CHAPTER VII

THE IMPRINT IN THE CLAY

“I don’t believe in it, that’s all!” said Lanky Wallace, with a shake of his head.

“Well, now, for my part, I’m not so hard to convince. Just because they look alike at first glance is no reason why it would be so if you put our hands under a magnifier. I kind of side with Frank,” observed Buster Billings.

They were gathered in a group in the gymnasium, and chattering like magpies. A dozen or more boys had dropped in after school Thursday afternoon, as a drizzling rain prevented any outdoor work, and there were many temptations for lovers of athletics in that well equipped gym.

“Do you mean to tell me,” burst out Lanky, with a look of scorn, “that everybody’s two hands differ, and that yours are entirely unlike mine. I just fail to see it, and I’m not the only one, either.”

“That’s so,” remarked Jack Eastwick; “as for me, I side with Lanky. You’ll have to show me, Frank, before I’ll back down.”

Others of the boys began to gather around, attracted by the animated discussion, just as Frank had been hoping they would. He had noted the fact that Lef Seller was in the place, not doing much in the way of exercise, for he had been debarred from competing in the track team or taking part in any athletic rivalry for the balance of the term, and could only look on and make sarcastic remarks.

But, somehow, there seemed to be an attraction to Lef in the person of Frank Allen. Perhaps it may have been on a par with the fatality that draws the silly moth to the flame of the candle. He had tried to wrong the other terribly, and, the plot having failed, he seemed eager to catch anything that was said concerning the matter by Frank or his chums.

So, among the rest, he lounged over to the spot where Frank sat, upon the edge of a little table, idly swinging his leg to and fro. Apparently Frank never paid the slightest attention to the presence of Lef; but, truth to tell, he was keenly alive to the fact.

“What’s all this talk about over here?” demanded Seymour, pushing into the group.

Lanky took it upon himself to explain.

“Why, Frank was springing a joke on the lot of us. He says that our two hands are totally unlike--that if an impression was made of each fellow’s right and left, he’d never dream they belonged to the same body. What do you think of that, Rod. It’s going some, for Frank, eh?”

The captain of the nine looked thoughtful.

“You may smile at it, fellows, but really I’m inclined to side with Frank. I’ve read some strange things along that line lately, and believe there’s considerable truth in it,” he marked, soberly.

At this Lanky laughed jeeringly. He had been taken into the scheme far enough by Frank to know how to play his part. And out of the corner of his eye he saw that Lef Seller had hung to the outskirts of the crowd, listening with some show of interest to what was said. Lef, as a rule, had been frowned upon of late when he came around, and as no one noticed him now, he felt encouraged to remain. No boy likes to feel that he is an outcast among his schoolmates.

“Prove it, Frank!” scoffed Lanky.

“Yes, make your assertion good, old chap!” echoed Buster, encouragingly.

“Well, why not? And here’s a splendid chance to make the test,” declared Frank, jumping down from his seat.

He strove to act as though badgered into the exposition of his belief, when to tell the actual truth, the stage had all been set beforehand for just this opening.

“What’s he going to do, boys?” asked Jack Eastwick.

“Oh, I get on to his curves. See there, on that window seat are a dozen little boxes. You know what they contain, fellows?” cried Lanky.

“The modeling clay Mr. Oswald uses in his geographic lectures!” said Tom Budd, as he placed his hands on the table Frank had just vacated, gave a hitch to his lower extremities, and after a whirl through the air like a cart wheel, once more calmly alighted on his feet.

“That’s just what. I’ve seen him show the topography of a dozen countries with that stuff. It’s a fad of Ossie’s. But what can Frank want with it? Is he going to manufacture some artificial hands to prove his words?” asked Jack, the doubter.

“Now, look here, you fellows who doubt my assertion. I’m going to make good; not only in my own case, but every one of you have got to be convinced by seeing how your own hands differ in a dozen ways. Each fellow take one of these trays, just as I am doing. Are you game to try?” asked Frank.

“I’m ready for the test, and I’m not giving back a word. Convince me, and I’ll own up, but I’ve got to be shown,” declared Lanky.

“Me, too!” echoed Jack, seizing a little box and leveling the clay with a pad used for the purpose, until it was perfectly smooth.

