friendly terms, had an important case to attend to
just then and he asked me if I wouldn't take charge of the stretcher
party. Well, we started down the yard, I leading the way with a lantern,
and we finally reached the little house. We entered and----"

"Some people think they are the only story tellers in the group,"
remarked "Bill" with mild sarcasm at that interesting point. "To tell a
good story with a point to it is an art. Now, as I was saying, this boy
Mike would rather get into mischief than eat a--what's the Irish for
potato?"

"Spud," suggested "Hod."

"Murphy," said "Stump."

"Well, it's immaterial. Anyway the boy was full of mischief. The night
the monk got away he had been sent to bed early because of some trick he
had played. He slept in a little room at the head of the stairs leading
to the second story. His window opened on a lean-to shed, and, as it was
a warm evening, the sash was raised. Shortly after the youngster got to
bed, something slipped over the back fence, and after prowling about the
yard for a moment, climbed upon the shed and through the window into the
room where Mike was just in the act of falling asleep. The thing, which
was about the youngster's size, crept over the floor toward the bed,
and then with a spring, landed squarely upon----"

"Some people use more wind in telling a story than would fill a
maintop-sail," drawled Tom. "There's nothing like getting at your
subject. Now, when we reached the little wooden house we entered, and
after accomplishing our errand, started back to the main building. While
on the way it suddenly occurred to me that I had forgotten to close the
door between the two rooms of which the house was composed. There was an
open window in the front room, and there was no telling what might get
in. I told the fellows to go on and I tasked back to the little house. I
still carried the lantern, but just as I reached the door, it went out.
I tell you, I felt like letting the whole thing go, but I didn't want to
get the nurse into trouble. So I unlocked the front door, opened it,
and, Great Scott! I saw----"

"There's everything in choosing a subject when you want to tell a good
story," calmly interrupted Bill. "This story I am trying to tell has a
laugh in it. You don't have to keep your hair down with both hands and
feel the cold chills playing tag up and down your spinal column, like
you have to do when some people are trying to yarn. Well, when the thing