Biochemistry 9th Edition Campbell Test Bank 1

Chapter 07 - The Behavior of Proteins: Enzymes, Mechanisms, and Control
BIOCHEMISTRY 9TH EDITION

CAMPBELL
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1. Which of the following best describes negative cooperativity?

a. Binding of one substrate molecule prevents the enzyme from working at all.
b. Binding of one substrate molecule inhibits the binding of a second substrate.
c. Binding of one substrate molecule enhances the binding of a second substrate.
d. Binding of one substrate molecule inhibits the binding of other effectors.
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
QUESTION TYPE: Multiple Choice
HAS VARIABLES: False
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: CAFA.BIOC.15.5 - Modified from 5e
TOPICS: Behavior of Allosteric Enzymes
DATE CREATED: 12/23/2013 2:14 PM
DATE MODIFIED: 12/23/2013 2:14 PM
2. The saturation curve for aspartyl transcarbamylase has a similar shape to the curve for:
a. Myoglobin
b. Hemoglobin
c. Chymotrypsin
d. Both hemoglobin and chymotrypsin.
e. All of these.
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
Copyright Cengage Learning. Powered by Cognero. Page 1
3. CTP is a known inhibitor of ATCase, the enzyme that catalyzes the first reaction in the pathway for the synthesis of this
compound. This is an example of
a. irreversible inhibition
b. feedback inhibition
c. zymogenic inhibition
d. negative cooperativity
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: CAFA.BIOC.15.1 - New in 6e
4. Homotrophic effects for allosteric enzymes involve

a. the same molecule binding to different sites in the enzyme.
b. different molecules binding to the same site in an enzyme.
c. different molecules binding to different sites in the same enzyme.
d. All of these are homotrophic effects.
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
5. Enzyme kinetics falls into two general categories, simple saturation and cooperative kinetics.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
Exhibit 7A
M → N → O → P → Q → R
1 2 3 4 5
6. Refer to Exhibit 7A. The final product, R, will most likely inhibit which reaction?
a. 1
b. 2
c. 3
d. 4
e. 5
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
PREFACE NAME: Exhibit 7A
7. Refer to Exhibit 7A. Which two enzymes would be the most likely ones to regulate if this pathway is dedicated to the
formation of only one product?
a. 1 and 2
b. 1 and 3
c. 1 and 5
d. 2 and 4
e. 4 and 5
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
8. Refer to Exhibit 7A. Which two enzymes would be the most likely ones to regulate if this pathway is freely reversible
and can go both ways?
a. 1 and 2
b. 1 and 3
c. 1 and 5
d. 2 and 4
e. 4 and 5
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1

9. Which of the following is a mechanism of regulating enzyme activity?

a. Feedback inhibition by product.
b. Addition or removal of phosphate groups from of the enzyme.
c. Presence of activators.
d. Activation of zymogens.
e. All of these regulate enzyme activity.
ANSWER: e
POINTS: 1
10. Which of the following is true?

a. Allosteric enzymes are rarely important in the regulation of metabolic pathways.
b. Michaelis-Menten kinetics describe the reactions of allosteric enzymes
c. Allosteric enzymes have a hyperbolic plot of reaction rate vs. substrate concentration
d. none of these is true
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: CAFA.BIOC.15.4 - New in 7e
11. Which of the following is NOT required in order for an enzyme to display cooperative kinetics?
a. Multiple subunits.
b. A value for the Michaelis constant, KM.
c. Allosteric sites which affect the binding of substrate to the active site.
d. Ability to display a Vmax.
e. All of these are characteristic of cooperative enzymes.
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1

12. In a comparison of allosteric and non-allosteric enzymes

a. it is always possible to define a KM
b. it is always possible to define a Vmax
c. competitive inhibition is always a possibility
d. much of the terminology is completely unchanged
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
13. Is the Michaelis-Menten equation useful when studying allosteric enzymes?

a. Yes
b. No
c. Only if the enzyme displays positive cooperativity.
d. Only if the enzyme displays negative cooperativity.
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
14. Where do allosteric inhibitors bind on an enzyme?

