“I’ve seen ’em fly between water and ceiling down deep in the cave where there was barely clearance,” he related. “Now, if only I were a bat, I’d explore that siphon!”
“You shouldn’t even think of such a thing!” Judy chided. “It would be frightfully dangerous.”
Bart made no answer.
“You’re not considering it, are you?” Judy demanded, alarmed by his silence.
“I’ve considered it for years,” Bart answered soberly. “I think about it all the time, in fact. I’ve just about decided—” he deliberately broke off, and finished: “Now to tell you more about bats—they hang to the ceilings by their feet, head down. Their bodies are covered by their long, folded wings when they sleep. One can pick them off the wall, and they make no fuss.”
“Ardeth, must you have a bat?” Judy tried to discourage her.
“Oh, yes, if I can get one without causing too much trouble. But how will I get it to camp?”
Bart had pulled up at the end of the private road. From the back end of the truck, he brought out a cardboard box with a cover.
“We can use this,” he suggested. “I may not get a bat for you though. I haven’t long to ramble through the cave this trip.”
Tucking the cardboard box under his arm, the cheerful young milkman stepped from the truck. Alertly he gazed at a sizeable slick of oil on the roadside, remarking that it evidently had leaked from the parked truck.