McTurkle: The Band - Page 2

us, and informed the world at large that we wanted the band. No one seemed to care. But, of course, every minute the crowd got bigger, just as it always will if you get out and yell something. After a bit we decided to do without the band, and so we formed in fours and marched over to the yard, singing and cheering like mad.

After we'd marched around twice we had depopulated the buildings. Fellows put their heads out of windows, had a look, yelled enthusiastically, turned the gas up high, and tumbled downstairs and into line. By a quarter past nine we had easily two thousand fellows in the procession. And when you get that many together something simply has to happen.

"What we need," said Bud, "is a band."

"But we can't get one," answered Withey.

"Then let's get part of a band."

"Where?"

"McTurkle," answered Bud, with a grin.

"A-a-aye!" we yelled. "McTurkle! We want McTurkle!"

So we left the gang yelling themselves hoarse in front of the university and scooted over to our dormitory. McTurkle was in. He was sitting at his table with a green drop light casting a wan glow over his classic features. The table was piled high with all sorts of books, and you could just hear McTurkle's wheels go round. When we walked in he slipped the glasses from his nose by wriggling his eyebrows and turned around and looked at us blinking.

McTurkle was a funny genius. He was forever grinding. When he wasn't grinding he was causing strange, painful sounds to emanate from his room. For a good while we had puzzled over those sounds. Then, finally, one fateful night, we had descended upon McTurkle in force and learned the truth. McTurkle performed on the French horn. A French horn is an instrument which is wound up in a knot like a morning-glory vine, and the notes have such a hard time getting out that they get all balled up and confused and are never the same afterwards. I'm not musical, and don't pretend to be, but I'll bet a hat that the man who invented the French horn was the same chap who invented French verbs. Well, we made McTurkle take a solemn oath never to practice after seven o'clock, because it was simply impossible to remember anything with those sounds sobbing along the entry. He was frightfully apologetic and promised at once.

When we went in Bud winked at us to leave the negotiations in his hands. We did so, drawing up in a semicircle behind him and looking very grave.

"McTurkle," said Bud, "we have come to you on behalf of the university."

McTurkle blinked harder than ever and looked a bit scared.

"Out there"--Bud waved his hand toward the window--"out there our college--your college--the college we all love awaits you."

McTurkle gasped and tried to find his glasses, which were