In a low room, with the white rafters impending over his head, beside a basement window flanked with geraniums, little Smeed sat down to battle for the honour of the Dickinson and the record of the school. Directly under his eyes, carved on the wooden table, a name challenged him, standing out of the numerous initials--Guzzler Wilkins. "I'll keep count," said Hickey. "Macnooder and Turkey, watch the pancakes." "Regulation size, Conover," cried that cautious Red Dog; "no doubling now. All fair and above-board." "All right, Hickey, all right," said Conover, leering wickedly from the door; "if that little grasshopper can do it, you get the cakes." "Now, Hungry," said Turkey, clapping Smeed on the shoulder. "Here is where you get your chance. Remember, Kid, old sport, it's for the Dickinson." Smeed heard in ecstasy; it was just the way Turkey talked to the eleven on the eve of a match. He nodded his head with a grim little shake and smiled nervously at the thirty-odd Dickinsonians who formed around him a pit of expectant and hungry boyhood from the floor to the ceiling. "All ready!" sang out Turkey, from the doorway. "Six pancakes!" "Six it is," replied Hickey, chalking up a monster 6 on the slate that swung from the rafters. The pancakes placed before the ravenous Smeed vanished like snow-flakes on a July lawn. A cheer went up, mingled with cries of caution. "Not so fast." "Take your time." "Don't let them be too hot." "Not too hot, Hickey!" Macnooder was instructed to watch carefully over the temperature as well as the dimensions. "Ready again," came the cry. "Ready--how many?" "Six more." "Six it is," said Hickey, adding a second figure to the score. "Six and six are twelve." The second batch went the way of the first. "Why, that boy is starving," said Conover, opening his eyes. "Sure he is," said Hickey. "He's eating 'way back in last week--he hasn't had a thing for ten days." "Six more," cried Macnooder. "Six it is," answered Hickey. "Six and twelve is eighteen." "Eat them one at a time, Hungry." "No, let him alone." "He knows best." "Not too fast, Hungry, not too fast." "Eighteen for Hungry, eighteen. Hurrah!" "Thirty-two is a long ways to go," said Conover, gazing apprehensively at the little David who had come so impudently into his domain; "fourteen pancakes is an awful lot." "Shut up, Conover." "No trying to influence him there." "Don't listen to him, Hungry." "He's only trying to get you nervous." "Fourteen more, Hungry--fourteen more." "Ready again," sang out Macnooder. "Ready here." "Three pancakes." "Three it is," responded Hickey. "Eighteen and three is twenty-one." But a storm of protest arose. "Here, that's not fair!" "I say, Hickey, don't let them do that." "I say, Hickey, it's twice as hard that way." "Oh, go on." "Sure it is." "Of course it is." "Don't you know that you can't drink a glass of beer if you take it with a teaspoon?" "That's right, Red Dog's right! Six at a time."