a. They always bind at a site different from the active site.
b. They always bind at the active site.
c. They can bind at either active site or another site.
d. They always bind directly to the substrate
e. none of these
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: CAFA.BIOC.15.7 - Modified in 8e
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CHAPTER VIII
TRAITOR NAILS
FOR several days Billy was so busy that he had to resist all of Tom
Murphy’s attempts to make him stop to talk.
Then one noon, as he was going through the gate, Tom said:
“Why don’t you bring your dinner out here, William? Then we can
have that talk about iron.”
Much as he wanted to be with Uncle John, Billy really was anxious to
hear what Thomas Murphy had to say about iron. So he answered:
“I think, Mr. Murphy, that that would be a good plan.”
When Billy came back, Thomas Murphy, eager of his opportunity, was
putting the cover on his own pail.
Then, sitting up straight in his chair, and swelling with oratorical
pride, he began:
“William, I told you that iron is a large subject. The more a man thinks
about it, the larger it gets.
“Here,” he said, waving his left hand, “is our mill. What do we make?
We make lathes, corn canners, and—and—all sorts of things. What do
we make them of? Iron.
“What carries them all over the country? Iron engines. What do those
engines run on, William? Iron rails. What carries ’em across the ocean?
Iron ships.
“What makes our flour? Iron grinding machines.
“What heats our houses? Iron stoves. What——”
Pausing a moment for breath, he thrust his thumbs under his
suspenders. Happening to hit the buckles, he began again:
“What holds our clothes together? Iron buckles, iron buttons,” he said
with emphasis.
Pausing again, he looked up.
“What,” he said, pointing dramatically at the telephone wire, “carries
our messages from land to land, from shore to shore? Iron.”
He paused again. Seeing that he had Billy’s attention, Tom looked at
him a moment in silence.
“William,” he said so suddenly that Billy fairly jumped, “those very
shoes that you are a-standin’ in are held together by iron nails!”
Then, leaning forward, with his elbows resting on the arms of his
chair, he concluded:
“William, as far as I can see, if it wasn’t for iron, we should all be just
nothin’, nobody.”
Billy, drawing a long breath, said:
“You’ve certainly done a lot of thinking, Mr. Murphy.”
“I thank you, William,” said Thomas Murphy, “for a-seem’ and a-
sayin’ that I’ve been a-thinkin’.”
Tom had set Billy to thinking, too. By night there were several things
that Billy wanted to know.
It was so hot that Aunt Mary surprised them by setting the table out in
the hall. There wasn’t room for them to sit at the table, so she handed
them the things out on the steps.
“That was a good idea, Mary,” said Uncle John, when they were
through. “I’m glad that you worked that out.”
Billy, looking up into her face, said:
“It was real nice, Aunt Mary.”
Aunt Mary smiled. Billy, watching her, thought that her smile had
moved just a little further out on her face. So he said again:
“It was real nice, Aunt Mary.”
Was he wrong, or did her smile move still a little further out?
“Uncle John,” said Billy, “are ships made of iron?”
“Why, Billy, you’re not going to sail away from us, are you?” said
Uncle John, almost unconsciously putting his hand on Billy’s. “Ships are
made of steel.”
“Mr. Prescott,” said Billy, “explained to me about steel, and about
forges.”
“When this country was first settled,” said Uncle John, “men had little
forges to make iron, just as their wives had spinning wheels to make
wool for clothes.
“When they began to make nails—they couldn’t build houses without
nails—there was a forge in almost every chimney corner. Children, as
well as grown people, used to make nails and tacks in the long winter
evenings. People then took nails to the store to pay for things, as in the
country they now take eggs.
“That old forge iron was never very pure. It did the work that they had
to do, but the world needed better iron, and more of it. It took a good
while to find out a better way. The men that finally succeeded worked
hard and long. You ought to begin to read up about those men.
“Of course it closed out a good many blacksmiths, but it helped the
world along. Guess they found, in the end, that it helped them along,
too.”
Then Billy told Uncle John what Thomas Murphy had said about
being “nothing and nobody.” Aunt Mary came out to know what they
were laughing about, so he told her the story.
“Mind you, Billy,” said Uncle John, “I’m only laughing at the way he
put it. Murphy is right. He seems to be unusually clear on the usefulness
of iron.”
Only a day or two later Billy had occasion to remember what Tom
Murphy had said about the nails in his shoes.
In spite of all his efforts to grow broad, Billy was growing taller and
slimmer every day. His legs were getting so long and his trousers so
short, that Billy was beginning to wish that he could have some new
clothes. But that wasn’t his greatest worry.
There generally is one worry on top. This time it was shoes. They
were growing short, but, worse than that, the sole of the right one was
beginning to look as if it were coming off at the toe.
He and Aunt Mary looked at it every morning, for she hadn’t quite
money enough for a new pair. Uncle John still made Billy put his money
in the bank—“Against a rainy day,” Uncle John said.
Billy had tried, as hard as he could, to favor his right shoe. Of course
he couldn’t walk quite even: it made him hop a little. But he had only
two days more to wait, and he thought that he could manage it.
Probably he would have succeeded, if it hadn’t happened that Mr.
Prescott needed some change. He told Billy to “sprint” to the bank for
three rolls of dimes and two rolls of nickels.
Billy made good time on his way to the bank, handed in his five-dollar
bill, took his five rolls of money, and started back.
He made good time on his way back until he reached the bridge, about
three minutes’ walk from the mill gate. Then he hit a board that had been
put on as a patch, and off came that right sole, so that it went flop—flop
—flop.
He had to hold his feet very high in order to walk at all; but he flopped
along, until he stubbed his left toe and fell down flat.
The fall was so hard that it threw one roll of dimes out of his pocket.
Just as he had stretched out till he almost had the roll, it began to turn
over and over, and went off the edge of the bridge into the river. Billy
saw it go.
Pulling himself up quickly, he put both hands into his pockets to hold
the rest of the money in, and hurried on as fast as he could.
