The next afternoon, therefore, without being unduly surprised, he accepted an invitation to accompany Mr. Snorky Green to the home of the Conovers up the road, where the record for pancakes at one continuous sitting stood at forty-nine to the honor (without challengers) of the Hon. Hungry Smeed. Somewhere between the fourteenth and fifteenth pancake, having solicitously offered the maple syrup, Snorky said casually: "That's a jim-dandy idea of yours, old horse, about mosquitoes." "I'm looking at it from all sides." This answer did not satisfy Snorky Green's thirst for information, so he said encouragingly: "It's a great idea. You must." "Heard of Luther Burbank and what he does with plants?" "Sure, that was in last week's lecture. Seedless fruit and all that sort of thing." "Snorky," said Skippy meditatively, "who knows but some day a scientist will cross the mosquito with a butterfly?" "What good'll that do?" "It would take the sting out of the mosquito, wouldn't it?" "Suppose it put it into the butterfly." "If you're going to be facetious--" said Skippy, who, being sufficiently fed, rose with dignity, glad of the opportunity to postpone the discussion to another appetizing sitting. For a week Snorky Green, greatly impressed by the concentrated moodiness of his chum's attitude, artfully fed him with pancakes, eclairs, Turkish paste, and late at night tempted him with deviled chicken and saltines to be washed down with ginger pop and root beer. Skippy, having calculated nicely the possibilities of the exchequer, threw out progressively dark, mysterious hints that fed Snorky's curiosity, without any open gift of his confidence. Even Doc Macnooder, aware by all outward signs that the imagination which had conceived of the Foot Regulator was again fermenting, had laid his arm about his shoulders and led him to the Jigger Shop. But the Skippy Bedelle, who had assumed the trials and tribulations of manhood, had profited by the first disillusionments. The trusting, childlike faith was gone forever and in his new, skeptical attitude towards human nature--Toots Cortrelle excepted--he had determined to part with as few millions as possible. "I say, Skippy, how's it working out?" said Snorky at eleven P.M., producing the crackers and cheese, after having blinded the windows and hung a blanket over the telltale cracks of the door. "Fine!" "Is that all you're going to tell me?" said Snorky with his hand on the cheese. "Not yet, but soon," said Skippy, whose appetite always betrayed his caution. "In that case I serve notice right here I'm through with the financing!" "The financing!" "What else do you call it?" said Snorky indignantly, producing the last two quarters from his pocket, and restoring the cheese to its box. "All that will go down to your credit account," said Skippy in a conciliatory tone. "I'll tell you this much. There's nothing in the butterfly idea--it would take too long."