what surprises may come out of it. Why, somebody that three-quarters of the fellows have never given a thought may bob up as the winner."
"Rats!" Perry said in disgust. "This thing has gone to your head. Your wheels are loose."
"Possibly," Praska said mildly. He was looking toward the school entrance where "Me, too, Johnny" was just coming out. "Possibly," the guard said again, but this time merely because the word lingered on his tongue. He continued to stare absently after Johnny as that boy walked up the street; the germ of a bewildering and startling idea had begun to turn and twist itself slowly through the recess of his mind.
That night, after much thinking, the germ developed into a plan.
Next morning he came to school subtly and mysteriously changed. The habitual air of seriousness that marked him was gone, and in its stead was a gay, bubbling quality that suggested that he was filled with some inward vision of mirth. To one of deep and sharp penetration, it would have been apparent that the rollicking mood was forced—but Perry, who met him outside the high school building, was neither deep nor sharp.
"Believe me," he said with feeling, "I'm glad to see your old sober-sides looking human. I was
