there's a queer make-up!" observed Clark in profound surprise.

"He is certainly eccentric in his appearance," said Ralph. "I wonder
who he can be."

"No, what he can be," corrected Clark, "for he's an odd genius of some
kind, I'll wager."

The object of their interest and curiosity had heard the derisive hail
from across the street. He halted dead short, stared around him like a
person abruptly aroused from a dream, traced the call to its source,
thrust the device with which he had been experimenting into his
pocket, and fixing his eyes on his mockers, started across the street.
The hoodlum crowd nudged one another, blinked, winked, and looked as
if expecting developments of some fun. The object of their derision
looked them over in a calculating fashion.

"Did any one here speak to me?" he asked.

"No, Wheels--it was the birdies calling you!" hooted a jocose voice.

"You sort of suggest something, somehow," drawled the lad in an
abstracted, groping way. "Yes, certainly, let me see. What is it? Ah,
perhaps I've made a memorandum of it."

The lad poked into several vest pockets. Finally he unearthed a card
which seemed to be all written over, and he ran his eye down this. The
crowd chuckled at the profound solemnity of his manner.

"H'm," observed the boy designated as "Wheels." "Let me see. 'Get
shoes mended.' No, that isn't it. I have such a bad memory. 'Order
some insulated wire.' No, that's for an uptown call. 'Buy Drummond on
Superheated Steam.' That's for the bookstore. Ah, here we have it.
'Kick Jim Scroggins.' Who's Jim? Aha! you young villain, I remember
you well enough now," and with an activity which could scarcely be
anticipated from so easy-going an individual, Wheels made a dive for a
big hulking fellow on the edge of the crowd. He chased him a few feet,
and planted a kick that lifted the yelling hoodlum a foot from the
ground. Then, calmly taking out a pencil, he crossed off the
memorandum--"Kick Jim Scroggins"--gave the crowd a warning glance, and
proceeded coolly down the sidewalk, resuming his occupation with the
contrivance he had placed in his pocket.

The gang of loafers had drawn back. A sight of the massive arms and
sledge hammer fists of the young giant they had derided, and his
prompt measures with one of their cronies, dissuaded them from any
warlike move.

"Whoop!" commented Clark in an exultant undertone, and he fairly
leaned against his companion in a paroxysm of uncontrollable