“It’s too late now,” said Allan, regretfully. “We need a lot of light, and there’s scarcely any left. But we’ll get everything ready, so far as we can, for to-morrow.” When they reached Allan’s house the Doctor was just getting into his carriage at the door. “Hello!” he called; “so it has come, Allan?”
“Yes, sir,” and Allan swung his package in the air.
“Good!” exclaimed the Doctor. “I shall want to see it when I get back.”
The boys made short work of the bundle when they reached indoors. Wrapped in strong paper and nestling in “excelsior” was the shiny, leather-covered box, with holes, and buttons, and levers, and gauges,—a mysterious box, which the boys proceeded to examine from its six sides with great reverence.
With the aid of the printed instructions, and what knowledge the boys had acquired from seeing other Hazenfield cameras (especially Owen Kent’s), the mysteries began one by one to seem less mysterious. It was great fun to watch the images of the room, of the window, of the street, in the little “finder.” “Isn’t the picture going to be any bigger than that?” asked McConnell, in a disappointed tone.
“Oh, yes,” said Allan; “that is only to show where the picture will come on the plate back here. It’s only a miniature of the real picture.” “And it isn’t upside down, either,” remarked McConnell, peering into the little opening at the top of the box.
“Somebody told me,” said Allan, “that was because there was a little piece of looking-glass on the inside that twisted the thing around.”
Presently they found that by opening a lid and looking through the box from the back the real image from the lens fell on the “focussing glass,” this time upside down.
McConnell laughed. “That always seems so funny.” He twisted his head in an effort to get a natural view of the room on the glass. Then he ran across the room and stood on his head against the wall. “Do I look right side up now?” he demanded of Allan.
“Yes,” laughed Allan, peering into the box. “You look right side up, but you don’t look very natural.”