d a kid ain't wholesome. An' as fer me, guess I may know a
deal about cookin' a jack-pot, but I'd hate to raise the bet about any
other kind o' pot. Seein' things is that way with us we'll git to work
systematic. Ther' ain't a gamble in life that ain't worked the better
fer a system. So, before we get busy, I'll ast you, Sunny, to grab the
grip under my bunk, an' you'll find in it, som'eres under the card
decks, paper an' ink. You'll jest fix them right, an' take things
down, so we don't make no sort o' mistake."

He waited until Sunny had procured the necessary writing materials and
set them out on the table. Then he went on in his strong, autocratic
fashion.

"Now," he said, fixing his eyes on Toby. "You'se fellers has had time
to make inquiries, an' knowing you fer bright boys I don't guess you
lost any time. The subject is the raisin' of kids. Mebbe Toby, you
bein' the youngest member of this doggone Trust, an' a real smart lad,
mebbe you'll open your face an' give us pointers."

By the time he finished speaking every eye was turned on the
triumphantly grinning Toby.

"I sure will," he said, with a confidence surprising in a man who had
been so bashful in his interview with Birdie. Just for a moment one of
his great hands went up to his cheek, and he gently smoothed it, as
though the recollection of the slap he had received in the process of
gathering information was being used to inspire his memory. "Y'see,"
he began, "I got friends around Suffering Creek what knows all about
kids. So--so I jest asted 'em, Mr. President."

He cleared his throat and stared up at the roof. He was evidently
struggling hard with memory.

Bill lolled over and drew a closely written document from his pocket
and began to peruse it. Sandy tapped the floor impatiently with one
foot. He was annoyed that his evidence was not demanded first. Sunny
sat with pen poised, waiting for the word to write.

Toby's eyes grew troubled.

"What they chiefly need," he murmured, his face becoming more and more
intent, "what they--chiefly--need--is--" He was laboring hard. Then
suddenly his face brightened into a foolish smile. "I got it," he
cried triumphantly, "I got it. What kids need is beef bones an'
soap!"

In the deathly silence that followed his statement Toby looked for
approving glances. But he looked in vain. Sunny had dropped his pen
and made a blot on his paper. Sandy's annoyance had changed into
malicious triumph. But the president