“Proof of which side of the wing the fire started.”
Cheney smiled as if this idea was very amusing. “I hope you get it,” he said, as Allan went on.
Allan felt rather sorry to have said anything to Cheney about the sale of the plates. When he came to think the thing over he could see that the factory people, while they had not said so, might not wish to have the matter known. Allan felt, too, as if he had been boasting, even though Cheney had drawn him into the confession.
He made up his mind not to say a word to any one else, and determined to ask Owen and McConnell not to speak about it. When Owen heard from Allan about his meeting with Cheney and how sorry he was that he had said anything to Cheney, he himself agreed with Allan.
“I shan’t mention it,” Owen assured Allan. “I haven’t mentioned it to any one but mother. She wondered where I had been, of course. I think you had better speak to McConnell.”
“I shall,” said Allan. “Big McConnell would be just the one to spread the thing everywhere.”
“Let us go around to McConnell’s now,” suggested Owen, “and tell him about it.”
They found McConnell sitting in a swing in his yard reading a book. “McConnell is always reading,” said Owen.
“Hello!” called Allan. “What are you reading, McConnell? I’ll bet it is about an Indian, a detective, or a princess.”
“Wrong,” replied McConnell. “It’s about a farmer’s boy.”