The Boy Inventors Radio Telephone | Page 7

the country collecting rocks!"
"Not rocks, sir--geological specimens," rejoined the professor with
immense dignity, "and--great Huxley! Under your foot, sir! Under your
foot!"
"What is it, a snake?" yelled the farmer, jumping backward as the
scientist dashed at him with a wild expression.
"No, sir, but a remarkably fine specimen of what appears to be a
granolithic substance," exclaimed the professor, and he began
energetically chipping at a rock upon which the farmer had been

standing.
"Crazy as a loon," declared the farmer, winking at his men. "Gets
nearly drowned in a well and then begins chopping at a rock as soon as
he gets out."
"Oh, this has been a lucky day for me," said the professor with huge
satisfaction, as he placed his latest acquisition in the satchel. "As fine a
specimen, boys, as ever I encountered," he declared, turning to the
boys.
"Gracious," exclaimed Tom and Dick in low tones, "does he call
getting chased by a bull and then tumbling down a well a satisfactory
day?"
"I should call it a rocky time," grinned Dick.
But at this moment further conversation was cut short by the sudden
arrival of a gray-haired, short little old man with a tuft of gray whiskers
on his chin.
"Josh Crabtree!" exclaimed the red-faced farmer.
"Wow! now the music starts," declared Dick.
Josh Crabtree, his face ablaze, and his small, malignant eyes sparkling
angrily, emitted a roar like that of his Holstein that had caused the
professor so much tribulation.
"Say, be you the pesky varmints that tore down my fence and scared
my bull out'n two years' growth?" he bellowed.
"I removed some stones from your fence, sir," said the professor, "but it
was in the interests of science. You may not have been aware of it, but
embedded in your enclosing structure was a fine specimen of green
granite."
"Great hopping water-melyuns!" roared Old Crabtree, "and you tore
down my fence to git at a pesky bit of rock?"

"Rock to you, sir," responded the scientist calmly, "like the man in the
poem a 'primrose by the river's brim, a yellow primrose is to you, and it
is nothing more.'"
"Dad rot yer yaller primroses," yelled Old Crabtree, dancing about in
his rage. "You make good for tearing down my fence, d'ye hear me?"
"I shall take great pleasure in forwarding you a check for any damage I
may have done," said the professor.
"I want ther money now," said the farmer truculently.
"I regret that I have left my wallet at home," said the professor. Then he
brightened suddenly. "I can leave my bag of specimens with you as
security," he said, "if you will promise to be careful with them."
He unslung his bag and tendered it to the angry farmer who received it
with a look of amazement that the next moment turned to wrath when
he saw its contents.
"By hickory, what kind of a game is this?" he demanded. "Nothing but
a lot of old rocks. By heck, thar's enough here to build a new fence!"
He flung the bag down indignantly just as the professor darted forward
with one of his odd, swift movements. He shoved Old Crabtree back
without ceremony and bending swiftly to the spot where the angry
farmer had been standing he picked up and pocketed a small rock.
"Wa'al land o' Goshen," gasped out the farmer, bewildered. "What in
ther name of time is this?"
"A splendid specimen of gneiss," explained the professor triumphantly,
"and now, Mr.--er--you were saying?"
"That I wants ter be paid fer ther damage ter my fence."
"How much do you want?" asked Jack, coming to the rescue.
"Reckon a dollar'll be about right."

"If you will let me lend it to you till we reach your home, I'll be very
glad to pay him," said Jack aside to the professor.
"But, my dear young friend, there is no necessity. He has ample
security till I can send him a check. Why, that bag of specimens is
worth fifty dollars at least."
"Them old rocks," sniffed the farmer, who had overheard this last
remark, "I wouldn't give yer ten cents fer a cartload uv 'em. They're too
small fer fences an' too big to throw at cows."
"You'd better let me pay him," said Jack, and the professor finally
consented to this arrangement.
This done, they started back on the run to the professor's home, which
was about three miles off. On the way they dropped the red-faced
farmer and his hands, who clearly regarded the professor as some sort
of an amiable lunatic. But that worthy man, supremely happy despite
his wet clothes, was quite contented, and from time to time dipped into
his satchel, like a bookworm into a favorite volume, and drew out a
particularly