As he flopped through the gate, he half heard Tom Murphy say:
“Those nails kinder went back on you, didn’t they, William?”
When Mr. Prescott took the money, Billy held up his foot so that Mr.
Prescott could see his shoe, then he told him about the money.
Mr. Prescott seemed to take in the situation, and he seemed not to
mind much about the money, for he said:
“We shall have to charge that up to profit and loss.”
Billy found a piece of string to tie his sole on, and, that very night, as
soon as he got home, Aunt Mary gave him a pair of new, rubber-soled
shoes.
That was Thursday. The next Monday—Mr. Prescott paid the men on
Monday—when Mr. Prescott gave Billy his little brown envelope, Billy
said:
“If you please, sir, I shall feel better if you will take out the dollar that
I lost.”
Then something happened. It seems as though Satan must have got
into Mr. Prescott’s mind, and must have had, for a moment, his own
wicked way. That seems to be the only way to explain how a man like
Mr. Prescott could say such a thing as he did to a boy like Billy.
Mr. Prescott thought that Billy said, “I shall feel better” because his
conscience was troubling him. He looked down at Billy’s new shoes.
“New shoes,” he said rather gruffly.
It didn’t sound a bit like Mr. Prescott.
Billy wanted to tell him how long Aunt Mary had been saving up
money to buy those shoes, but he had been practicing so hard on keeping
his lips shut that he didn’t say anything.
“Take your envelope,” said Mr. Prescott.
After Billy had started for the door, Mr. Prescott added:
“I rather think that the firm can stand a pair of shoes.”
Billy’s back was toward him. Perhaps, if he had been looking right at
Billy, he wouldn’t have said it; but say it he did.
Billy didn’t, just then, take it in. He said, “Good-bye, Mr. Prescott,” as
he always did when he went home.
Miss King’s keys kept going—clickety-clickety-click.
There was another side to it. When a good man like Mr. Prescott
grows interested in a boy, and, about the time when he feels pretty sure
that the boy is all right, something happens, especially about money, the
man feels terribly. Then any man is likely to say hard things.
Billy had never even heard about such a thing as “conscience money,”
but Mr. Prescott had had an experience with a man whose conscience
didn’t work at the right time.
Billy felt uncomfortable when he went out the door; but he was fully
half-way home before he realized that Mr. Prescott thought that he had
told a lie about the roll of dimes; thought that he had—— Billy couldn’t
finish that sentence.
He hardly spoke to Uncle John all the way home. Then, though Aunt
Mary had a special treat—the little cakes covered with white frosting, the
kind that Billy liked best—he could hardly eat one.
He felt worse and worse. Of course Uncle John knew that something
was wrong, but he knew that a boy can’t always talk about his
heartaches. Then, if it were business, he didn’t want to tempt him to tell.
So Uncle John didn’t ask any questions.
They sat on the steps a long time—so much longer than usual that
Aunt Mary called:
“William Wallace, it’s time to come in.”
When she said that, Uncle John said he was so thirsty that he should
have to go in to get some water.
Billy heard Uncle John call Aunt Mary into the kitchen to find him a
glass. Then he came out again, and sat down close by Billy.
They sat there till long after the clock struck nine. Then Billy said:
“Uncle John, if anybody thought something b-b—something about
you, and it wasn’t so, what would you do?”
“I would,” answered Uncle John, slowly, “keep right on working, and
leave that to God.”
Then he put his arm around Billy’s shoulders, drew him up close, and
said again, slowly, “I would leave that to God.”
After they had sat a minute longer, they both went into the house.
Billy wished that night, even more than usual, that he and Uncle John
might say their prayers together, the way he and his father used to do.
But he did the best he could alone.
He said his prayers very slowly and very carefully. Then he said them
all over again, and climbed into bed.
After the house was dark, Billy heard Uncle John come to his door.
Billy didn’t speak, but he heard Uncle John say something. Perhaps,
though he said it very softly, Uncle John hoped that he would hear him
when he said softly:
“Eh, Billy, little lad!”
CHAPTER IX
BILLY STANDS BY
WHEN Miss King came into the office the next morning she had a large
bunch of bachelor’s buttons in her hand. They were blue—all shades of
blue—and they looked very pretty against the clear white of her dress.
She had hardly taken off her hat before the telephone rang hard.
Billy heard her say, “Yes, Mr. Prescott.”
“Mr. Prescott says he’s not coming to the office till after lunch,” she
said, turning to Billy. “It’s something about the new part of the mill.
“We got along all right the other day, didn’t we? I was anxious all for
nothing, wasn’t I, William?
“Now, please get me some water for the flowers, and we’ll settle down
to work.”
Billy didn’t feel, that morning, much like talking to anybody, not even
to Miss King, so he didn’t say anything.
When he brought back the tall glass vase, Miss King took three of the
bluest flowers and broke off the stems.
“I should like to put these in your buttonhole, William,” she said.
“They’ll look pretty against your gray coat.
“August is late for bachelor’s buttons; we shall have to make the most
of these. Really,” she went on, as she fastened them with a pin on the
under side of his lapel, “they’re just the color of your eyes.”
Miss King didn’t usually say very much. It was a surprise to Billy to
have her keep on talking.
“How nice the office looks, William! We never had a boy before that
knew how to dust in anything but streaks.”
“My Aunt Mary,” said Billy, speaking at last, “is very particular. She
showed me how to dust.”
Then Miss King sorted the orders, and Billy started out with them.
It was still very hot. The latest thing that Mr. Prescott had done to try
to make the office a little cooler was to move a pile of boxes and to open
an old door at the other end of the corridor opposite the door with the
great key.
That door hadn’t been opened for a long time. Hardly anybody had
realized that there was a door on that side. It opened over the end of an
old canal that had been used in his grandfather’s day. Filling up that “old
ditch,” as Mr. Prescott called it, was one of the things that he was
planning to do.
When he had the door opened, he put up a danger notice, and left in
place, across the door, an old beam that had once been used as a safety
guard.
