Chapter Eleven.
How Jack Penny was not satisfied with himself.
It was intensely hot when we started again, the heat seeming to be steamy, and not a breath of air to fan our cheeks; but we trudged on for a time without adventure, till all at once a butterfly of such lovely colours flashed across our path, that it proved too much for Jack Penny, who laid down his gun, snatched off his hat, and went in pursuit.
We could not go on and leave him; so we stopped to rest, and watch him as he was hopping and bounding along through a tolerably open sunlit part, full of growth of the most dazzling green. Now he neared the insect; now it dashed off again, and led him a tremendous chase, till, just as the doctor shouted to him to return, we saw him make a dab down with his hat and then disappear.
“He has got it,” I said; for I could not help feeling interested in the chase; but I felt annoyed again directly, as the doctor said coldly:
“Yes: he seems to have caught his prize, Joe; but we must defer these sports till our work is done.”
Just then we saw Jack Penny rise up and turn towards us. To hide my vexation I shouted to him to make haste, and he began to trot towards us, his long body bending and swaying about as he ran.
Then he jumped and jumped again, and the doctor shaded his eyes with his hands.
“He has got into a swampy patch,” he said. “Of course. There’s a bit of a stream runs along there, and—”