[CHAPTER XXII]
A CHANGE IN SIGNALS
The scene in the room was one of confusion. Tom was dancing about, rubbing first here and then there on his anatomy. The snake which Sid held was wiggling as if in protest at being suspended by the tail, and was tying itself into all sorts of complicated knots and geometrical figures.
“Look out, it may bite you!” cried Phil, who was holding the mudturtle by the tail, the feet of the animal working back and forth in a vain effort to get a grip on the air.
“It isn’t a poisonous snake,” declared Sid, who was something of a naturalist. “But I wonder who played this trick on us? What ails you, Tom?”
“Yes; what are you wiggling around in that fashion for, son?” inquired Phil, who began to laugh, now that the extent of the scare was evident.
“Wiggle! I guess you would, too, if some one had filled your bed with needles that came right through your pajamas,” replied Tom.
“Needles?” from Sid.
“Needles?” reiterated Phil.