o I can
grind it out to my grandfather when I get home?"

"Is that the story that starts on a foggy night, at noon?"

"No, this one starts on a dusty day in the middle of the Atlantic."

"Say, if you fellows want me to tell a story, say so!" grumbled
Shadow. "Otherwise I'm going to get down."

"No! no! Tell your best yarn, Shadow."

"All right, then. Once two men went into a shoe store----"

"Wow! That's fifty years old!"

"I heard that when a child, at my grandson's knee."

"Tell us something about smoke, Shadow!"

"And fire. I love to hear about a fire. It's so warm and----"

"Hi! let me get down! Do you want to burn me up?" yelled the
story-teller of the school, suddenly, as, chancing to glance down, he
saw that the barrels were on fire. "Let me down, I say!" And he made a
leap from the barrels into the midst of the crowd.

Shadow landed on the shoulders of Nat Poole, and both went down and
rolled over. In a spirit of play some of the students near by covered
the rolling pair with shavings and straw. Shadow took this in good
part and merely laughed as he arose, but the money-lender's son was
angry.

"Hi, who threw those dirty shavings all over me?" he bawled. "I don't
like it."

"Don't mind a little bath like that, Nat!" called one of the
students.

"But I do mind it. The shavings are full of dirt, and so is the straw.
The dirt is all over me."

"Never mind, you can have a free bath, Nat," said another.

"I'll lend you a cake of soap," added a third.

"I don't want any of your soap!" growled the money-lender's son. "Say,
the whole crowd of you make me sick!" he added, and walked off, in
great disgust.

"Phew! but he's touchy," was the comment of one of the students. "I
guess he thinks he's better than the rest of us."

"Let's give him another dose," came the suggestion, from the rear of
the crowd.

"Shavings?"

"Yes, and straw, too. Put some down his neck!"

"Right you are!"

Fully a dozen students quickly provided themselves with shavings and
straw, both far from clean, and made after Nat, who was walking up the
river-front in the direction of the boathouse.

Before the money-lender's son could do anything to defend himself, he
found himself seized from behind and hurled to the ground.

"Now then, give it to him good!" cried a voice, and in a twinkling a
shower of shavings, straw, and dirt descended upon poor Nat, covering
him from head to foot.

"Hi! let up!" spluttered the victi