Billy stood in the corridor a moment, and looked back through the old
door. If it ever rained, that would be a pretty view.
But the old willow beyond the ditch was green on one side, even if it
was dead on the other where its branches stuck out like—like——
Billy, trying to decide what they did look like, began, almost
unconsciously, to walk toward the door.
By the time that he decided that the branches looked like the antlers of
two great deer, standing with their heads close together, Billy reached the
door.
He stood a moment looking down at the old canal. He was surprised to
see how far below the door the canal really lay. The dry spot at the end
had some ugly stones in it, too. Just as well to have a place like that filled
in.
Looking again at the old willow, Billy turned and went slowly back
down the corridor and out the great door.
When Mr. Prescott finally came back, Billy was on his afternoon
rounds.
Things were very quiet, but that was to be expected at that time of the
day.
Were things unusually quiet?
Just then Mr. Prescott heard a faint cry. In an instant he was at the
door.
Somebody was crying, “Fire!”
Who was he? Where was he? Why didn’t he call louder?
He met Billy, who was fairly flying back from the other end of the
yard, with his hands at his throat as if he were trying to make the sound
come out.
“The new part is on fire!” he cried; “the new part of the mill is on
fire!”
Mr. Prescott rushed to the fire alarm.
Billy kept on to the office and burst in, crying, “The new part is on
fire!”
Miss King started for the door. Mr. Prescott had given her orders what
to do if there ever should be a fire.
Billy himself was part way down the corridor when something in his
head began to say faintly:
“Stand—by—your—job—every—minute—that—you—belong—on
—it!”
Though Billy slowed down a little, he did not stop, but kept right on
until he reached the door, and had one foot out.
Then the graphophone in his mind began again, a little louder than
before:
“Stand—by—your—job—every—minute—that—you—belong—on
—it!”
Billy drew his foot back. He felt as though he must do something, so
he shut the great door. He turned and stood against it for a minute. Then
he started slowly down the corridor.
The graphophone had stopped; but Billy’s quick ears heard another
sound. Somebody was trying to open the great door!
Billy remembered the little closet. He could see the office from that.
He hurried on, and had barely slipped into it when the door opened.
In came the man with the fierce black eyes and the coal black hair, and
he was carrying something in both hands.
Billy fairly held his breath. The door was a little too far open, but he
didn’t dare to touch it.
The door was too far open. It was open so far that, hitting it as he
passed, the man gave it an angry kick.
The door went to so hard that Billy heard the click of the spring lock
as it fastened the door, and made him a prisoner in the closet.
Keep still he must till the man was out of the way. That was the only
thing to do. Billy took out his jack-knife. It felt friendly, so he opened it.
Sooner than he expected he heard the man come out, heard him go
heavily down the corridor, and heard him close the great door.
Cracks between the boards let in light enough for Billy to find the
lock. He began to pry away at it with his knife. He thought he had started
it a little, when snap went the blade.
Then he tried the other, working a little more carefully; but, in a
moment, snap went that blade, broken close to the handle.
He tried kicking the boards where he saw the largest cracks, but not a
board could he move.
Then he grew so excited that he hardly knew what he was doing.
What was going on in the office? Was that on fire? He threw himself
against the sides of the closet, one after the other.
He wasn’t sure whether it was his head or the closet that began to
rock. It seemed to be the closet.
Once more he threw himself against the back of the closet. That time
he was sure it was the closet that rocked!
He threw himself three times, four times, five times. Suddenly he
landed on his head in the top of the closet on a heap of clothes. Light was
coming in from somewhere. His head was rocking so that he could
hardly move, but, in a minute, he managed to turn and to crawl out of the
bottom of the closet, where the cleats had given way.
It was easier, just then, for him to crawl than it was to walk. So he
crawled across to the office, reached up, and opened the door.
Surprised he certainly was, for everything seemed to be all right.
Billy, beginning to feel pretty sore in several places, pulled himself up
into Mr. Prescott’s chair.
Then he heard a faint tick, tick, tick.
No, it wasn’t the clock. Billy had kept his ears open too long not to
know that.
Where was it? What was it? It seemed very near!
Billy looked under the desk. Nothing there but the waste basket.
His heart was going thump, thump. But, when a boy is standing by his
job, he doesn’t stop for a thumping heart.
Billy didn’t. He took hold of the basket. It was very heavy. The ticking
was very near.
Then Billy knew!
It was what Uncle John called an “infernal machine,” with clock
works inside!
Billy dug down among the papers till he found the thing. He took it in
both hands and pulled it out—it was a sort of box. He started for the
door. All he could think of was that he must take the infernal thing away
from Mr. Prescott’s desk.
Out he went with it. The old door was still open. Billy, holding the box
in his arms, made a frantic dash for the door.
When he reached it, he leaned against the old beam and, gathering all
his strength, threw the box over into the old dry ditch. He heard the box
fall.
Then, with a creaking sound, the old beam broke from its rusty
fastenings and followed the box.
After that there was another fall, for the boy that had thrown the box
went down with the beam.
But that was a fall that Billy did not hear.
CHAPTER X
WILLIAM WALLACE
THE next thing that Billy knew he was waking up, not wide awake, but a
little at a time.
The room seemed very white, and there was somebody in white
standing by his bed. No, it wasn’t Miss King, for this woman had
something white on her head.
Then he felt somebody holding his hand and saying, “Billy, little
Billy.”
He woke up a little further. He tried to say, “Aunt Mary,” but the
words wouldn’t come.
The woman in white took hold of Aunt Mary, and led her out of the
room.
Then he saw something large in the window. He wasn’t at all sure that
he wasn’t dreaming about mountains. But this mountain had a round top
and, while he watched it, it moved. Billy woke up enough to see that it
