“Well, Dad, what was this man telling you?”
“Yes, Mr. Hampton, tell us,” added Frank “We’re curious.”
“What do you know about the ‘Lost Expedition?’” countered Mr. Hampton. “I stood in the doorway unobserved a moment and heard you discussing it.”
“Nothing but what this article in the Sunday paper tells,” said big Bob, grumblingly, “And the fellow that wrote this yarn didn’t know very much. It’s mostly talk.”
Mr. Hampton nodded.
“Speculation, I suppose,” he said. “Well, that’s the best the writer could do. The facts aren’t generally known. However, wait a minute until I get off this wet coat and get into something comfortable. It’s raining again.”
“Raining again?” said Jack. “Doesn’t it ever stop here?”
“Oh, that’s just the Seattle Winter,” said his father. “The rains are necessary, and, really, they are so mild one doesn’t mind them after a time.”
“Huh,” grumbled big Bob. “I’d think these people would grow web feet.”
“Look here,” said Mr. Hampton, after getting into his smoking jacket and slippers. “What I learned today ought to interest you boys.”