“I hope not,” Owen interposed anxiously.
“But I forgot to turn the holder-slides over to show which had been exposed.”
“Well,” said Owen, “we’ll have to try them until we find the three exposed ones. You had the four holders in the box?”
“Yes,” asserted Allan, “eight plates.”
At the end of another five minutes, Owen said, “I’m sure this can’t be one of the exposed plates,” and, with a last flip of the developer, he took the plate out and placed it on the shelf over the sink.
“And can’t you use it again?” asked Edith, sympathetically.
Owen shook his head. “No. That one’s done for. Now,” he added, “let us try one of the others.”
“I’m sure this is one,” said Allan, repentantly. He felt as if he had made a bad blunder on his first photographic expedition. “I remember now which way I carried the holders,” and he handed Owen another plate.
The semicircle of faces drew about Owen’s shoulders again. It seemed a long while to wait, while Owen rocked the tray affectionately, as if it were a cradle, and Allan’s spirits had begun to fall, when McConnell cried, “There’s something!”
“It’s just a spot on the plate,” said Edith.