There was an abrupt lull in the conversation as the Morgan automobile came down the beach road from the direction of Rockley Cove. Mr. Morgan gave the chauffeur the signal to stop and leaped from the machine in an excited way.
The politic young Aldrich advanced to meet the capitalist, all smiles and ceremony. Mr. Morgan almost brushed him aside, not even noticing the extended hand.
He went straight up to Tom, and his eyes glowed with friendly interest. Mr. Morgan caught both of Tom’s hands in his own and gave them a hearty shake.
“Barnes,” he said, “I stopped to say just a word to you. I must get to the city at once, but when I return I want you to come down to Fernwood. I have something important to say to you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” bowed Tom courteously.
“You have saved me much of my fortune,” declared the capitalist in a tremulous, grateful tone. “How shall I ever repay you? Going up to the house, Grace?” he inquired of his daughter.
“Yes, papa, it is my practice hour.”
With a bewitching smile for Tom and a crisp little nod to Bert Aldrich the miss sprang airily into the car.
“Oh, Tom,” she called back to the young wireless operator, as she mischievously noted the discomfited look on the face of young Aldrich, “I won’t be like some people—I’ll be on time to-morrow to have you show me all the wonders of that delightful wireless tower of yours.”