It was part of
Tom's work to look after matters of that kind. About the only conclusion
he reached from these two disconnected sets of initials was that he
would have an eye out for specialists in carving....
But Tom's authority was as naught when it came to Llewellyn. The turtle
cared not for the young camp assistant. He sat upon the ground
motionless as a rock, apparently dead to the world.
Tom had now no more interest in the turtle than a kind of sporting
instinct not to be beaten. He could sit upon the rock as long as his
adversary could sit upon the ground. In a moment of exasperation he had
been upon the point of hurling the turtle into the lake, but had
refrained, and now he was reconciled to a vigil which should last all
night.
Llewellyn had met his match.
For fifty-seven minutes by his watch, Tom waited. Then the tip end of
Llewellyn's nose emerged slowly, cautiously, and remained stationary.
Eleven minutes of tense silence elapsed.
Then the tip end of Llewellyn's nose emerged a trifle more, stopped,
started again and lo, his whole head and neck were out, craned stiffly
upward toward the camp.
Tom did not move a muscle, he hardly breathed. Soon the turtle's tail
was sticking straight out and one forward claw was emerging slowly,
doubtfully.
Silence.
Another claw emerged and the neck relaxed its posture of listening
reconnoissance. Then, presto, Llewellyn was waddling around like a
lumbering old ferry boat and heading straight for the lake.
Pages:
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112