A TWO-GIRL PROBLEM
Jerry Hopkins stretched himself lazily and comfortably out on the grass under the shade tree where he and Bob and Ned had taken Professor Snodgrass for a little talk. They were far removed from the center of the camp, so the noise of the men drilling or at their various occupations came but faintly.
“Do you mean that your problem has to be solved on the other side of the water, Professor?” asked Jerry.
“Part of it has. And I am anxious to get across as soon as possible to begin.”
“What?” cried Ned. “You don’t mean to say you, too, are going to France, Professor?”
“I hope to,” was the answer. “I have arranged to go, and I have my passport and some letters of introduction.”
“But what are you going for?” asked Bob. “Don’t you know you will be in the midst of terrible fighting? You can’t solve any problems there. It will be a bedlam of noise.” 30
“And the noise is just what I want,” said Mr. Snodgrass. “That is one of my problems—to find out the effect of noise on the organisms of certain insects and reptiles. Men suffer from shell shock, and why should not insects suffer from the terrific noise of bursting guns? Most insects are noise-producers themselves,” he went on, in something of his class-room manner, which the boys so well remembered at Boxwood Hall. “The grasshopper, the katydid and the cricket, to give them their common names, each have a song of their own. These insects are found in France, as well as here, though in somewhat different form.
“Now I have a theory that a long-continued series of terrific noises may produce structural changes in insects, so as to change the character of their ‘songs’ as I prefer to call their sounds. This can best be studied on the battlefields of France, though I suppose I could get the same effect here, if there was a continuous thunderstorm with vivid lightning.
“But, as that condition is impossible to bring about, I shall best find it in France, and thither I am going, soon I hope. This snake experiment is only a brief one, undertaken at the behest of a friend of mine who is writing a book on the feeding habits of pythons.”
“Is that what brought you back to our camp?” asked Jerry. 31
“Yes. This particular part of the South at this season of the year has the very climate suited to pythons and other large snakes of the tropics.”
“I’m sure it’s hot enough,” murmured Bob, mopping his perspiring face. “I’m glad we got out of drill this afternoon. But go on, Professor. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“Well, there isn’t much to tell about the snake,” said the scientist. “I purchased Ticula, as I call her, some time ago from a museum. She is a fine specimen of the regal python. Originally she came from Borneo, where she was captured when very young. As I stated, she has not yet attained her growth, and I have succeeded in making quite a pet of her.”
“Deliver me from such pets!” murmured Ned.
“Ticula is not a venomous snake,” went on the professor. “None of the constrictor type of serpents is, though their power to crush their prey in their folds is enormous. They depend on that power, while the poisonous snakes kill their prey by the use of their venom. But Ticula and I are quite friendly.
“My friend, who is writing a book on snakes, asked me to find out something of how pythons capture their food, and, knowing there would be plenty of large rats in the vicinity of a camp, on account of the great food supply there, I came here with my pet snake. 32
“I suppose I should have secured permission from some officer to let loose the serpent near one of the buildings, but I forgot all about it, thinking of the problem I have to puzzle over. I also forgot for the time being, that you boys were here at Camp Dixton, or I should certainly have communicated with you and got you to help me.
“But I went at it alone. Pete and I carried the box, with the snake in it, of course, close to one of the buildings. I did not know until later that it was the officers’ mess hall. Then Pete left me alone.”
“How did you manage to get through the sentry lines unchallenged?” asked Jerry.
“I don’t know,” frankly answered the professor. “I suppose it was because no one saw us; or they may have supposed we were bringing some supplies to one of the officers. Then, there was a sham battle going on not far away at the time, and that may have taken the attention of the sentries. Anyhow, I got through the lines, and, opening the box, let Ticula out to roam about and catch a rat if she could.
“I was crawling around after her, watching her as she went under the building when suddenly a soldier pounced on me and yelled that I was a German spy. I was never more surprised in all my life.”
“I should think you might be!” laughed Ned. “Then what happened?”
“Well, they handled me rather roughly, and took me into custody, as I suppose it is called. They seemed to think Ticula’s box was an infernal machine. They were very much excited, and I was trying to explain to them who I was, when Ticula suddenly crawled up through a hole in the floor in the building where I was being questioned.”
“And then there was more excitement, I suppose,” said Jerry.
“There was—considerable,” admitted the professor. “Then you boys came in, and—well, it’s all over now. But I surely feared for a moment they might shoot my snake.”
“Yes, it was rather a close call,” observed Bob. “But did you have a good dinner with the colonel?”
“Listen to him, would you!” protested Ned. “All he can think of is eating!”
“Cut it out!” growled Bob, as Ned poked him in the ribs. “I just wanted to know what sort of feed they give the officers.”
“Oh,” said Jerry significantly. “Merely an academic interest, I suppose.”
“Sure!” assented Bob. “That’s all.”
“Well, the dinner was very good, though I cannot say that I remember what I ate,” confessed 34 the professor. “I was thinking too much of something else.”
“Do you mean you were puzzled as to how to study the effect of the noises of the French battlefields on grasshoppers and crickets?” asked Jerry.
“No,” and the professor shook his head. “This is an altogether different problem. It is, as I might call it, the problem of two girls.”
“Two girls!” cried the three Motor Boys in a chorus. “Two girls?”
They looked at the little professor, whose eyes, mildly blinking behind his strong glasses, regarded the lads curiously.
“Two girls,” repeated the little scientist. “The problem I have to solve concerns two girls.”