WOES OF A NATURALIST
Sid Henderson was of a very hopeful disposition, otherwise he never
would have undertaken to get a picture of that fox after it had once
been alarmed. But he fancied he could trail it to its burrow, and he
wanted very much to get a photograph of the animal in its home
surroundings.
So, unmindful of the desertion of his chums, he plunged on into the
swamp. The footing became more and more treacherous as he advanced, and
he had to go slowly, looking here and there for grass hummocks to
support him. His camera, too, was a handicap.
"But I'm going to get that fox!" he exclaimed. "I just need a picture
like that. Besides, I may find in this swamp some material I can use in
my biological experiments."
On he went, leaping from hummock to hummock. Once he nearly slipped and
barely saved himself from falling into a slough of black water.
"I wonder how deep that is?" he remarked, and taking a dead branch he
thrust it straight down. He found that the hole was deeper than he had
anticipated.
Keeping a sharp lookout for the animal he was after, he was at length
rewarded by a sight of it slinking along through the bushes. He started
forward eagerly, so eagerly, in fact, that he did not pick his steps. A
moment later he slipped from a grass hummock and went into the muddy
bog, up to his waist.
"Wow! Whoop! Help! Here, fellows! Come here and help me! Bring a fence
rail!" he called, for he felt himself sinking down deeper and deeper.
Tom and Phil heard his cries, but thought he was only calling to them to
come and see some natural curiosity or view the fox, so they did not
respond. Sid called again and again, but got no answer. Then he tried to
scramble from the bog, and found it hard work, for he had to hold his
camera high up that it might not get wet.
At last he managed to free his legs from the sticky mud and reached a
comparatively firm place. But what a plight he was in! Plastered with
swamp-ooze to his waist, he looked like some sewer laborer. Though he
did not know it, his face was spotted with globules of mud, splashed up
in his struggles to get from the bog.
"Well, I certainly am in bad," he remarked to himself. "Lucky I put on
old clothes. I can't get much worse, that's one satisfaction. I might
as well keep on. Maybe I can get that fox now."
So he continued through the swamp. His speed was better, for he no
longer paused to pick his steps, but splashed on, careless of the mud
and water. The fever of the chase was in his veins, and another glimpse
of the fox convinced him that the animal was heading for its burrow. At
last, after a tramp of a mile, Sid was successful, and, in the fast
fading light of the fall day, he snapped the creature, just as it was
entering the hole, when it turned for a final look at its tireless
pursuer.
"Well, it was worth it all," sighed the naturalist as he closed up his
camera and started for home. "Now I wonder where Phil and Tom are."
Remembering that they had called to him that they would wait out on the
road, he took that highway back to college. On the way he found several
specimens which he needed in his evolution work, and in thinking about
them, and his success in photographing the fox, he forgot about the
plight he was in. He did not meet his chums, of course, and it was dusk
when he got back to college. The mud had dried somewhat on his trousers
and shoes, and, incidentally, on his face and hands, for he had,
unconsciously, run his hands over his countenance once or twice, so that
the mud globules had increased in surface area.
It was a very strange and somewhat disreputable figure that entered the
west dormitory a little later and started up the stairs, but Sid did not
know that, having no looking glass at hand.
Now it so happened that Professor Tines was just leaving the dormitory.
He had called to see one of his pupils who was ill--a "greasy dig"
student--to use the college vernacular to designate a lad who burned
midnight oil over his studies. The professor having finished his call
came upon Sid in the corridor. The instructor saw before him a young
man, mud covered, carrying a square, black box, and the countenance,
spotted with specimens of swamp muck, was unfamiliar to him. Professor
Tines at once suspected a student trick.
"Here! Where are you going?" he cried, blocking the way of Sid.
"To my room," answered the luckless naturalist, who, of course, not
appreciating that he was most effectually disguised, thought that the
Latin teacher had recognized him.
"Your room! What do you mean by such nonsense? What student put you up
to this joke? Tell me, and I will have him punished at once. How dare
you come in here?"
"Why, I--I belong here, Professor Tines," said Sid.
"Belong here? You work on the coal trestle! Don't tell me! You are
covered with coal dust now! What have you there? Are you going to play
some trick at the instigation of the freshmen? I demand an answer!"
"I'm Henderson," went on Sid desperately. "I room here--with Phil
Clinton and Tom Parsons."
"How dare you trifle with me in this fashion?" demanded the irate Latin
instructor. "I shall call the proctor and have you arrested!" and he was
so much in earnest that Sid, beginning to appreciate the state he was
in, determined to prove absolutely that he was himself.
"Professor Tines," he said, "you can knock on that door there, and ask
Clinton and Parsons if I'm not Henderson. I've been out after a fox, and
I fell in the bog."
"Ha!" cried the professor. "I see it now. You are trying to play a joke
on me, with the aid of Clinton and Parsons. But you shall all three
suffer for it! I _will_ knock on that door. I _will_ confront your
fellow conspirators with the evidence of their silly act. Come here,"
and he placed his hand on Phil's shoulder and led him toward the room of
the three chums. "You shall not trifle with me!" he added fiercely.
Holding Sid firmly by the shoulder with one hand, Professor Tines with
the other knocked loudly at the portal. Phil and Tom were within, and
the latter quickly opened the door, for the summons was imperative. The
two chums in the room started back at the sight of the instructor
having in custody the mud-covered figure.
"Young gentlemen," began the professor sternly, "this--this person
asserts that he is Henderson, and that he rooms here. I caught him in
the corridor, and at once detected the joke he was about to play. He
appealed to me to bring him here for identification. Have you three
conspired to play a trick on me? Is this Henderson or is it not?"
Tom and Phil stared at the disreputable figure. They knew at once that
it was their chum, but the spirit of mischief entered into Tom. He
nudged Phil, and then answered promptly:
"Certainly not, Professor Tines. We don't know the person!"
Then he shut the door, while, with a cry of rage at the desertion of his
friends, Sid tried to break away from the Latin teacher.