"What are they?"
"These." And Allyn offered a half-dozen sheets of paper to his father.
Dr. McAlister glanced at them; then he put the reins into Allyn's hand.
"Here," he said; "you can drive. I want to look at these."
For some moments, there was a silence, while the doctor turned over the papers and Allyn's heart thumped until it seemed to him as if it could be heard distinctly. Then deliberately the doctor took off his glasses, shut them into their case and put the case into his pocket.
"Allyn," he said slowly; "I don't know much about such things; but I rather think that you have found your work. Some of these drawings are well done. Where did you get your machines?"
"I made them up."
"Oh." The doctor's tone was more dry than he realized; but he was unwilling, for the boy's own good, to show the pride he felt in his son. "Suppose we talk this over, then, and see what plans we would better make. I did want you to be a doctor, Allyn; it would have made me very happy, but I think it isn't best for you. It doesn't seem to be just in your line, and I don't believe in forcing you into the wrong profession. Even if an engineer's life meant hard work and disagreeable people and things around you, would you like to try it?"
"Yes."
"You would be happy in it?"
"Yes."