“Ticula!” burst out Ned. “Is that her name, Professor Snodgrass?”
The little man started, and peered through his glasses in the direction of the voice. 20
“Ha! It seems there is some one here who knows me,” he said. “I cannot see him, but I seem to recognize the voice.”
“I should think you would,” chuckled Ned. “We’ve traveled with you often enough, Professor. But this is a new one—a pet snake as long as a lasso.”
“And named Ticula!” added Jerry, with a laugh.
“Oh, that is only a name I made up for her out of her own proper, Latin one,” explained the professor. “Her real name is Python Reticulatus; but I call her Ticula for short. And, unless I am greatly mistaken, it was Jerry Hopkins who spoke to me that time. Am I right?” and he peered about rather uncertainly, for the corner where the three chums were standing was in deep shadow.
“You are right, Professor,” said Jerry. “And we are as much surprised to see you here as to ‘meet up’ with your snake, as the folks in the South say. What brought you here?”
Before Professor Snodgrass could answer—and it has been, perhaps, guessed before this that he was the “spy” referred to—a sudden movement on the part of the snake made it necessary for him to devote some attention to his “pet” as he called her.
Ticula seemed uneasy at being stared at by so many eyes, and she began to writhe and twist as 21 though anxious to escape. There was a sudden scramble on the part of the soldiers and officers in the barrack building, but the three chums, having faith in their old friend, the little scientist, did not retreat.
“There now, Ticula,” murmured Professor Snodgrass, in what he doubtless meant to be soothing terms, “no one shall harm you. You’re excited on account of getting out of your box, I suppose. But I’ll soon have you back there.”