was somebody standing in the window.
Billy knew only one person who could fill up a window like that. He
tried his voice again. This time he made it go.
“That you, Mr. Prescott?” he said, his voice going up and up till it
ended in a funny little quaver.
Then the mountain came over to him. It was Mr. Prescott.
Billy, looking up, spoke again, very slowly:
“The dimes did roll into the river, Mr. Prescott.”
“Hang it!” said Mr. Prescott. “Of course they did!”
The nurse nodded. “He’s kept talking about that,” she said. “We
thought perhaps you’d know.”
Mr. Prescott started to go close to the bed.
The nurse put out her hand.
“Hang it!” said Mr. Prescott. “I was a brute. Can you ever forgive me,
Billy?”
“Sure, sir,” answered Billy.
His voice sounded so strong that the nurse told Mr. Prescott that she
was afraid he was exciting the patient.
Billy said, “Please stay.”
Then the nurse told Mr. Prescott that he might stay ten minutes if he
wouldn’t talk to the patient.
Billy tried to smile at Mr. Prescott, but he was so tired that he shut his
eyes instead.
Next time it was Uncle John who was holding his hand, but Uncle
John didn’t smile.
“Uncle John,” said Billy, “what’s the matter with me?”
“Just a few broken bones, Billy, my lad,” answered Uncle John.
“Which ones?” asked Billy.
“Just a left arm and a left leg.”
“That all?” asked Billy.
After that they wouldn’t let him see anybody. There were two nurses
instead of one, and three doctors—“specialists” Billy heard his own
nurse say.
After that there were two doctors every day: a doctor with white hair,
and a doctor with light brown hair, parted in the middle.
The doctor with the white hair seemed to think more about Billy than
he did about his bones, for he talked to Billy while he was feeling
around.
The young doctor seemed to think more about the bones. But Billy
liked him, too, for one day when they were hurting him terribly the
young doctor said:
“You’re a game sort of chap.”
Billy wasn’t quite sure what “game” meant, but he kept right on
gritting his teeth till they were through.
The first day that the young doctor began to come alone, he said:
“Nurse, how are the contusions getting along?”
“They are much lighter in color, doctor, this morning,” answered the
nurse.
“I don’t understand,” said the doctor, standing very straight and
putting his forefinger on his chin, “how a fall of the nature of this one,
practically on the left side, could have produced so many contusions on
the right.”
“What are contusions?” asked Billy.
The doctor began to talk about stasis of the circulation following
superficial injuries.
“Show me one,” said Billy.
When the nurse showed him one on his right arm, just below the
shoulder, Billy said:
“Oh, one of my black and blue spots! That must have been when I was
playing caged lion.”
That time the doctor and the nurse were the ones who didn’t
understand.
Then Billy laughed, a happy boyish laugh. He hadn’t laughed that way
since he and his father used to have frolics together.
The doctor looked at him a minute, then he said:
“Nurse, to-morrow this young chap may have company for half an
hour.”
“I’m glad to hear that, doctor,” said the nurse. “I’ll go right away to
tell Mr. Prescott. He’s fairly worn me out with telephoning to know when
we would let him come.”
At ten o’clock the next morning Mr. Prescott came.
After he had answered Billy’s questions about the fire, and had told
him that the new roof was almost finished, he took a newspaper out of
his pocket.
He folded it across, then down on both sides, and held it up in front of
Billy.
There it was, in big head-lines:
“B B S P M ”
Then Mr. Prescott read him what the paper said. They had even put in
about finding him with the flowers in his buttonhole.
“Those,” interrupted Billy, “were Miss King’s flowers.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Prescott; “she cried, right in the office, when she read
that.”
Then Billy told Mr. Prescott about the closet, and all about the box,
and asked him to pull out the drawer in the little stand by his bed.
There lay his jack-knife. Somebody had shut up all that was left of the
blades, and there was so little left that they couldn’t be opened.
Mr. Prescott put the knife into Billy’s hand.
“That was a good knife,” said Billy, looking at it with affection.
“I think,” said Mr. Prescott, “that you really ought to let me have that
knife.”
Billy hesitated a moment, then he said:
“If you please, Mr. Prescott, I should like to keep that knife. It has
been a good friend to me.”
Mr. Prescott took the little white hand, knife and all, in his own strong,
firm fingers.
“I want it, Billy, because you have been a good friend to me.”
Billy’s face flushed so suddenly red that Mr. Prescott was afraid that
something was going to happen to Billy. He called, “Nurse!”
“I’m all right,” said Billy.
He grew red again as he said:
“Mr. Prescott, I want to tell you something.”
Mr. Prescott said: “Let me fix your pillows first.”
Of course he got them all mixed up, and the nurse had to come. She
looked at her watch, and then at Mr. Prescott, but she didn’t say
anything.
Then Mr. Prescott sat close by the bed with Billy’s hand lying in his,
and Billy told him about William Wallace.
Mr. Prescott looked a little surprised, then he said:
“William Wallace seems to know a good deal, doesn’t he?”
Billy, in honor, had to nod his head, but he grew very sober. Perhaps,
after all, Mr. Prescott would like William Wallace better than he liked
him.
“I don’t really approve,” said Mr. Prescott, “of his calling you a
coward, though that sometimes makes a boy try to be brave.
“One thing is sure, he can’t ever call you that again, can he?”
Billy shook his head.
“Personally,” continued Mr. Prescott, almost as if he were talking
business, “I had rather be saved by you than by William Wallace. Can
you guess why?”
Billy shook his head again, but this time he smiled.
“Because,” said Mr. Prescott, “you did it out of your heart. William
Wallace would have done it out of his head.”
Billy smiled serenely. Everything—broken jack-knife, broken arm,
broken leg—was exactly all right now.
“Really and truly,” Mr. Prescott went on, “there are two of everybody,
only most people don’t seem to know it: one is his heart, and the other is
his head.
“If I were you, I would be on good terms with William Wallace—it
generally takes both to decide. I’d take him as a sort of brother, but I
wouldn’t let him rule.”
“No,” said Billy.
Then Mr. Prescott saw the nurse coming, and he hurried off.
The next time that Uncle John came Billy asked him what had become
of the man—“the poor man,” Billy called him.
