"
"Good for you!" laughed Bart. "Keep an eye on things. I'll show up, or
wire, by night."
"Any clew, Bart?"
"I think so."
Bart went straight to the home of Professor Abner Cunningham.
That venerable gentleman--antiquarian, scientist and profound
scholar--had a queer little place at the edge of the town where he
raised wonderful bees, and grew freak squashes inside glass molds in
every grotesque shape imaginable.
He was a friend to all the boys in town, and Bart joined him without
ceremony as he found him out on the lawn in his skull cap and dressing
gown, studying a hornets' nest with a magnifying glass.
"Ah, young Bartley--or Bartholomew, is it?" smiled the innocent-faced
old scientist jovially. "I have a new volume on nomenclature that gives
quite an interesting chapter on the Bartholomew subject. It takes you
back to the eleventh century, in France--"
"Professor, excuse me," interrupted Bart gracefully, "but something very
vital to the twentieth century is calling for urgent attention, and I
wanted to ask you a question or two."
"Surely. Glad to tell you anything," assured the professor, happiest
always when he was talking, and willing to talk for hours with anyone
who would listen to him.
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