“There, we have not any watch,” interrupted Eunice. “Cut out and get the nursery clock, Cricket. Cover the roll all up, because you know the leastest bit of light will spoil it.”
Cricket obediently “cut out,” and then resumed her reading.
“‘The films will begin to darken in spots, representing the lights.’ Isn’t that the funniest! how can black paper darken in spots, I’d like to know?”
“Can’t imagine; but I know that chemicals make things do all sorts of queer things,” answered Eunice, lucidly. “Cut some more to be soaking while these go into the developer.”
“That first one’s been in more than a minute. Hold it up, Eunice, and let’s see it darken in spots. It hasn’t changed a bit, yet,” she added, disgustedly, after a moment. “Isn’t this waiting going to be slow work?”
The waiting did prove tiresome. Again and again the children took the thick, black squares of carbon paper from their bath in the developer, eagerly scanning the opaque substance, which naturally showed no trace of change.
Five—ten—fifteen minutes ticked slowly away.
“Goodness gracious me!” groaned Eunice at last. “I should think we had been here for five hours. Isn’t this poky?”
“This black paper can never darken,” cried Cricket, despairingly. “There’s some mistake. If it was that white lining paper there would be some sense.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then both girls exclaimed, in a breath: