Swiftly Octave opened the closely guarded pocket-book, and gave the professor some simple lines of writing, with odd looking formulæ. To her, they were less intelligible than Greek; but to the gentleman they were a familiar language. Their meaning, also, appeared to have startled and delighted him; for he suddenly laid down the sheets of paper and looked at Octave searchingly. “Do you tell me that this was prepared by a boy of fourteen years? An invalid, and alone?”
“I do. He has had good instruction until within the last six months, when the professor who used to live on Deer Hill Mountain removed to the South. My cousin Melville cares for nothing so much as study, and he has had no chance to do anything else. I don’t know much about boys, but it seems to me he is awfully clever, is he not?”
“He is more. He is a genius.”
“And is the ‘stuff,’ good for anything?”
“Time will prove, and some exhaustive experiments. It interests me. I will look into it. If you will give me your address, I will write to him.” Octave drew out her card, but, as she was about to hand it to her host, he said, “How did you come here? With friends?”
“I came alone, sir.”
“Alone! Where shall you spend the night?”
“I—hoped to get through in time to go home, but I fear it is too late. Will you be good enough to tell me some hotel that is nearer the station than the Metropole? I want to get back as early in the morning as I can.”
“Do you know the Hotel Metropole?”
“Yes, sir; we stopped there for a week when we came to America with Uncle Fritz. But it is a long way down, I think.”