“Yes,” he answered thoughtfully, “I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t go.”
Perry wriggled in his chair with eagerness.
“Uncle George,” he began excitedly, “when are we going to start? And just whereabouts in Wyoming are we going? And what are we going to look for? And—”
The professor put up his hand in protest.
“Easy, easy there, Perry,” he said. “I’ve a lively remembrance of what you’re like when you start asking questions. Spare me now. I’ll take a walk with you after dinner and you can spring anything that you want to know, then.”
Accordingly, as soon as the meal came to an end—and Perry had never thought a dinner could seem so long and slow, he handed his uncle his hat and the big ironwood stick that the professor always carried, grabbed his own cap and half-pushed him out of the door.
“Now, Uncle George,” he said. “Please, quick, tell me all about it! When are we going to start?”
The professor took out his watch with an assumption of intense hurry and consulted it.
“The last Eohippus sank quietly to sleep about two and a quarter million years ago,” he said, “and somehow I seem to think that he’ll stay there and wait for us a little while longer. But of course, if you’re in such a tremendous rush—”
“Please don’t joke, Uncle George, I really want to know when we’re going to start. I’d like to make those corrections on that Pteranodon that you told me about before I go, any way.”