“F. Stone can,” declared Fibsy; “he can do a lot for you, Mrs. Embury.” The red head nodded vigorously, as was the boy’s habit, when much in earnest.
Hanlon regarded him closely, and Fibsy returned the scrutiny.
“Say,” the boy broke out, suddenly. “I’ve seen you before. You’re the man who found the hidden jackknife, in Newark!”
“The same,” and Hanlon smiled at him. “Were you present?”
“I sure was! Gee! You’re a wonder!”
“I was a wonder, but I don’t do wonderful things any more.”
“What do you do now?”
“Yes,” chimed in Eunice, “what are you doing, Mr. Hanlon? You told me you were going to take up a different line of work.”
“I did, Mrs. Embury; I’m a prosaic and uninteresting painter man nowadays.”
“An artist?”