You load up a suffering organ with grub that's so rich it affects the imagination; consequently, when the razmataz, in a state of coma, projects itself into the _medulla oblongata_--" Ballard, yelling wildly, made a jump for Clancy.

Merry, however, had already taken hint in hand.
"That sounds too much like Professor Phineas Borredaile," said Frank.
"Call off the dog, Clan;" and he smothered his red-headed chum and pushed him down on the hard boards.
"I'll be good, Chip," murmured Clancy, in a stilted voice.

"Take your hands, off my face and let me breathe." Frank released him with a laugh, and Clancy smoothed himself out.
"I was only expounding," explained the red-headed chap, "and now that the prof isn't around to do it, a substitute has to take hold." "Pink isn't the only one who has taken a foolish powder," said Merry.
"And, talking about Phineas, what do you suppose the old fossil is up to ?" Clancy went on, just a shade of anxiety sifting into his tones.
"It's four days now, since he suddenly made up his mind to go over Gold Hill.

What did he go for?
And why is he staying away?
We haven't heard a word from him since he left." Merriwell looked serious.
"All that has been bothering me, Clan," he acknowledged "Since we found the prof in that deserted, mining camp, and helped him file a location on that mining claim, we're responsible for him, in a way.

He need, looking after, and we have't been on the job at all." "After you disappeared mysteriously the other night," remarked Clancy, "Mr.Bradlaugh had an idea that you had gone over to Gold Hill to see the prof.