"What's that hole?" the trooper snapped at the owner.
"What does it look like?" the elderly man snapped back. "It's an old well."
"A well!" the trooper exclaimed as he rushed to the spot. "And not even covered? What're you trying to do—kill people?"
The old man sniffed. "Used to be covered, but the lid's gone. Didn't expect to have a bunch of nosy fellers pokin' around down here!"
The state trooper muttered angrily under his breath as he shone his flashlight into the well-shaft. Bud was splashing around below, soaked and chagrined by his accident.
"Give me a hand!" he called up.
The trooper reached down, but was barely able to touch Bud's finger tips. To make matters worse, the sides of the well were slippery with moss.
"Get a rope," the trooper ordered the old man.
"Ain't got one."
The policeman reddened and stood up to his full six-foot-two. "Look, mister—what's your name?"