“Would you mind slackening speed somewhat,” begged the scientist as they neared Jerry’s house.
“Why?” inquired the tall youth.
“Well, I can’t tell whether or not we are passing any valuable insects on the bushes,” explained the professor, as he peered through his powerful spectacles at the shrubbery that lined the roadway. “I must lose no chances of getting specimens,” he innocently explained, “so I thought if you could run more slowly I might sight a rare bug or worm: Ha—there! Stop if you please, Jerry!”
Jerry brought the car up with a jerk, and, almost before it had ceased moving the professor was out, and had darted to a blackberry bush, net in hand.
He made a swoop, gathered a part of the net in his fingers, looked closely at what was in it, and then exclaimed:
“Oh, pshaw! it’s only a common June bug. I thought I had a seven winged dragon fly. Go ahead Jerry. I hope I have better luck when I look for the flying frog?”
During this time Andy Rush had said little, but the manner in which he fidgeted about on the seat, and the way in which his lips moved, showed that he was holding something back with a great effort.
Jerry swung the car up in front of his house, and as he and his chums and their guest alighted, the excitable little chap asked:
“Say, professor, is there really a flying frog—one that sails through the air—like an aeroplane—over the trees—’round in a circle—faster and faster—is there really—whoop!”
Andy ended up with a vigorous swinging of his arms. The professor looked curiously at him, and then, without a word, made a jump for the small chap.