to move. It was rather a gradual tumble.
Having so much fat on all portions of his body Mr. Schimmelpodt
came down with more astonishment than jar.

"Ach! Such a slipperyishness!" he grunted. "Hey, Bresgott---!
look out!"

The door had opened suddenly at this early hour in the morning.
Dick, charged with doing a breakfast errand for his mother at
the last moment, sprang down the steps and started to sprint away.

At the first step on the sidewalk, however, Dick's landing foot
shot out from under him.

He tried to bring the other down in time to save himself. That,
too, slipped. Dick waved his arms, wind-mill fashion in the quick
effort to save himself.

"Bresgott," observed the seated contractor, solemnly, "I bet you
five tollars to den cents dot you-----"

Here Schimmelpodt waited until Dick settled the question of the
center of gravity by sprawling on the sidewalk.

"---Dot you fall," finished the German, gravely. "I---Und I yin!"

"Why, good morning, Mr. Schimmelpodt," Dick responded, as he started
to get up. "What are you doing here."

"Oh, choost vaiting to see bis you do the same thing," grunted
the contractor. "It was great sport---not?"

"Decidedly 'not,'" laughed Dick, stepping gingerly over a sidewalk
that had been spread thinly with some sticky substance. "Can
I help you up, Mr. Schimmelpodt?"

The German, who knew his own weight, glanced at the boy's slight
figure rather doubtfully.

"Bresgott, how many horsepower are you alretty?"

But Dick, standing carefully so that he would not slip again,
displayed more strength than the contractor had expected. In
another moment the German was on his feet, moving cautiously away,
his eyes on the sidewalk. Yet he did not forget to mutter his
thanks to the boy.

As Dick now went on his way again, slipping around the corner
and into a bakeshop, he noticed that his right wrist felt a bit
queer.

"Well, I haven't broken anything," he murmured, feeling of the
wrist with his left hand. "But what on earth happened to the
sidewalk."

As he paused before his door on the way back, he looked carefully
down at the sidewalk. Right before the door several flags in
the walk appeared to be thinly coated with some colorless specimen
of slime.

"It looks as though it might be soft soap," pondered Prescott,
examining the stuff more closely. "It'll be dry in a half an
hour more, but I think I had better fix it."

In the basement was a barrel of sand