“Say, pop,” he began, “why are you so put out?”
“If you knew what a night we passed you wouldn’t ask,” was the answer.
“I suppose you know we did something that has never been done before. Don’t you think it a pretty fine thing to do something that they will have to write about way over in London? Don’t you remember how pleased you were when that New York art magazine said your new Davenport bed was an inspiration?”
“That’s different,” growled Mr. Graham. “That means money.”
“No, sir,” protested Frank with a smile. “You just think so. What pleased you was the fact that you had an idea; you thought of a good thing before any of your competitors.”
“They do say it wasn’t a bad idea,” acknowledged Mr. Graham. “But this airship—”
“Is my idea,” exclaimed Frank. “It may not mean money, but I’m proud of it. Other people praise it. Why shouldn’t my father? I’d rather make one new thing of use to the world than have the highest paid job on your pay roll, if I only copy some other person’s plans.”
Mr. Graham shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll smash the Loon to smithereens if you say so,” continued Frank, “but I hope you’ll think about it a little before you ask me to do so.”
“You needn’t do any smashin’ yet,” conceded Mr. Graham with a smile, “but—well, we’ll see.”