A TWO-GIRL PROBLEM
Jerry Hopkins stretched himself lazily and comfortably out on the
grass under the shade tree where he and Bob and Ned had taken
Professor Snodgrass for a little talk. They were far removed from the
center of the camp, so the noise of the men drilling or at their
various occupations came but faintly.
"Do you mean that your problem has to be solved on the other side of
the water, Professor?" asked Jerry.
"Part of it has. And I am anxious to get across as soon as possible to
begin."
"What?" cried Ned. "You don't mean to say you, too, are going to
France, Professor?"
"I hope to," was the answer. "I have arranged to go, and I have my
passport and some letters of introduction."
"But what are you going for?" asked Bob. "Don't you know you will be
in the midst of terrible fighting? You can't solve any problems there.
It will be a bedlam of noise."
"And the noise is just what I want," said Mr. Snodgrass. "That is one
of my problems--to find out the effect of noise on the organisms of
certain insects and reptiles. Men suffer from shell shock, and why
should not insects suffer from the terrific noise of bursting guns?
Most insects are noise-producers themselves," he went on, in something
of his class-room manner, which the boys so well remembered at Boxwood
Hall. "The grasshopper, the katydid and the cricket, to give them
their common names, each have a song of their own. These insects are
found in France, as well as here, though in somewhat different form.
"Now I have a theory that a long-continued series of terrific noises
may produce structural changes in insects, so as to change the
character of their 'songs' as I prefer to call their sounds. This can
best be studied on the battlefields of France, though I suppose I
could get the same effect here, if there was a continuous thunderstorm
with vivid lightning.
"But, as that condition is impossible to bring about, I shall best
find it in France, and thither I am going, soon I hope. This snake
experiment is only a brief one, undertaken at the behest of a friend
of mine who is writing a book on the feeding habits of pythons."
"Is that what brought you back to our camp?" asked Jerry.
"Yes. This particular part of the South at this season of the year has
the very climate suited to pythons and other large snakes of the
tropics."
"I'm sure it's hot enough," murmured Bob, mopping his perspiring face.
"I'm glad we got out of drill this afternoon. But go on, Professor. I
didn't mean to interrupt you."
"Well, there isn't much to tell about the snake," said the scientist.
"I purchased Ticula, as I call her, some time ago from a museum. She
is a fine specimen of the regal python. Originally she came from
Borneo, where she was captured when very young. As I stated, she has
not yet attained her growth, and I have succeeded in making quite a
pet of her."
"Deliver me from such pets!" murmured Ned.
"Ticula is not a venomous snake," went on the professor. "None of the
constrictor type of serpents is, though their power to crush their
prey in their folds is enormous. They depend on that power, while the
poisonous snakes kill their prey by the use of their venom. But Ticula
and I are quite friendly.
"My friend, who is writing a book on snakes, asked me to find out
something of how pythons capture their food, and, knowing there would
be plenty of large rats in the vicinity of a camp, on account of the
great food supply there, I came here with my pet snake.
"I suppose I should have secured permission from some officer to let
loose the serpent near one of the buildings, but I forgot all about
it, thinking of the problem I have to puzzle over. I also forgot for
the time being, that you boys were here at Camp Dixton, or I should
certainly have communicated with you and got you to help me.
"But I went at it alone. Pete and I carried the box, with the snake in
it, of course, close to one of the buildings. I did not know until
later that it was the officers' mess hall. Then Pete left me alone."
"How did you manage to get through the sentry lines unchallenged?"
asked Jerry.
"I don't know," frankly answered the professor. "I suppose it was
because no one saw us; or they may have supposed we were bringing some
supplies to one of the officers. Then, there was a sham battle going
on not far away at the time, and that may have taken the attention of
the sentries. Anyhow, I got through the lines, and, opening the box,
let Ticula out to roam about and catch a rat if she could.
"I was crawling around after her, watching her as she went under the
building when suddenly a soldier pounced on me and yelled that I was a
German spy. I was never more surprised in all my life."
Jerry and Bob chuckled.
"I should think you might be!" laughed Ned. "Then what happened?"
"Well, they handled me rather roughly, and took me into custody, as I
suppose it is called. They seemed to think Ticula's box was an
infernal machine. They were very much excited, and I was trying to
explain to them who I was, when Ticula suddenly crawled up through a
hole in the floor in the building where I was being questioned."
"And then there was more excitement, I suppose," said Jerry.
"There was--considerable," admitted the professor. "Then you boys came
in, and--well, it's all over now. But I surely feared for a moment
they might shoot my snake."
"Yes, it was rather a close call," observed Bob. "But did you have a
good dinner with the colonel?"
"Listen to him, would you!" protested Ned. "All he can think of is
eating!"
"Cut it out!" growled Bob, as Ned poked him in the ribs. "I just
wanted to know what sort of feed they give the officers."
"Oh," said Jerry significantly. "Merely an academic interest, I
suppose."
"Sure!" assented Bob. "That's all."
"Well, the dinner was very good, though I cannot say that I remember
what I ate," confessed the professor. "I was thinking too much of
something else."
"Do you mean you were puzzled as to how to study the effect of the
noises of the French battlefields on grasshoppers and crickets?" asked
Jerry.
"No," and the professor shook his head. "This is an altogether
different problem. It is, as I might call it, the problem of two
girls."
"Two girls!" cried the three Motor Boys in a chorus. "Two girls?"
They looked at the little professor, whose eyes, mildly blinking
behind his strong glasses, regarded the lads curiously.
"Two girls," repeated the little scientist. "The problem I have to
solve concerns two girls."