“Not a bit. The ground was soft.”
“Your net’s broken,” Ned informed him.
“That’s nothing!” cried Professor Snodgrass eagerly, as he again ran forward. “It’s only the handle, and I can fit a new one on. It is long enough as it is now. Is the Camberwell beauty there yet, Bob?”
“Yes, Professor, but I don’t call it much of a beauty. There it is—on that branch,” and he pointed out some object to the scientist.
The latter made a quick movement with his net, and brought it back to him with a sweeping motion. Then he eagerly peered within the folds of the mesh. A disappointed look came over his face, and he sighed deeply.
“Isn’t that the kind you want?” asked Bob. “It’s yellow.”
“It’s only a yellow leaf,” said the professor, showing it in his hand.
“All that work for nothing!” cried Jerry. “Breaking the professor’s net handle, tripping him up and all, for a yellow leaf. What’s the matter with your eyes, Bob?”
“Why—er—it looked like a butterfly!” insisted the stout lad.
“Never mind,” said the professor soothingly. “You meant all right, and, for the moment, I myself was deceived.”