ing between
his curiosity and his financial instincts.

"It may be years working out," said Skippy sadly. "Maybe our children
will live to see it; but Snorky, some day, I'm telling you, when the
idea is perfected, the mosquito is going to starve to death!"

Snorky, without waiting to be prompted, hurriedly took an oath to guard
the secret from man woman and child and called down the scourges of
Jehovah on his nearest of kin if he should ever prove false.

"Snorky," said Skippy, folding his arms behind him and spreading his
legs after the manner ascribed to the famous Corsican, "where do
mosquitoes bite you the most?"

"Golly! Where don't they?" said Snorky, who, thus reminded, began to
scratch back of his ears.

"Where do they bite where you can't hear them coming?"

"Legs and ankles," said Snorky instantly.

"Bright boy--you're getting closer."

"Danged if I can see it."

"Protect the ankles and the mosquito starves--am I right?"

"Hurry up," said Snorky, who by this time recognized that the first
reasoning processes were simply eliminatory.

"That was my problem," said Skippy, frowning impressively. "Here is the
answer--this is how it came to me." He went to the bureau and passed his
hand into a sock, two fingers projecting through the devastated regions.
"What do you call this?"

"That--that's my sock."

"You call 'em hole-proof socks," said Skippy, ignoring the aspersion.
"You get it? You don't? Suppose we change it, suppose we use the same
organization but call it--Mosquito-Proof Socks."

"Mosquito-Proof Socks!" said Snorky in a whisper.

Skippy, satisfied at the staggering effect produced, stood with a smile
waiting for the full result.

"But, Skippy, is it--possible?" said Snorky faintly when he had brought
his lower jaw back under control.

"That's not the way to look at it," said Skippy impatiently. "Is the
idea A No. 1, or is it not?"

"The idea? My aunt's cat's pants--the idea!" said Snorky all in a
breath, "Mosquito-Proof Socks! Why, it's--it's--it's--" But here Snorky
stopped, nonplussed, having exhausted his supply of adjectives on the
Foot Regulator.

"It is!" said Skippy firmly.

"But won't they be too heavy?"

"What the deuce--"

"Why, they'd have to be regular bullet-proof, wouldn't they?"

"Say! What do you think I'm talking about--Tin Socks?"

"Why, I thought--"

"Listen! This is the way you get at it," said Skippy, walking up and
down in ponderous concentration but