As the trooper's flashlight stabbed through the cellar gloom at the spot
where Bud had disappeared, there came a loud splash! The light showed a
round hole in the floor, rimmed by a low circle of brickwork.

"What's that hole?" the trooper snapped at the owner.

"What does it look like?" the elderly man snapped back. "It's an old
well."

"A _well!_" the trooper exclaimed as he rushed to the spot. "And not
even covered? What're you trying to do--kill people?"

The old man sniffed. "Used to be covered, but the lid's gone. Didn't
expect to have a bunch of nosy fellers pokin' around down here!"

The state trooper muttered angrily under his breath as he shone his
flashlight into the well-shaft. Bud was splashing around below, soaked
and chagrined by his accident.

"Give me a hand!" he called up.

The trooper reached down, but was barely able to touch Bud's finger
tips. To make matters worse, the sides of the well were slippery with
moss.

"Get a rope," the trooper ordered the old man.

"Ain't got one."