“I know it isn’t, mother,” he responded gaily. “It’s work, good work, too, so it couldn’t wait.”
“But, Frank—”
“Listen, mother,” he said, “I have dreamed out an invention. Really I have. If my improved apple corer works as I think it will, this is a lucky spell of wakefulness. I don’t want to say much about it till I am sure of it, but I believe I have invented something practical and of value.”
Frank treasured his little model in his pocket, and consented to go back to bed now. He was up bright and early. First thing he was down in his work shop. At breakfast he was more quiet than usual. Frank was doing a great deal of thinking.
“I have certainly got the patent right bee in my bonnet,” he reflected. “It’s a fascinating little insect. Ah, Markham, we were going to let you sleep till you were rested up completely,” added Frank, as their guest put in an appearance.
Markham was pleasant, polite and contented. He put some things in order for Mrs. Ismond, offered to help her with the dishes, and went downstairs finally to join Frank.
“Now then,” he said briskly, “I’m fed up and rested up—what is there to do?”
Frank explained about the needle packages. He told Markham as well as he could what towns in the vicinity had been covered.
“There’s a row of little settlements to the east,” he explained. “You can use my bicycle if you like and give them a call.”
“This is real life,” jubilated Markham, as he set off on the wheel with a hundred packages of the needles done up in a cardboard box.