And Lef took the last tray! Frank chuckled when he saw that, for he felt that there was some hope at least that his neat little plan might not fall down in the start through the suspicion of the one at whom it was aimed.

“Bless the little innocent’s heart!” whispered Lanky in Frank’s ear.

“First of all, every fellow write his name on the tablet in front of his tray, so we’ll know which is which,” said Frank, earnestly.

“That’s so,” grinned Buster, “for I declare, if I’d want to stand sponsor for some of the paws other fellows own.”

“The sentiment is kindly returned, Buster. You are welcome to a monopoly of your own kind of paws. Now, what, Frank?” queried Seymour.

“All got your signature down? Well, pad the stuff until it’s just as smooth as the ice was last winter on the Harrapin, up near Rattail Island.”

“Or as smooth as Lanky here when he’s got his Sunday duds on,” suggested Buster, with a chuckle.

“Now be very careful how you press your right hand gently down in the clay on that side of the tray. Lift it out quietly, so as to leave a positive impression. Got that, everybody?” Frank went on, suiting the action to the words himself.

“I’m on, all right!” called out one.

“Me, too, and it’s just a dandy impression I made!” declared Buster, exultantly.

“You always do, especially when you take a header over the handlebars of your wheel. I’ve seen it!” spoke up Lanky, ready to get back at his chum for the various sly digs he had received.

Frank had his eyes about him. He knew that Lef was following up the little experiment just as eagerly as any of the others. It kept him near them, and thus he could hear what they might be talking about. If suggestions were offered concerning the identity of the unknown who had tried to get Frank into trouble, Lef was yearning to know the drift of the sentiment.

“Now, do the same with the left hand,” Frank went on calmly, though his heart was undoubtedly beating faster than its wont; “and be mighty careful not to let it overlap the imprint of the right. How about that, fellows?”

“Mine is a perfect success!” declared Lanky, triumphantly.

“And mine’s a blooming failure. What shall I do about it, Frank?” called out Buster, in disgust.

“Smooth it off and try again, until you’re satisfied you’ve got a perfect impression of each hand,” answered the master of ceremonies.

“What comes next?”

“Lay the trays down here on the table so we can all get around. Wait just a minute, fellows. I’ve sent up to borrow Mr. Oswald’s big magnifier. That is going to prove my assertion so that even the scoffers will have to admit its truth. And here comes Alfred with the glass.”

Frank took one look at the contents of the tray upon which he had written his own name. Then he handed the glass to Buster.

“Examine closely. Note first that there is a considerable difference in width. Then measure the same finger on each hand and you will see they differ in length. Next pay attention to the peculiar markings. No two fingers are alike in that respect, not even your own. Well, is it so, Buster?” asked Frank.

“Wow! I’m a misfit all right! Somebody must have got my other hand in the shuffle. The worst of it is, how am I to tell which one really belongs to the Billings family?” lamented the fat student, sighing in pretended distress.

So the glass went around. Frank stood still while Lanky followed the movement of the magnifier until every one had taken a look, and was ready to admit the truth of what Frank had said.

“No two alike in the whole bunch. I never would have believed it,” admitted Lanky, who had been peering at every impression.

Without appearing to do so, he had managed to crowd several of the boys away from the table, and among them Lef; but having seen the wonders of the magnifying glass proven, like most of their type they had suddenly lost interest in the matter, and were already turning their attention toward the parallel bars, the swinging hoops and the punching bags.

Left alone at the table, Frank made a pretense of arranging the trays just as he had found them, now and then taking a look through the magnifier. He had his eye on Lef and waited until the other was engaged in some stunt at which he excelled.

At first Lef had been debarred even the privileges of the gymnasium on account of his playing a miserable trick upon Frank as the editor of the Columbia monthly paper; but after a bit this order had been rescinded, so that now he was allowed to join his fellows in their muscle-building work.

When Frank presently saw the name of Lef Seller written on the white tab of a moulding tray, and discovered that the imprints of the other’s hands were plainly stamped there before him, he eagerly held his glass over the box. At the same time he drew out the paper that had come to Professor Peake, and compared the delicate tracery of lines on the thumb with that which Lef had left behind him in the moulding clay.

There could be no possible mistake!

The same thumb had made both impressions beyond a possibility of doubt!