“Oh, yes, they say that even big photographers do it sometimes. And it is rough! You see you only make one mistake and lose two pictures.”
“It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” mused McConnell, rather sleepily. McConnell usually went to bed at nine.
When the plates had been immersed in the flowing water for half an hour, Owen stood them on a near-by shelf, resting them against the wall. “They’ll be dry in the morning.”
“And then we can make proofs,” said Allan.
Under these circumstances it is not surprising that Allan was up early the next morning and out to the dark-room to look at his plates. To his great disappointment they were not yet dry. The upper floor of the stable was left without ventilation, and the surfaces of the plates were still moist save for a space of half an inch around the edges.
When Allan consulted his father, Dr. Hartel advised him to open the windows and to place the plates in a current of air. Having done this, Allan started out at once to get the materials for his developing outfit. In view of the fifty dollars that was to come from the plates, Allan thought that he might spend a little more than he first had intended to spend on his dark-room. He determined to divide the money with Owen, but even with twenty-five dollars he could, if he chose, buy a fine new camera and still have money left.
On his way to Owen, who was going with him to the Hazenfield stationers’ where they sold “amateur photographic outfits,” Allan met Cheney, who had seen him at the fire with the camera. Allan did not like Cheney; the truth is, that Cheney did not have a very good reputation in Hazenfield. He had been expelled from the high school, and was what is known as a suspicious and troublesome boy.
“What were you trying to do?” demanded Cheney, “photographing in the dark?”
“The fire wasn’t dark,” returned Allan.
“You don’t mean to say that you tried to photograph the fire!”