A faint, far-off cry, impossible to locate, was borne to their ears.

"It's a call for help," declared Dick.

"That's what it is," agreed the red-faced farmer. "Must be that
perfusser of yours, but where in the name of Sam Hill is he?"

It was a puzzling question. The faint cries appeared to be muffled in
some way. They looked about them, endeavoring to locate their source.
Suddenly one of the farm hands spoke.

"I used to work fer old Crabtree," he said. "There's an old well
hereabouts somewheres and maybe he's fell down that."

"Where is it?" demanded Jack.

"Back in the meadow yonder," said the man, pointing in the direction
of the pasture lot.

"Let's go over there and see at once," said Dick. "Frantic frogs of
France, if the professor's tumbled into a well he may be in serious
trouble."

They set off on the run to where a pile of stones showed a well-curb
had once been. The hoards at the top, which had covered it over, had
rotted, and there was a jagged hole in them. Jack cautiously bent over
and placed his mouth at the edge of the hole.

"Professor, are you down there?" he hailed.