“There he is!” cried someone.
“Who, my specimen?” asked Mr. Snodgrass, eagerly.
“No, Andy Rush!” was the answer, and indeed it was the small chap who had bobbed into view.
“Here you go, Andy!” cried Jerry, extending the net handle. “Grab hold of this my boy!”
Andy, with a shake of his head, cleared his eyes of water, and reached out one hand for the pole.
“Use your other paw!” cried Jerry. “I’ll haul you out then.”
“Can’t—can’t use my—my other—hand!” panted Andy.
“What’s the matter—is it hurt?” Jerry wanted to know.
“Hurt? No, but I’ve got the professor’s fish in it!” was the answer.