will not be able to be
present at the Girls' Club song-fight to-night! Did you ever!"

"But it's no laughing matter," said Kate, following the introduction of
her friends to Alex. "He was the feature of our program to-night, and I
simply can't see what we are going to do. Many of the people will be
coming just to hear him."

"Jack, couldn't you help us out?" asked one of the other girls, half
seriously. "You used to pretend you were a phrenologist and all that kind
of thing at school, I remember."

"No thanks, Mary. I've gotten over all that sort of foolishness," Jack
responded, expanding his chest and speaking in a deep voice. "I leave
that for you younger folks."

A small laughing riot followed this pompous declaration, and at its
conclusion Jack carried Alex off to introduce him to his pigeons and
chickens, and other former treasures of the back yard.

Some minutes later Jack was dilating on the rich under-color of his pet
Buff Orpington hen, when Alex, with an apology, abruptly broke in. "Say,
Jack, what kind of a crowd do they have at these Girls' Club affairs?
Very swell?"

"Well, about everyone in the church goes, and quite a few farmers usually
come in from out of town. They are as 'swell' as anything we have here, I
guess. The Sunday-school room is usually well filled. Why?"

"I was just wondering whether we _couldn't_ help the girls out, and have
a little fun out of it into the bargain. Remember the soldiers on the
train? Now, why couldn't we," and therewith Alex briefly sketched his
plan. Jack promptly tossed the hen back into the coop. "Great, Al! We
will! It will be all kinds of a lark. I think there is just the stuff
we'll need up in the garret.

"Come on; we'll break the joyful tidings to the girls."

"I'd rather you played the part, though," said Alex as they returned
toward the veranda. "You of course know everyone."

"That will make no difference according to this plan. If I am in full
view, too, that will add to the mystery, and help keep up the fun. The
folks will be breaking their heads to learn who it is on the platform.
No; it's settled. You are the distinguished professor and
phreno-what-do-you-call-it."

The girls on the veranda were still in dejected debate as the boys
reappeared. "Ladies, we've got this thing fixed for you," announced Jack.
"We have just wirelessed and engaged that world-famous thought-stealer,
bumpologist and general seer, Prof. Mahomet Click, of Constantinople,