"Six at a time!" A hurried consultation was now held and the reasoning approved. Macnooder was charged with the responsibility of seeing to the number as well as the temperature and dimensions. Meanwhile Smeed had eaten the pancakes. "Coming again!" "All ready here." "Six pancakes!" "Six," said Hickey; "twenty-one and six is twenty-seven." "That'll beat Guzzler Wilkins." "So it will." "Five more makes thirty-two." "Easy, Hungry, easy." "Hungry's done it; he's done it." "Twenty-seven and the record!" "Hurrah!" At this point Smeed looked about anxiously. "It's pretty dry," he said, speaking for the first time. Instantly there was a panic. Smeed was reaching his limit--a groan went up. "Oh, Hungry." "Only five more." "Give him some water." "Water, you loon; do you want to end him?" "Why?" "Water'll swell up the pancakes, crazy." "No water, no water." Hickey approached his man with anxiety. "What is it, Hungry? Anything wrong?" he said tenderly. "No, only it's a little dry," said Smeed, unmoved. "I'm all right, but I'd like just a drop of syrup now." The syrup was discussed, approved and voted. "You're sure you're all right," said Hickey. "Oh, yes." Conover, in the last ditch, said carefully: "I don't want no fits around here." A cry of protest greeted him. "Well, son, that boy can't stand much more. That's just like the Guzzler. He was taken short and we had to work over him for an hour." "Conover, shut up!" "Conover, you're beaten." "Conover, that's an old game." "Get out." "Shut up." "Fair play." "Fair play! Fair play!" A new interruption came from the kitchen. Macnooder claimed that Mrs. Conover was doubling the size of the cakes. The dish was brought. There was no doubt about it. The cakes were swollen. Pandemonium broke loose. Conover capitulated, the cakes were rejected. "Don't be feazed by that," said Hickey, warningly to Smeed. "I'm not," said Smeed. "All ready," came Macnooder's cry. "Ready here." "Six pancakes!" "Regulation size?" "Regulation." "Six it is," said Hickey, at the slate. "Six and twenty-seven is thirty-three." "Wait a moment," sang out the Butcher. "He has only to eat thirty-two." "That's so--take one off." "Give him five, Hickey--five only." "If Hungry says he can eat six," said Hickey, firmly, glancing at his protégé, "he can. We're out for big things. Can you do it, Hungry?" And Smeed, fired with the heroism of the moment, answered in disdainful simplicity: "Sure!" A cheer that brought two Davis House boys running in greeted the disappearance of the thirty-third. Then everything was forgotten in the amazement of the deed. "Please, I'd like to go on," said Smeed. "Oh, Hungry, can you do it?" "Really?" "You're goin' on?" "Holy cats!" "How'll you take them?" said Hickey, anxiously. "I'll try another six," said Smeed, thoughtfully, "and then we'll see." Conover, vanquished and convinced, no longer sought to intimidate him with horrid suggestions.