"Naturally, the Weather Bureau could give a much more detailed, though not necessarily a more accurate report, if, instead of having 200 stations, we had two thousand, and if the appropriations of the Bureau were multiplied by ten, so that there might be a larger force to interpret and explain the observations that have been recorded. Still, we're all proud of the Weather Bureau and its work, and if you watch it closely, Mr. Tighe, you won't find us far out. Just as a test of it, keep your potatoes in your root-house until Tuesday and watch the thermometer for the next two days."
"I'll do that," said the farmer, "and I'm much obliged." He took his hat. "Any of you boys coming my way?" he asked.
This was an unheard-of geniality on the part of Jed Tighe, but two of the boys jumped at the offer. The last words that the Forecaster heard were in the farmer's voice, as he drove off:
"About that Weather Map, now—"
Mr. Levin nodded to the two boys and strolled across the sun-dial lawn to his own buggy, well satisfied that another convert to the Weather Bureau work had been made.
About ten days after this meeting, after supper, just as Anton was going to bed, his father came in with a grave face.
"I'm afraid Dan'l's in a peck of trouble," he said.
"Why, Father?" asked the crippled lad.
"He's accused of having shot Carl Lindstrom," was the startling reply.
"But he couldn't!" declared Anton, jumping at once to the defence of the darky.