fun,
just follow that man. I will stay here as judge whether the man brings
in the Professor or the Professor brings in the man."

A good joke would stop a funeral in Charleston. The hotel was cleared of
men in an instant to follow Tim and enjoy the hunt. Tim sighted the
Professor about a quarter of a mile back in the town, A darky driving a
water-cart was standing up on the shafts, thrashing his mule with the
ends of his driving-lines, and urging it, by voice and gesture, to the
highest mule-speed: "Git up! git up! you lazy old no-go! Git up! Don't
you see dat picter-feller tryin' to took you an' me an' de bar'l? Git
up! Wag yer ears an' switch yer tail. You're not gwine ter stan' still
an' keep yer eyes on de instrement fer no gallery-man to took, 'less
you's fix' up fer Sunday. Git up, you ole long-eared corn-eater!"

The Professor was keeping well up with the flying water-works. His hat
was stuck on the back of his head, he carried his camera with its tripod
spread ready for sudden action, and every step of his run was guided by
thoughts of proper distance, fixed focus, and determination to have the
water-works in his collection of instantaneous photographs. A turn in
the street gave the Professor his opportunity: he darted ahead, set his
camera, and took the whole show as it went galloping by, when he
reclined against a fence while making the street ring with his laugh.

Tim Price, who was watching his chance, saw that it had come. He grabbed
the camera, gave a yell of triumph, and faced for the home-run. He had
not an instant to lose. The Professor sprang for his precious
instrument. Tim's long legs carried him across the street, over a fence
into a cross-cut lot, and away for the hotel at a mountaineer's speed.
The Professor was small, but active as a cat. Where Tim jumped fences,
the Professor squirmed through them; where Tim took one long stride, the
Professor scored three short ones. Tim lost his hat, and the Professor
threw off his coat as he ran. The main street was reached without
perceptible decrease of distance between them; but there the pavements
were something Tim's bare feet were not used to catching on, and the
people something he was not used to dodging: he upset several, but
dashed on, with his pursuer gaining on his heels. Men, women, dogs, and
darkies turned out to witness the race or follow it. "Stop thief!" "Go
it, Tim!" "You're catching him, stranger!" "Foot it, little one!" were
cries that