“Augustus was a freckle-faced, spindle-shanked little critter, with spectacles and a soft, polite way of speakin’ that made you want to build a fire under him to see if he could swear like a Christian.  He had a big head with consider’ble hair on the top of it and nothin’ underneath but what he called ‘science’ and ‘sociology.’  His science wa’n’t nothin’ but tommy-rot to Nate, and the ‘sociology’ was some kind of drivel about everybody bein’ equal to everybody else, or better.  ’Seemed to think ’twas wrong to get a good price for a thing when you found a feller soft enough to pay it.  Did you ever hear the beat of that in your life?’ says Nate.

“However, Augustus had soaked so much science and sociology into that weak noddle of his that they kind of made him drunk, as you might say, and the doctor had sent him down to board with the Scudders and sleep it off.  ‘Nervous prostration’ was the way he had his symptoms labeled, and the nerve part was all right, for if a hen flew at him he’d holler and run.  Scart! you never see such a scart cat in your born days.  Scart of a boat, scart of being seasick, scart of a gun, scart of everything!  Most special he was scart of Uncle Nate.  The said uncle kept him that way so’s he wouldn’t dast to kick at the grub him and Huldy Ann give him, I guess.

“‘Augustus Tolliver,’ says old Dixland, noddin’.  ’Yes, that is the name.  Has he had a sound scientific trainin’?’

“‘Scientific trainin’!’ says Nate.  ‘Scientific trainin’?  Why, you bet he’s had it!  That’s the only kind of trainin’ he has had.  He’ll be just the feller for you, Mr. Dixland.’

“So that was settled, all but notifyin’ Augustus.  But Scudder sighted another speculation in the offin’, and hove alongside of it.

“‘Mr. Harmon, when he was here,’ says he, ‘he mentioned you needin’ a nice, dependable man to live on the island and be sort of general roustabout.  My wife bein’ away just now, and all, it struck me that I might as well be that man.  Maybe my terms’ll seem a little high, at fust mention, but—­’

“‘Very good,’ says the professor, ’very good.  I’m sure you’ll be satisfactory.  Now please see to the unloading of that car.  And be careful, very careful.’

“Nate broke the news to Augustus that afternoon.  He had his nose stuck in a book, as usual, and never heard, so Nate yelled at him like a mate on a tramp steamer, just to keep in trainin’.

“‘Who?  Who?  Who?  What?  What?’ squeals Augustus, jumpin’ out of the chair as if there was pins in it.  ’What is it?  Who did it?  Oh, my poor nerves!’

“‘Drat your poor nerves!’ Nate says.  ‘I’ve got a good promisin’ job for you.  Listen to this.’

“Then he told about the professor’s wantin’ Gus to be assistant and help do what the old man called ‘experiments.’

“‘Dixland?’ says Gus, ’Ansel Hobart Dixland, the great scientist!  And I’m to be his assistant?  Assistant to the man who discovered DIXIUM and invented—­’