“Where?”
“Wyoming.”
“And am I going?”
“That’s for your father to say. I’d like to have you along.”
The lad looked appealingly to the old merchant at the head of the table. The latter caught his son’s look and smiled.
“I think we’ll have to let the boy go with you, George,” he said, “if it’s only to give us a rest. I pledge you my word that there’s been so much paleontology talked in this house ever since Perry came back from that Egyptian trip, that half the time, when a bird comes on the table at dinner time, I hardly know whether I’m carving a modern chicken or an Archæopteryx.”
The scientist smiled broadly.
“In that case,” he said, “you’d better let him come with me.”
“Oh, Father,” cried Perry, “can’t I go?”
The boy’s mother began some protest from the other end of the table, but the old merchant paid no heed.