“I’m afraid this storm will interfere with the art critics who were to look at those miniatures,” put in Ben. “Oh, dear! I wish we knew just what those little paintings were worth.”
“I hope they prove to be worth at least a hundred thousand dollars,” said Phil. “That will be a nice sum of money for you folks, Ben.”
“Right you are!” answered the son of the real estate dealer.
The youths were tremendously interested in the miniatures, and a discussion of them ensued which lasted the best part of half an hour. Ben described some of the pictures as well as he was able, and told of how they were packed, and of how they had been placed in the Basswood safe, waiting for the critics that Mr. Wadsworth had promised to bring from the city to his home to inspect them.
“Well, I suppose we might as well turn in,” 119 said Roger, presently, as he gave a yawn. “I must confess I’m tired.”
“Come ahead, I’m willing,” announced Phil; and then he and the senator’s son retired to the next room.
“O pshaw! what do you suppose I did?” exclaimed Dave to Ben, while the pair were undressing. “I left my overcoat and my cap on the rack in the lower hallway. I should have brought them up here.”
“I did the same thing,” answered his chum. “I guess they’ll be safe enough. All the folks in this hotel seem to be pretty nice people.”
“I don’t suppose there are any blizzard pictures among those miniatures, Ben?” observed Dave, with a laugh just before turning in.
“There is a picture of one army officer in a big, shaggy uniform which looks as if it might be worn because of cold weather,” answered Ben; and then, as the miniatures were very close to his heart, the youth began to talk about them again.