The boys set up a cheer.
"Good for you, professor!" cried Dick, as the bull, with lowered head and horns, charged into the tree and made it shake as if a storm had struck.
"Wow! That's the time he got a headache!" cried Tom excitedly, as the professor, clinging desperately to his refuge, was almost flung from it by the shock.
"Gracious, boys, what shall I do?" he asked, looking about him from his leafy perch with a glance of despair that would have been comical had the situation not been serious, for the bull, instead of accepting his defeat, stood under the tree pawing and ramping ferociously.
"Well, here's a fine kettle of fish!" exclaimed Jack. "What are we going to do now?"
"Blessed if I know," said Dick helplessly. "By the bucking bulls of Bedlam, this is a nice mess."
"Maybe we could throw rocks at him and chase him away," suggested Tom.
"No chance; he's got his eye on the professor," returned Jack, "and if we did get out he would chase us and that wouldn't do the professor any good."
"Can't you help me, boys," inquired the professor in an agonized tone. "This tree limb is not exactly—er—comfortable."