"What happened?" asked Paul, trying to keep from laughing, for the player's voice was so funnily tragic.
"What happened? Come and see!" cried Mr. Switzer. "I have into a chicken's home invaded myself already!"
"Invaded himself into a chicken's home!" exclaimed Mr. Pertell. "What in the world does he mean?"
"I guess he means he sat down in a hen's nest!" chuckled Paul, and this proved to be the case.
Going around to the other side of the erected boards, the players and others saw a curious sight.
Seated on the hay, his face, his hair, his hands, and his clothing a mass of the whites and yellows of eggs, was Carl Switzer. He held up his fingers, dripping with the ingredients of half a dozen omelets.
"The chicken's home was right here, in the hay—where I jumped. I landed right in among the eggs—head first. Get me some water—quick!" implored the player.
"Didn't you see the eggs before you jumped among 'em?" asked Mr. Pertell.
"See them? I should say not! Think you I would have precipitated myself into their midst had I done so?" indignantly demanded Mr. Switzer, relapsing into his formally-learned English. "I have no desire to be a part of a scrambled egg," he went on. "Some water—quick!"
While one of the extra players was bringing the water, Sandy Apgar strolled past. He was told what had happened.