“We’ve caught a burglar!” cried Bob.
“A burglar? Hold him until I get my revolver! Ponto! Where are you? There’s a burglar below! Hurry up and help the boys! Where is that black rascal? I’ll bet he’s gone to sleep again!”
“Comin’! I’se comin’ Massa Seabury,” answered Ponto’s voice from the far distance. “I were jest takin’ a nap—”
“Do you take me for a burglar?” suddenly asked the wriggling man, as he succeeded in getting his head from under Bob’s stomach where it had practically been out of sight. “Did you think I was trying to rob the house?”
“Of course; aren’t you—” began Jerry, when a light flashing from one of the windows, as Ponto approached, shone full on the prostrate man’s face. Upon the startled view of the boys there burst the vision of the peaceful, though sadly surprised, face of Professor Snodgrass.
“Pro-fes-sor Snodgrass!” exclaimed Ned weakly.
“Pro-fes-sor,” stammered Bob, rolling over in his astonishment.
“Well, if we—” began Jerry but he could not finish.
He let go his hold of the scientist’s arm, and Ned at the same time loosened his grip on the supposed burglar’s leg. The professor arose, smoothed out his rumpled clothing, and remarked in a sad tone:
“I suppose it’s got away, now.”