Professor Zepplin uttered something that sounded not unlike an
Indian's grunt of disgust.
"Dreams!" he decided sharply. "I should not have eaten that pie last
night. Pie doesn't seem to trouble those boys in the least, but it
certainly has a bad effect on my digestive apparatus."
Having thus delivered himself of his opinion on the value of pie as a
bedtime food, the scientist trotted back to his tent, his teeth
chattering and shoulders shrugging, for the mountain air was chill and
the Professor was clad only in his pajamas.
No sooner had he settled himself between his comforting blankets,
however, than he suddenly started up again with a muttered
exclamation.
"I knew it! I told you so!"
This time there could be no doubt. He plainly heard a dry twig snap
near by; whether it were under the weight of man or beast, he did not
know.
"There is something out there. It couldn't have been the pie after
all. I'm going to find out what it is before I get back into this bed
again," he decided firmly, slipping quietly from under the covers and
peering out through the half closed flap of his tent.
As before, all was silence, the drowsy, indistinct voices of the night
passing almost without notice.
But Professor Zepplin instead of waiting where he was, reached for his
revolver and then strode boldly out into the open space in front of
the tents, determined to solve the mystery, and, if possible, without
waking the boys.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25