“Yes,” he said, “I am much concerned over two girls—young ladies I suppose would be the more proper designation. I have never seen either of them.”
Jerry breathed more freely, and so did his chums. Clearly if the professor had not seen the two girls he could not be in love with them. And the professor in love was something unthinkable. He never would have remembered, from one day to the next, the name of the favored lady.
“And, boys,” went on Professor Snodgrass, “I think you will agree with me that it is quite a problem 36 to try to find in Europe, at this particular time, two girls I have never seen, that I may deliver to them a small fortune, and claim one myself.”
“Say, this is getting worse and more of it!” cried Ned. “What does it all mean, Professor? Are you in earnest about these girls and the effect of war noises on insects?”
“I am in earnest about both problems—never more so,” was the answer, and it needed but a glance at the face of the scientist to disclose this fact. “But perhaps I had better explain.”
“Perhaps you had,” said Jerry with a smile.
“And never mind about the insects—tell us about the girls,” urged Bob.
“Yes, relieve his mind,” agreed Ned. “He hasn’t heard from his dear Helena in some hours, I guess.”
“Oh, cut it out!” protested the stout lad.
“The two girls to whom I refer,” went on Professor Snodgrass, “are the nieces of my late friend, Professor Emil Petersen.”