“Oh! Come in—if you can get the door open.”
Chet tried the door—to find it bolted. Then he heard a movement within, and the barrier was opened.
“Oh, I thought you were alone,” said the man within. He was tall and thin, and wore a heavy beard and big spectacles.
“No, Professor Jeffer. This is my friend, Andy Graham, and this is a gentleman who fell over Moose Ridge cliff and got hurt. Can we bring him in?”
“Why, yes, certainly, of course!” cried Upham Jeffer. “Hurt, eh? Where?”
“He has a bruised ankle, and some cuts on his head.”
“I see. Well, bring him in, and what remedies I have on hand shall be at his service. I’m a bit sick myself—been making some experiments with nitrogen that didn’t agree with me. You see, I reasoned out that if nitrogen could be dissolved by means of——”
“Where can I place the gentleman?” broke in Chet, who knew Upham Jeffer’s weakness for going off into scientific discussions.
“Oh, yes, of course, I forgot. Why, place him anywhere. Make yourselves at home.” The old scientist looked around rather helplessly. “There is my medicine closet. Use whatever you can find there.”
He was really a fine old man, but so wrapped up in his scientific experiments that he paid little attention to the world at large, or what was going on around him. He was very learned, but apt to be forgetful to the last degree. He lived alone, and it was reported that he had a goodly sum in the bank. Certainly he never seemed to want for funds, although his mode of living was far from extravagant.