“That man,” said Uncle John, his mouth growing rather firm, “was
found out in his sin.
“He undertook a little too much when he set fire to one end of the mill,
and then tried to blow up the main office. That’s too much for one man
to do at one time, especially when he’s a man that leaves things around.”
“Oh!” said Billy.
“Now,” said Uncle John, “he’s where he’s having his actions
regulated.”
“I hope,” said Billy, “that they’ll be good to him.”
“Billy,” said Uncle John, very decidedly, “all that you are called upon
to do about that man is to believe that he couldn’t think straight.
“But the way this world is made makes it necessary, when a man can’t
think straighter than to try to destroy the very mill where he’s working,
for some one else to do a part of his thinking for him.
“That’s what the men that make the laws are trying to do. They are
trying to help men to think straight.”
Billy was listening hard. It was a good while since he had heard one of
Uncle John’s lectures.
“You know, Billy, my lad, that there are a lot of things we have to
leave to God.”
“Yes, Uncle John.”
“There are a lot more that we have to leave to the law.
“The best thing for a boy like you and a man like me to do is to leave
things where they belong.”
“All right, Uncle John, I will,” said Billy, giving a little sigh of relief
as if he were glad to have that off his mind.
The next day when Mr. Prescott came, he told Billy that, the day after
that, he was to be moved to Mr. Prescott’s house on the hill.
Billy looked a little sober. He had been thinking a great deal about
home.
“I’m all alone in that big house,” said Mr. Prescott.
“Then,” said Billy, “I’ll come.”
CHAPTER XI
THE TREASURE ROOM
THEY took Billy to Mr. Prescott’s house in his machine. They had to
take a good many pillows and they planned to take an extra nurse, but
the young doctor said that he was going up that way, and could just as
well help.
Billy and the doctor were getting to be very good friends.
“He’s different,” Billy had confided to Uncle John, “but I like him a
lot.”
“Nice people often are different,” said Uncle John.
Billy was so much better that he had some fun, while they were
putting him into the auto, about his “stiff half,” as he called his left side.
“You just wait till I get that arm and that leg to working,” he said.
“They’ll have to work over time.”
They put him in a large room with broad windows, where he could
look down on the river and across at the mountains. There was a large
brass bed in the room, but Mr. Prescott had had a hospital bed sent up.
“You’d have hard work to find me in that bed,” said Billy to the nurse,
“wouldn’t you?”
It was a beautiful room. One of the maids told Billy that it had been
Mr. Prescott’s mother’s room, and that he had always kept it as she had
left it.
For the first week Billy feasted his eyes on color.
The walls of the room were soft brown; the paint was the color of
cream. There were two sets of curtains: one a soft old blue, and over that
another hanging of all sorts of colors. It took Billy a whole day to pick
out the pattern on those curtains.
There was a mahogany dressing table, and there was a wonderful rug
—soft shades of rose in the middle, and ever so many shades of blue in
the border.
There was a fireplace with a shining brass fender. And there were—
oh, so many things!
Then Billy spent almost another week on the pictures. But when he
wanted to rest his eyes he looked at his old friends, the mountains, lying
far across the river.
Mr. Prescott, too, liked the mountains. He came to sit by him in the
evening, and they had real friendly times together watching the
mountains fade away into the night, and seeing the electric lights flash
out, one after another, all along the river.
Finally the doctors took off the splints. They had a great time doing it,
testing his joints to see whether or not they would work.
Then Billy found that, as the young doctor said, there had been a “tall
lot of worrying done about those bones.”
This time the white-haired doctor paid more attention to his bones
than he did to Billy. He didn’t say anything till he went to put his glasses
back in the case. Then he straightened up, and said:
“I’m happy to tell you, young man, that those joints will work all right
after they get used to working again.”
The next day Billy went down the long flight of stairs, with Mr.
Prescott on one side, and the nurse on the other, to the great library, right
under the room where he had been.
“Feel pretty well, now that you’re down?” asked Mr. Prescott, after the
nurse had gone up-stairs.
“Sure, sir,” answered Billy.
“Then follow me,” said Mr. Prescott, opening a door at the end of the
library.
Billy followed, but he had hardly stepped in before he stepped back.
“Why, Billy,” said Mr. Prescott, coming quickly back to him, “I didn’t
mean to frighten you. We’ll stay in the library.”
Now the doctor had told Mr. Prescott that Billy mustn’t be frightened
by anything if they could help it, for he’d been through about all a boy’s
nerves could stand. So Mr. Prescott drew Billy over to the big sofa, fixed
some pillows around him, and put a foot-rest under his leg.
Then Mr. Prescott settled himself in a great chair as though he had
nothing in the world to do except to talk to Billy.
“That,” said Mr. Prescott, “is my treasure room. When I go in there, I
think of brave men, and of how they helped the world along. What made
you step back?”
“Because,” answered Billy, half ashamed, “I thought I saw a man in
the corner pointing something at me.”
“I ought,” said Mr. Prescott, “to have thought of that before I took you
into the room.
“I’ve been trying, for some time, to make that old suit of armor and
that spear look like a knight standing there, ready for action. I must have,
at last, succeeded, but I’m sorry that it startled you.
“You see I’m naturally interested in weapons of war because they are
all made of steel or iron.”
“Battle-ships, too,” said Billy.
“Yes,” said Mr. Prescott. “But you mustn’t forget the great naval
battles that were won with ships of wood.
“There’s one thing in that room,” Mr. Prescott went on, “that I am sure
you will like to see. It is my great-great-grandfather’s musket.”
“Oh,” said Billy, “I didn’t know that you had a great-great-
grandfather.”
“I did,” said Mr. Prescott, just as quietly as if Billy had been talking
sense. “He was a brave man, too. That is the musket that he had when he
was with General Washington at Valley Forge.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Billy again.
“Know about Valley Forge, do you?”
“A little,” answered Billy, very humbly.
“That’s enough to start on,” said Mr. Prescott.
