The Mystery of Sinister Scarecrow - M. V. Carey [3]
Jupiter hung up the telephone. “Everything’s arranged,” he announced. “Uncle Titus will meet us down on Rock Rim Drive within half an hour.”
“Very good,” said the bald man. He moved as if to usher his visitors outside, but was stopped by Bob’s wondering voice.
“Do you collect ants?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” said the man. Some warmth crept into his voice for the first time.
“But I don’t just collect them. I observe them and note what they do. Then I try to decide what they’ll do next. I keep watching them, and eventually I find out if I’m right.”
“You’re an entomologist,” said Jupiter.
The man smiled. “Not many people your age know that word.”
“Jupe reads a lot,” Pete explained. “We don’t know what he’s talking about half the time. What did he call you, an ento … etom—?”
“An entomologist,” said the man. “That’s a scientist who studies insects, and yes, I am one. My name is Woolley, Dr. Charles Woolley. I’ve written several books about army ants. I’m working on a book now, but I don’t know the ending.”
Woolley grinned, and it occurred to Jupe that he might be a pleasant person when he wanted to be. The thought also came to Jupe that Woolley’s head was really too large for his thin body, and that the eyes behind the thick lenses protruded slightly.
With a bald dome and a face that tapered to a pointed chin, Woolley actually resembled an ant. Jupe stared at the man’s forehead, almost expecting antennae to appear there.
Woolley put his hand to his head. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Is there something on me?”
Jupe started. “Oh, no. No, I was just thinking about your book. If you don’t know the ending, I deduce that you haven’t finished your studies of the insects here. This is your laboratory, isn’t it?”
“The entire hillside is my laboratory,” said Woolley. “This barn is where I do special studies. Those frames you see keep ants confined while I photograph them.
The camera above the table has a magnifying lens. I have a darkroom over in the corner. The ants you see in the jars were taken from a colony that lives in the little greenhouse behind this barn. At least that’s where the colony lives right now. They may soon decide to move somewhere else. They’re about due to migrate.”
“When they migrate, will you know the ending off the book?” Bob asked. “Where will they migrate to?”
“Probably they won’t go far,” said
Woolley. “They may go up the hill nearer
the big house. Since they’re army ants, we
call the place where they nest a bivouac
— a camp. Ants are much like bees. The
entire colony depends on the queen.
When she’s about to lay eggs, she’s huge,
so the colony stays in one place and the worker ants go out every day to find food.
After the queen lays her eggs, she’s slim again and able to move, and the colony can migrate. The colony that’s in the greenhouse has migrated several times since I came here. A great stream of army ants marching along is an impressive sight, let me tell you!”
Jupiter frowned, “I didn’t know we had army ants in this country,” he said. “I’ve read horror stories about the army ants in Africa. Aren’t they the ones that march into native villages and eat everything in sight, including large animals?”
Woolley nodded cheerfully. “Absolutely everything,” he said. “Most ants are vegetarians, but army ants are carnivorous—they’re predatory nomads. The Africans call their army ants ‘the visitors,’ and they run when a colony heads their way. The ants could easily eat a human — and have!”
Pete shuddered, but Woolley continued talking enthusiastically, unaffected by the horrible picture he’d painted.
“The ants have their uses, though. They eat rats and centipedes and anything else they find. When the Africans return to their villages after a raid by army ants, they find nice clean houses that have no vermin in them.
“The army ants we have on this continent aren’t as ferocious as the African ants.
They will eat small animals if they can, but for the most part they