It was a brief but
beautiful moment in my life.
"The way to do," said I, "is to trap several dozen crows, smear their
feet with glue, tie a ball of Indian twine to the ankle of every bird,
then liberate them. Some are certain to fly into the crater and try to
scrape the glue off in the sand. Then," I added, triumphantly, "all we
have to do is to haul in our birds and detach the wealth of Midas from
their sticky claws!"
"That is an excellent suggestion," she said gratefully, "but I can do
that after you have gone. All I wanted you to tell me was whether the
stone is a genuine emerald."
I gazed at her blankly.
"You are here for purposes of scientific investigation," she added,
sweetly. "I should not think of taking your time for the mere sake of
accumulating wealth for my father and me."
There didn't seem to be anything for me to say at that moment. Chilled,
I gazed at the flashing ring of fire.
And, as I gazed, suddenly I became aware of a little, pointed muzzle, two
pricked-up ears, and two ruby-red eyes gazing intently out at me from the
mass of flames.
The girl beside me saw it, too.
"Don't move!" she whispered.
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