"Now you're getting it, Scotch!
You've put your foot in it."

"Beg your pardon--beg your pardon," roared the little man. "I did not
mean any offense, Mrs. Cobb, but I assure you there must be a dagger
concealed in that sofa, for some pointed weapon entered my person in a
most painful manner. If you will excuse me, I'll take this chair, for
I really do not dare sit down there again."

The widow gave a sniff.

"Your courage is very limited," she said. "Now, I do love to admire a
man with courage enough to----"

"Ex-cuse me," squealed Jenks, elevating his voice. "The sofa is good
enough for me."

Down he sat upon it, smiling triumphantly.

Frank still had the hatpin--which he had found on the floor beneath the
sofa--ready for use, but he held his hand a bit, knowing he could give
Jenks a greater shock if he should be pricked after, he had sat there a
while in apparent security.

"Oh, you're a daring blade--you are!" sneered Scotch, fiercely, as he
glared at Jenks. "You'd walk right up to the mouth of a cannon--if you
knew it wasn't loaded!"

"Well, I never yet got frightened by a hair-cloth sofa," squeaked Jenks.

The widow smiled seductively on the long and lanky professor.

"You don't find nothing the matter with the sofy, do you, professor?"
she asked.

"Not a thing," piped Jenks. "It is ever the wicked man who feels the
pricks of conscience. Now, my conscience is easy, and so I do not
feel----We-e-e-ow! Murder! I'm stabbed! I'm killed! We-e-ow!"

Professor Jenks shot into the air with such suddenness and vigor that
he thumped his head against the low ceiling, which seemed to fling him
back upon the sofa, and Frank promptly gave him a second dose of hatpin.

"Wo-o-ouch!" squealed the tall professor, bounding up again, and
dancing wildly round the room, with his hands concealed beneath the
tails of his coat. "That sofa is filled with broadswords and bayonets!
It is stuffed with deadly weapons!"

Professor Scotch literally roared with laughter.

"Oh, there's nothing the matter with the sofa!" he laughed. "Just go
right back and sit down there. Ha! ha! ha! It is ever the wicked man
who feels the pricks of conscience. Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!"

"Shut up!" piped Jenks, coming close to Scotch, at whom he shook his
fist threateningly. "Shut up, or I will thump you!"

"Don't you dare do it here. If you do, I'll----"

"What?"

"I'll see you later."

"Landy massy!" spluttered Nancy. "I