By this time Professor Snodgrass had begun to help himself, having got back the breath that was knocked from him in his fall, and he was striking out for shore.
In another instant Jerry had waded in, not stopping to take off any of his garments, and was pulling the little man to safety.
“Why—bless my soul—why, it’s the Motor Boys!” cried the professor.
“Nobody else!” exclaimed Ned.
“Didn’t you hear us yelling to you to keep away from here?” asked Bob.
“No, Bob, my dear boy, I didn’t hear a thing,” was the answer. “I was after a very rare specimen of a yellow-winged butterfly. I chased it to the edge of the cliff and, just as I was reaching out for it, I noticed, too late, that there was an abrupt descent. I couldn’t help myself—I went over.”
“Yes, we saw you,” replied Jerry, as he helped the professor to a flat, raised rock on which he could take a seat. Jerry’s feet were making queer squidgy sounds caused by the water in his shoes. He was wet to his arm pits, but the professor had gone in over his head.
“You boys didn’t see anything of that yellow-winged butterfly, did you?” asked the professor, gazing at the trio through his water-dimmed spectacles which, fortunately, had not come off. “It had blue spots.”
“No, we didn’t see it,” answered Bob.
“Um! Too bad! I guess it must have gotten away,” said the little bald-headed man, with a sigh. His hat had come off and was floating downstream. Ned rescued it with a long stick.