Billy could almost imagine that Uncle John was talking. Billy spent a
great deal more time every day than anybody realized in thinking about
his Uncle John.
“Perhaps you don’t know, many people don’t,” said Mr. Prescott, “that
the first name of that place was Valley Creek. It was changed to Valley
Forge because a large forge plant was established there. It was one of the
first places in this state where they made iron and steel.
“By the way, George Washington’s father was a maker of pig iron
down in Virginia.”
“Oh!” said Billy. “There seem to be a lot of things to know about
iron.”
“There’s really no end to them,” said Mr. Prescott. “They begin way
back in history. Did you ever read about Goliath the giant?”
“My father used to read those stories to me,” answered Billy, “out of a
great big Bible.”
“Was it like this one?” asked Mr. Prescott, getting up quickly and
bringing him, from the library table, a great Bible, covered with light
brown leather.
“That looks almost like ours,” answered Billy.
“This,” said Mr. Prescott, “is the one my mother used to read to me.
There’s a great deal about iron in it,” he added, as he put it away
carefully.
“To come back to Goliath,” said Mr. Prescott. “His spear had a head of
iron that weighed six hundred shekels.
“Then there was that iron bedstead of Og, king of Bashan. Ever hear
of him?”
“I don’t seem,” answered Billy, “to remember about him.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have remembered,” said Mr. Prescott, “if I hadn’t
been so interested in iron.”
“That,” said Billy, “was probably on account of your grandfather, and
your father,” he added quickly.
“There’s a great deal about iron in the Bible,” said Mr. Prescott. “Only
four or five pages over in Genesis there is a verse about a man named
Tubal-Cain, who was a master-worker in brass and iron.
“Then there are some things in mythology that you ought to know,
now that you’re interested in iron. One of them is that the old Romans,
who imagined all sorts of gods, said that iron was discovered by Vulcan.
They said, too, that he forged the thunderbolts of Jupiter.
“Now, then, Billy, how about my treasure room?”
“Ready, sir,” answered Billy, working himself out from among his
pillows.
“Once,” said Mr. Prescott, walking close by Billy, “I went into a room
something like this, only it had many more things in it. The room was in
Sir Walter Scott’s house. He had one of Napoleon’s pistols from
Waterloo.
“He called his room an armory. I generally call mine my ‘treasure
room.’”
“I think I like armory better,” said Billy.
“Then,” said Mr. Prescott, “will you walk into my armory?”
“First of all,” said Billy, “I want to see that gun—musket.”
“Here it is,” said Mr. Prescott. “There,” he added, pointing to a picture
in an oval brass frame, “is my great-great-grandfather.”
“Oh!” said Billy.
Then Mr. Prescott knew that Billy had never before seen a silhouette.
“That kind of picture,” he said, “does make a man look as black as his
own hat, though it is often a good profile. I used to make them myself.
Some night I’ll make one of you.
“Now that you’ve seen the musket, I think that you had better take a
look at this suit of armor that I have been trying to make stand up here
like a knight.
“This coat of mail is made of links, you see. Sometimes they were
made of scales of iron linked together.
“The work that those old smiths did is really wonderful, especially
when you remember that their only tools were hammer, pincers, chisel,
and tongs. It took both time and patience to weld every one of those links
together.”
“I don’t think I understand what weld means,” said Billy.
“When iron is heated to a white heat,” said Mr. Prescott, “it can be
hammered together into one piece. Most metals have to be soldered, you
know. The blacksmiths generally use a powder that will make the iron
weld more easily, because it makes the iron soften more quickly, but iron
is its own solder.
“You’d better sit down here while I explain a little about this suit of
armor; then you’ll know what you’re reading about when you come to a
knight.
“I suppose that every boy knows what a helmet and a vizor are; they
learn about that from seeing firemen.”
“And policemen,” said Billy.
“Only the helmets of the knights covered their faces and ended in
guards for their necks. I dare say that you don’t know what a gorget is.”
“No,” said Billy, “I don’t.”
“That is the piece of armor that protected the throat. Here is the cuirass
or breast-plate, and the tassets that covered the thighs. They’re hooked to
the cuirass. And here are the greaves for the shins. There are names for
all the arm pieces, too, but we’ll let those go just now.
“This shield, you see, is wood covered with iron, and part of the
handle inside is wood. A man must have weighed a great deal when he
had a full suit of armor on, and he must have been splendid to look at
and rather hard to kill.
“Those old smiths certainly made a fine art of their work in iron. They
got plenty of credit for it, too. In the Anglo-Saxon times they were really
treated as officers of rank.
“When a man was depending on his sword to protect his family, he
naturally respected a man who could make good swords. The smiths sort
of held society together.”
Billy, looking around the room, saw that one side had spears and
shields and helmets hung all over it; and on the wall at the end were
pistols, bows and arrows, and some dreadful knives.
“Did all those,” he asked, pointing at the end of the room, “kill
somebody?”
“Ask it the other way,” said Mr. Prescott; “did they all protect
somebody? Then I can safely say that they did, for any foe would think
twice before he attacked a man in mail. These things were all made
because they were needed.”
“What do you suppose put the armorers out of business?”
“I don’t know,” answered Billy.
“Gunpowder,” said Mr. Prescott. “A man could be blown up, armor
and all.”
“Then they had to make guns,” said Billy.
“And they’ve been at that ever since,” said Mr. Prescott.
“Come over to this cabinet, and I’ll show you my special treasure.
“Shut your eyes, Billy, and think of walls in a desert long enough and
high enough to shut in a whole city.”
Billy shut his eyes. “I see the walls,” he said.
“Now, just inside the wall, think a garden with great beds of roses.”
“Blush roses?” queried Billy.
“Damask,” replied Mr. Prescott; “pink, pretty good size.”
“That’s done!” said Billy.
“Now, in that garden, think an Arab chief, a sheik, mounted on a
beautiful Arabian horse, and—open your eyes!”
“Here is his sword!”
“I saw him clearly!” exclaimed Billy, his eyes flying wide open.
“HERE IS HIS SWORD”
“My!” he said, “but that’s a beauty!”

