"No! No!" exclaimed Roger, trying not to laugh.
"No?" with a puzzled air, from Enberry.
"I have something I want analyzed, to find out what sort of stuff it is," said Roger.
"Hain't nobody been tryin' t' pizen ye, hev they?" asked Enberry, with a startled look. "I read 'bout a case like thet in th' papers onct. Feller most died from drinkin' well water. Had a green scum on it. Took it t' a perfessor, 'n' what d' he s'pose he said?"
"What?"
"Paris Green! G'lang, Kate!"
"Oh, this is nothing like that," said Roger. "At least I do not believe what I have is poison."
"And you want jest a ordinary chemist 'n' not a fortune teller, eh?"
"I do."
"Wa'al," said Mr. Took, at length, "ye come t' th' right place fere information fer onct in yer life, Roger. I know jest th' feller ye want. He used t' live out here 'fore he growed up, got a eddercation, 'n' become one a' them chaps what looks through a glass, 'n' tells ye 'bout bugs in th' drinkin' water, 'n' wigglers turnin inter musquiters. 'N' he looks through a thing like a telescope, 'n' tells ye 'bout lines, 'n' angles, 'n' feet, 'n' chains, 'n' links, 'n' so on. What d' ye call them fellers?"