puzzled silence.

"Oh, get away with that stuff," Cub protested, but, somehow, a faint
glimmer of satisfaction at the "compliment" shone in his countenance.

"No, I won't, either," Hal insisted. "It's true. This thing is too much
for Bud and me. You've got to settle it for us."

Cub "swelled up" a little with importance at this admission. He was
sitting in a camp chair with his feet resting on the taffrail, it being
a habit of his to rest his feet on something higher than his head, if
possible, whenever seated. Now, however, there seemed to be a demand
for superior head-work, so he lowered his feet, straightened up his
back, and said:

"Well."--speaking slowly--"I don't want to get in bad with my father by
trying to prove I know more than he does, but my argument would be that
all of life is not arithmetic."

"Good!" exclaimed Hal, eager to defend his belief in things mysterious,
and Bud signified his approval in similar manner.

"Yes, that isn't bad at all," admitted Mr. Perry, glad to have stimulated
his son's mind into action. "But if we can't explain this affair with
mathematics, maybe we can explain it by some other element of human
education."

"What, for instance?" asked Cub. "Not by readin', 'ritin', or
'rithmetic."