“It is,” said Mr. Prescott. “Look!”
Then he took the hilt in his right hand and the point in his left, and
began to bend the point toward the hilt.
“Don’t,” cried Billy. “You’ll break it!”
“The tip and the hilt of the best of the old swords were supposed to
come together,” said Mr. Prescott.
“See, this has an inscription in Arabic.”
“I have a genuine Toledo, too, but you’ve been in here long enough.
Let’s go back into the library. You may come in here whenever you like.
Mornings, I think, would be the best time.”
When Billy was comfortably settled among his pillows, with the
Damascus sword on the sofa by him, Mr. Prescott said:
“Men, in the olden time, thought so much of their swords that they
often named them, and had them baptized by the priest. The great
emperor Charlemagne had a sword named ‘Joyeuse.’
“Sometimes, too, the old bards sang about swords and their makers.”
“Tell me,” said Billy, “how they made swords.”
“The people way over in the East understood the process of converting
iron into steel, but in those days they had plenty of gold and very little
steel, so swords were sometimes made of gold with only an edge of steel.
“The steel swords were made by hammering little piles of steel plates
together. They were heated, hammered, and doubled over, end to end,
until the layers of steel in a single sword ran up into the millions.
“Now, we’ll come back to the present time, and I’ll show you
something that I brought home yesterday to put in my treasure room.”
Billy watched eagerly, while Mr. Prescott took a package from the
library table, and opened it.
Then, in delight, he exclaimed:
“The great iron key!”
“The same,” said Mr. Prescott, “and glad enough I am to have it here.
“When I gave Tom the new key, he didn’t look altogether happy. I
think the fellow really has enjoyed having the care of this one.”
“I suppose,” said Billy, “that the new one is so small that he will be
afraid of losing it. They don’t make such large keys nowadays.”
“That statement may be true in general,” said Mr. Prescott, “but the
fact is that the new key is as large as this.”
Then Mr. Prescott stopped talking, but he looked right at Billy.
“You don’t mean,” said Billy, after thinking for a minute as hard as he
could, “that you have had a key made, do you?”

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Chapter 07 - The Behavior of Proteins: Enzymes, Mechanisms, and Control

BIOCHEMISTRY 9TH EDITION

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1. Which of the following best describes negative cooperativity?

DATE MODIFIED: 12/23/2013 2:14 PM

4. Homotrophic effects for allosteric enzymes involve

DATE CREATED: 12/23/2013 2:14 PM

9. Which of the following is a mechanism of regulating enzyme activity?

10. Which of the following is true?

DATE CREATED: 12/23/2013 2:14 PM

12. In a comparison of allosteric and non-allosteric enzymes

13. Is the Michaelis-Menten equation useful when studying allosteric enzymes?

14. Where do allosteric inhibitors bind on an enzyme?

“My!” he said, “but that’s a beauty!”

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