't the time, Professor," said Bart. "Please let me ask if
you had charge of getting up that directory of the county that a city
firm published?"

"Two years ago? yes," nodded the professor assentingly. "It was quite a
pleasant and profitable task. I believe I saw about every resident in
the county in preparing that directory."

"I am going to ask you a foolish question, perhaps, Professor,"
continued Bart, "for an accurate person like you of course took down
only correct names, and not nicknames. Here is the gist of it, then. I
am looking for two men, and I know only that they live outside of
Pleasantville, and call themselves Buck and Hank."

"Well! well! well!" muttered Professor Cunningham in a musing tone.
"Hank, proper name Henry; Buck, proper name Buckingham--hold on, I've
got it! Come in!" insisted the professor animatedly. "Oh, you haven't
time? Buckingham? Sure thing! Wait here, just a minute."

The professor rushed into the house, and in about two minutes came
rushing out again.

He had an open book in his hand, and stumbled over flower beds and walks
recklessly as he consulted it on the run, spilling out some loose papers
it contained, and leaving a white trail behind him.

"You see here the value of keeping notes of everything," he panted, on
reaching Bart--"nothing is lost in this world, however small. Here we
are: 'County at large.' Now then, in my private notes: 'Allessandro'
uncommon name--'look up--probably Greek.' 'Alaric, Altemus, Artemas,
Benno, Borl, Bud--derived from Budlongor, Budmeister--Buck'--I've got
it: 'Buckingham, last name Tolliver, residence: Millville, occupation
none.' Hold on. We've got the clew--now for the town record."

The Professor again flitted away to the house, and darted back again
with a new volume in his hand.

"Here you are!" he cried, selecting a printed page. "'Millville,
population two hundred and sixty, not on railroad. R.S.T. Tappan,
Tevens, Tolliver'--Ah, 'Buckingham Tolliver, Henry Tolliver,' must be
brothers, I fancy. That's all I've got on record. Information any use to
you?"

"Is it?" cried Bart, in profound admiration of the old bookworm's
system. "Professor, you are the wisest man and one of the best men I
ever met!"

CHAPTER XVIII

A DUMB FRIEND

At three o'clock that afternoon Bart Stirling sat down to rest at the
side of a dusty country road, pretty well tired out, and about ready to
return to Pleasantville.

When old Professor Cunni