“Sorry to disturb you,” said the naturalist. “But it’s in the interest of science, my dear young friend, and science is no respecter of persons.”
“Nor of my nose, either,” observed Bob, rubbing his proboscis with a rueful countenance.
There came a loud pounding at the door.
“Who’s there?” asked Jerry.
“’Tis I, the landlord,” was the answer. “What is it? Have the brigands come? Is the place on fire? Why did the señor yell, as if some one had stuck a knife into him?”
“It was only me,” called Bob. “The professor caught a new kind of fly on my nose.”
“A fly! On your nose! Diablo! Those Americanos! They are crazy!” the innkeeper muttered as he went away.
“Well, we’re up; I suppose we may as well stay up,” said Ned, stretching and yawning. “My, but I did sleep good!”
They all agreed that the night’s sleep had been a restful one. They dressed, had breakfast, and, in spite of the entreaties of the landlord to stay a few days, they were soon on the road in the automobile.
“I’m glad to know we are on the right path,” said the professor, after several miles had been covered. “I only hope that old Mexican was not joking with us.”