Frank Conners came up on the porch and coughed twice. "Say, pardon me, Professor," he said.
The long, pale man didn't stir from the sagging couch. His horn-rimmed glasses were perched on his forehead, and he was snoring very gently.
"I'm awful sorry to disturb you," Conners said, pushing back his battered felt hat. "I know it's your restin' week and all, but there's something damned funny in the ditch."
The pale man's left eyebrow twitched, but he showed no other sign of having heard.
Frank Conners coughed again, holding his spade in one purple-veined hand. "Didja hear me, Professor?"
"Of course I heard you," Micheals said in a muffled voice, his eyes still closed. "You found a pixie."
"A what?" Conners asked, squinting at Micheals.
"A little man in a green suit. Feed him milk, Conners."
"No, sir. I think it's a rock."
Micheals opened one eye and focused it in Conners' general direction.