Ralph Henry Barbour

“ What we ought to do, Chub, is to disguise ourselves; every detective uses a disguise.”
“That’s so, but we haven’t got any,” laughed Chub. “Supposing, though, we turn our sweaters inside out?”
During supper Dick was watched every moment. Every time he put his fork to his mouth Chub scowled knowingly; every time he took a drink of milk Roy looked meaningly at Chub; and when Dick called for a second helping of cold meat the two detectives smiled triumphantly. When Dick came out of the dining-hall Roy and Chub were standing near-by, apparently deeply engrossed in conversation. Chub saw him coming. ”

“ They left the barn, closing the door behind them, and walked briskly back to the dormitory.
“The only way to do,” said Chub, “is to watch him and not let him know it. After supper we’ll keep him in sight and when he sneaks off we’ll follow him.”
“That’s it! We’ll be detectives,” agreed Roy with enthusiasm. “I’m Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’m Vidocq.”
“Who’s he?”
“A French detective,” answered Chub. “He had Sherlock Holmes fried to a frizzle. Besides, he was real.”
“I’ll bet you Holmes could have given him ten yards and beaten him,” answered Roy stoutly.
“‘I’m Sherlock Holmes’”
“Get out! ”

“ First Dick Somes comes in and jumps out of the window. Then Roy comes along and I tell him about it and he jumps out. And neither of them closes the window after him, and I’m tired of jumping up, and— Hi! Where are you going? Well, say, shut it after you, will you?” But Chub was outside, up to his knees in a snowbank. Whitcomb sighed, pushed back his chair and slammed down the window for the third time. “Isn’t it great to be crazy?” ”