unable to rise? Too bad. Dear me--dear me--quite the feeling of
home again--quite homelike."

The carnage was terrific, the scythe passed over them with the
old-time sweep, laying them low. Once maliciously, when Fatty Harris
was on his feet, The Roman asked:

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