“Well, can you?”
The boy thought for a moment.
“I might be able to, at that. You know, Father, that Pteranodon of ours is going to be far and away the best Pteranodon in any museum in this country. The American Museum of Natural History in New York will envy us. I wondered, when you bought the specimen from that Kansas chap, that you didn’t send it to New York.”
“I wanted to give our own little museum a start,” the old merchant replied, “and it seemed to me that if it had on exhibition at least one thing that was the best of its kind in the world, that exhibit would help its reputation more than anything I knew. I figure that the Pteranodon will put our local museum on the map.”
“It sure will,” agreed Perry.
“How are you getting along with the mounting of it?”
“Mighty well, I think,” the boy answered, “seeing that I’m doing it nearly all alone. But I’d never have been able to tackle it so well if you hadn’t invited Antoine here last summer. He taught me more about preparing museum specimens in a month than I’d have found out from our chaps here in a year. Why don’t you come over and see it now, Father? I’ve got all the plaster off, and the bones are laid out on a table ready for setting together.”
“Very well, I’ll go with you now,” the merchant said, looking at his watch. “I’m quite keen to see how the thing shapes up. After all, I bought those bones on faith. I haven’t even looked at them yet.”
“It’s a crackerjack,” the boy assured him, “the best that’s ever been got hold of. We’re all tickled over it. The skeleton is pretty well cleared away from the chalk rock now, and I’m having heaps of fun making the model.”
“If you can manage to get the mounting of the Pteranodon finished,” his father rejoined, as they stepped into his car, “I’d be glad. I’d like to have it ready to show your Uncle George when he comes.”