surface.

CHAPTER II

BIRTH OF AN IDEA

TEN minutes later he sidled out of the bath and, having balanced Doc
Cubberly's Grand Army hat on the gas jet, and simulated an attack on
Tippy, the black and tan, escaped before the guardian of the bath could
return to the rescue of his pet.

"All the same, you ought to be able to work a bathtub with your foot,"
he said as he went skipping towards the village with heightened
appetite. "Gee, that _would_ be scrumptious!"

Suddenly a queer thought came to him. After all--why not? All you needed
was a foot regulator, to let in the hot and cold water gorgeously, at
your ease and inclination! Foot regulators! Why not? There was something
in that idea surely.

"Gee, what a cinch that _would_ be!"

If man in his age-old struggle with nature could harness the force of
steam to his service and ride the air, why should he not be master of
his daily comforts?

"I don't think a foot regulator would be so ding fired hard to invent,"
he said, meditating.

The idea had begun to work, though as yet the vast scale had not opened
to his tender imagination. Now in youth when an idea begins to grow it
brings sharp animal appetites. To contemplate properly this new
entrancing thought, he repaired to that first station on the hunger
route, which was known as Laloo's Kennels, where fragrant hot dogs sent
their tantalizing invitation from bubbling tins.

"Two ki-yis and easy on the mustard."

Mr. Laloo prospered because Mr. Laloo dealt on a strictly cash basis. He
was languidly tired. One foot rested on a soap box, one arm rested on
the upholstered divan he had exchanged with the late Hickey Hicks for a
hot dog a day in the lean month of December, and his head drooped over
the supporting toothpick. Mr. Laloo never made an unnecessary motion or
uttered a superfluous word. So he continued without apparent notice to
conserve the feeble energy which ran low in his burnt-out eyes.

Skippy looked at Laloo and understood. Freshmen might argue but even the
Tennessee Shad wasted no time in producing the coin. There was exactly
ten cents in Skippy's pocket after the most painstaking search revealed
this last ray of hope in the lining of the threadbare pocket. Only ten
cents to stop the deficit in his stomach! The choice was difficult.
There was ginger-pop at Bill Appleby's, and jiggers at Al's, pancakes at
Conover's, and the aching void within him knew no prejudice or
limitations to its ho