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Updated: June 6, 2025
Thoughts of crime flitted through my mind. Miss Smawl would not remain president or anything else very long if she persisted in her desire for the tigers. And then when she called for help I would pretend not to hear. Aroused from criminal meditation by the return of Professor Lesard, I jumped up and peered into his perplexed eyes.
They were hard eyes, but there was gratitude in them. "You'll get your throat slit," whispered Lesard. "Not while Billy's with me," I replied, cheerfully.
I remembered what Professor Lesard had said about blue stockings but Miss Dorothy Van Twiller's were gray, turned over at the tops, and disappearing into canvas spats buckled across a pair of slim shooting-boots. "Welcome," said I, attempting to restrain a too violent cordiality. "Welcome, Professor Van Twiller, to the Hudson Mountains."
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