Professor Doty was another instructor in Boxwood Hall, somewhat of a rival of Uriah Snodgrass, and the two were always differing on some theory or idea, and one was always trying to get ahead of the other in the matter of capturing rare specimens.
“If we had the two of them along,” whispered Jerry to the mine-owner, “life wouldn’t be worth living. But with just Professor Snodgrass it’s great.”
“I like him,” Tinny said. “He’s good fun and a real sport. I’m glad you brought him.”
The mountain country was very wild, and seemingly almost deserted. Now and then they would pass another car on the road, the occupant or occupants of which would call a greeting to Tinny. At times the trail was so narrow that the mine owner would stop at designated spots, sound his horn, and wait a moment, listening for an answering blast.
“Two cars can’t pass at some places in the trail, so we have to be careful,” he explained. “It isn’t any fun backing around the edge of a cliff.”
But with all this, with the wildness and desolation all about them, the boys were glad they had come. It was just the sort of activity they needed after their exciting life in France, a life that had unfitted them—and many others like them—for settling down to a normal existence.
“Aren’t there any stores out here?” asked Bob, after a period of silence, following the passage around one of the narrow spots in the trail.
“Not many,” Tinny answered. “Why?”
“How do you—how do you get stuff to eat?” Bob brought out the words desperately. But, to his surprise, neither Ned nor Jerry laughed.