“Well, then,” the other answered with mock resignation, “I suppose we’ll have to arrange it. It’s true, son, that your uncle seems to think the idea of your joining the expedition is a bit foolish. He says you’re too young to know what you’re about and not strong enough to be of any use to the expedition.”
“But—” began Perry, interrupting.
“On the other hand,” continued his father, not heeding the interruption, “he says he’ll give you every chance to learn, though he appears to discount nearly everything I said about your knowledge of fossils and of paleontology in general. I don’t know, but perhaps I did lay it on a bit thick. So it’ll be up to you, son, to make good my words.”
“You bet I’ll do everything I can,” declared the lad excitedly. “Have I got a regular appointment, Father?”
“You have not,” was the emphatic reply. “Museum authorities don’t appoint boys to official positions on a scientific expedition, even when they’re as lanky and overgrown as you. A man has got to be a simon-pure expert before he can get a Museum appointment, and even then, he’s got to work up through an assistantship. No, my boy, you’re just accompanying your uncle and I’m footing the bill.
“I’ve always been willing to hand out cash freely for the scientific work of the Museum and I had sent a cheque for five thousand to the fund for this very expedition, before you had said anything to me about your Patagonia idea. That subscription helped, to a certain extent, but even so I don’t believe I could have persuaded the Director to let you go along unless he was convinced that you were a promising young paleontologist. You know I was away last week?”
“Yes.”
“I went to New York to see the Director of the American Museum about you. One of your friends—an assistant curator, who knows our Director down here—spoke up in your favor.”
“I can guess who that was!”
“Maybe, but you won’t find out from me.” The financier laughed. “The American Museum director had to have his little joke, of course,” he continued. “Do you know what he told me—