“Who called me?” he asked. “I was just reading an account of the Marathon runner, who brought the news of that great victory. It is in a very rare volume, which I found yesterday on—Why, bless my soul! If it isn’t the boy from the book store. Let me see, I think I never paid you that ten dollars. Very forgetful of me, I’m sure. Come right in, and I’ll get it. How is Mr. Townsend?”
“I’m not there any more,” said Tom. “But you paid the ten dollars all right. Don’t you remember, I thought I had lost it?”
“Oh, so you did. That was the night you brought me the rare volume about—er—um—well, really I have forgotten what it was about. But I remember now, you are an electrician.”
“Not quite,” said Tom, with a laugh, “but that’s pretty near it. I’m a telephone boy, and I have a message for you.”
“A telephone message?”
“Not exactly; though it’s about a telephone.”
“Come right into my study,” went on the doctor. “I was just reading a book on—why, bless my soul, I’ve forgotten what it was about. Oh, my wretched memory! I must try to be more careful.”
He pulled out an easy chair for Tom, and then stood in the middle of the room, looking about him in some bewilderment.
“What is the matter?” asked the boy.
“Why—er—I have forgotten what we came here for.”