“Humph! Of all men in the world,” said my father. “Well, the place is my own now, and no one has a right to interfere.”
He walked on silently for a few minutes, and then said softly: “I would rather no one had known yet.” Then aloud to me: “Come, Sep, let’s get home and see what these rocks are made of. I’m beginning to think that you have made a great find.”
Chapter Eight.
The Doctor and I Build a Furnace.
My father was very silent as we walked swiftly back home, where he locked up the specimens we had obtained, and then after a few minutes’ thought he signed to me to follow him and started for Ripplemouth.
About half-way there we met Doctor Chowne on his grey pony with Bob walking beside him, and directly after the doctor and my father were deep in conversation, leaving us boys together.
“What’s the matter!” said Bob. “Your father ill?”
“No,” I replied; “I think it’s about business.” How well I can recollect Doctor Chowne! A little fierce-looking stoutish man, in drab breeches and top-boots, and a very old-fashioned cocked hat that looked terribly the worse for wear. He used to have a light brown coat and waistcoat, with very large pockets that I always believed to be full of powders, and draughts, and pills on one side; and on the other of tooth-pincers, and knives, and saws for cutting off people’s legs and arms. Then, too, he wore a pigtail, his hair being drawn back and twisted up, and bound, and tied at the end with a greasy bit of ribbon. But it was not like anybody else’s pigtail, for, instead of hanging down decently over his coat collar, it cocked up so that it formed a regular curve, and looked as if it was a hook or a handle belonging to his cocked hat.