otonous monotone, the cadence of the march. Will he never•
get out of these woods? His hands are cold and he thrusts.
them in his pockets. His steps has lost its vigor, and with
head bent dow 11 and thoughts far away on that Thanksgiv
ing dinner, he walks carelessly along. Thump. He stubs
his toe against . a stone; and he wishes he had an iron foot SO
he could kick the blamed thing again. But lie pUlls himself
together and goes on,—tramp, tramp, tramp. He climbs over
a log, and a small stub does its work. There is a tearing
and rending of cloth, and a hole appears in the Professor's
new coat. The Professor looks at the hole and mutters
"confound it !" with great emphasis. Hearing how it
sounds, he looks hastily around to see if any of the students
are near, but no one is in sight, so he makes a few more
appropriate remarks and goes on.
But the Fates are evidently determined to revenge
themselves for his displeasure with them, for as he steps
down from a rock a moment later, his foot finds a hole and
down he goes. With a great effort lie restores the equili
brium of his body; but he cannot restore the equilibrium of
his mind.
Just then, as if laughing at his sorry plight,
begins to chatter away in a nearby tree.
"0 you will laugh, will youl" exclaims the Professor,
now thoroughly excited. And raising his gun, he pulls
both triggers. Bang! Diff! The Fates are revenged, thQ
students satisfied. The Professor describes an unknown
geometrical curve backwards, meets the earth in his course,
and decides to stop; while the squirrel chatters louder and
merrier than ever.
The Professor picks himself up a wiser, but a madder
man. He rubs first his shoulder, then his head. He groans
a little, and quotes exclamations more. And then suddenly
noticing the chattering of the squirrel he exclaims.
"Well, laugh you little fool, I don't see anything funny."
But the squirrel continues to chatter in his merry, care
less way, for he can see something funny, and the Professor
is at the butt of the joke. C. 'OO.
The Free Lance,
a squirrel