“I am just in from the inspection trip, and I meant to go back to the office and work a while. Why?”
“I want you to do something for me, if you will.”
“After what you did for me last night, you have only to ask,” was the grateful rejoinder. “State your case.”
Brant stated it at some length, omitting none of the details save those which might have defined his own motive in playing the knight-errant.
“I think I know where to look for the boy,” he said in conclusion; “but I am more than afraid that any argument that I could bring to bear on him would be so much wasted eloquence. I want you to go along, and when we find him it will be your part of the job to persuade him to go home.”
“He hasn’t much use for me, as I have told you,” Antrim objected. “But I’ll go along and do what I can. It’s a great pity the judge doesn’t set him to work at something.”
“What is his bent? or has he any?” asked Brant.
“I don’t know that he has any now. At school he was the best mathematician in his class; and there was a time when he wanted to learn your trade. Mrs. Langford was quite willing until it came to field work, and then she put her foot down. Her Willie was not to go careering around all over the world with a lot of rough engineers, she said.”
“Oh, no; of course not,” assented Brant, not without scorn. “She was quite right; we are a hard lot.”
The emphasis was so bitter that Antrim glanced up in surprise. “Has she been giving you a lecture on the subject?” he asked quizzically.