Excitement reigned in the Frog Pond. Every one gave chase. The water was not clear enough to show the reptile plainly, but occasional glimpses of it spurred on its hunters. They made futile grabs below the water; they swam and dove after that frog. Several times some boy’s hand closed over it, only to find its slippery length wriggling through his fingers. At length it was captured by Izzy Icklebaum, who brought it triumphantly to the surface and held it in a tight grasp.
“Oh, Izzy, give it to me,” begged Wendell. “I’ll give you anything you want for it.”
Izzy lent a business-like ear to this offer.
“You will, eh?” he said, showing a large degree of interest. “Will you give me your aeroplane?”
In spite of his deep regret, there was not even a moment’s hesitation on Wendell’s part.
“It’s yours,” he said. “Here, give us the frog here in my stocking. Put your hands ’way in with him. That’s the big idea. Now I’ve got him.”
Released by Izzy, the frog gave a futile leap, only to find itself entangled in the stocking foot. The capture was complete. Wendell put on his clothes over his wet bathing suit, slipped his feet stockingless into his shoes, slung the frog over his shoulder and started for home.
“I’ll come in for it this aft.,” shouted Izzy after him.
“Right-o,” returned Wendell over his shoulder, and sped on, his heart lightened of a tremendous burden, the last of the three tasks accomplished.
True to his word, Izzy came over an hour later and bore off the aeroplane. Wendell tried not to care. He pinched the frog gently through the stocking to make sure it was there, and anticipated the Pixie’s disappointment.