“Suthin’ ye’re particularly fond of there, neighbor?”
“I should say so!” exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass. “There’s at least a thousand dollars in these boxes.” He referred to his valuation of his specimens. A sharp and crafty look passed over the farmer’s face. It was gone in an instant, and before the boys, who were busy getting the auto in shape to leave standing on the road, had had a chance to notice the expression.
Splashing down the muddy road the four followed the lead of the farmer, and his bobbing lantern. The red tail light of the auto, as well as the two oil headlights had been left burning, so that no other traveller would crash into the obstruction.
Rather discouraged by their plight, pretty well wet through, anxious about getting an early start in the morning, there was no very cheerful spirit manifested among our friends as they trudged on. Professor Snodgrass carried his boxes, oblivious to everything else, even the pelting rain, which soaked him through. Jerry wanted the scientist to take his stormcoat, but Mr. Snodgrass would not hear of such a thing.
“Keep it yourself, Jerry,” he said. “I’m used to being wet through in my business. I’ll soon dry out when we get to Mr. Buttle’s house.”
“Can’t I carry your valuables for you?” asked the farmer who was walking beside Mr. Snodgrass.
“Oh, no indeed! I never let anyone but myself take these precious things,” replied the scientist. “If anything should happen to them I never could replace them.”
A little later they were at the farmhouse. It was a small one, quite old-fashioned, and, from what little glimpse the boys had of it as they entered, it did not seem to be in very good repair.
“Here’s where I live,” said Mr. Buttle. “It’s not very good, but it’s the best I’ve got. Now I can make you a cup of coffee, and fry some ham and eggs, if you’d like ’em.”