"Eighteen hundred, I think. Maybe it was eighteen thousand. I don't remember. All I know is there were chickens as far as you could see, and then some." "Never mind the descriptive matter," urged Tom. "What did he say? Had Josh been at him? Did he promise----" "I'm coming to that, dearie. When we found him he was doing something to that car of his in a cute little garage. And, say, it's an eight-cylinder Lothrop, and a regular jim-dandy! Well, he took us into his house first----" Tom groaned in despair. "----And fed us on crackers and cake and ginger ale. Say, he's got a peach of a bungalow there; small but entire; and a cute little Jap who cooks and looks after things for him. Well, then he took us out and showed us around the place. Chickens! Gee, I didn't know there were so many in the world! And we saw the incubators and the--what you call them--brooders, and----" "For the love of mud!" exclaimed Tom. "Can't you get down to dots? _Is it all right or isn't it?_" Tim smiled exasperatingly. "Then he showed us----" Tom arose to his feet and took a step toward him. "It's all right," said Tim hurriedly. "Everything, Thomas! We told him what was up and how we didn't want Josh to find out it was us who attended Mr. Corrigan's fire party and asked him if he would please not remember what we looked like if Josh asked him. And he said----" "He laughed," interrupted Clint, and chuckled himself. "That's right! He laughed a lot. 'You're a little bit late,' he said. 'Mr. Fernald called me up by telephone nearly a week ago, fellows, and wanted to know all about it.' 'You didn't tell him?' I yelped. 'No, I couldn't,' he said. 'You see, you hadn't told me your names, and it was pretty dark that night and somehow or other I just couldn't seem to recall what you looked like! Mr. Fernald sounded considerably disappointed and like he didn't quite believe me, but that can't be helped.' Say, fellows, I wanted to hug him! Or--or buy an egg or something! Honest, I did! He's all right, what?" "He's a corker!" said Tom, sighing with relief. "You don't suppose Corrigan or any of the others there that night would remember us, do you?" "Not likely. Mr. Brady didn't think so, anyway." "Then it's all to the merry!" cried Tom. "Gee, but that's a load off my mind!" "Off your what?" asked Tim curiously. "It's all right if Harry Walton keeps quiet," said Don. "If he gets to talking----" "If he does I'll beat him up," said Tim earnestly. "But he won't. He wouldn't be such a snip, in the first place, and he wouldn't dare to in the second." "N-no, I guess not," agreed Don. But his tone didn't hold much conviction. "Only, if----" "I'll tell you fellows one thing," announced Tom vehemently. "Don't strain yourself," advised Tim. "And that," continued the other, scowling at the interruption, "is that no one gets me into any more scrapes until after the Claflin game!"