Frank wanted to get a chance to confer with his chum, and as soon as he
could conveniently withdraw from the table, giving Andy a nod, he went
out on the porch where he could look down the lane that led to the poor
road, which in turn, after many trials and tribulations merged into the
main pike.
Andy joined him there a minute later, with a question in his eye.
"Professor Whitesides!" was what Frank remarked.
"And a butterfly collector at that!" Andy went on to say, with cutting
sarcasm.
"That sounds pretty rich, to me," his cousin continued. "I wonder, now,
could it be possible that the other man we've heard of lately, Casper
Blue, is playing a smart trick on these honest people, who would never
dream that he could be anything else than he claimed."
"It would give him a splendid chance to wander around just whenever and
wherever he wanted to go, and nobody to ask questions. Then, when he got
hungry, why, he could drop in at the farm. Perhaps he don't like camping
out as well as the other fellow; perhaps his health is too delicate to
stand roughing it. Or he might have any one of a dozen other reasons for
carrying on this way; always providing that this is Casper Blue."
Andy was brimful of excitement. His manner would forcibly remind one of
the nervous tension that seizes upon the hounds when the scent grows
strong, and they anticipate coming in sight of their quarry at any
moment.
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