"Why, yes—er—that is—I don't know. I mean I can't say."
"Wa'al, we'll git at it arter a while," laughed Enberry. "Which is it?"
"Where are you going?" asked Roger, a sudden thought coming to him.
"Syracuse. Why?"
"That's where I'm going then."
"Humph! Made up yer mind rather suddint," commented Enberry, with a grin. "But ye're welcome, all th' same. I won't be comin' back 'til rather late though, 'long about nine o'clock," he added.
"That will suit me good enough," said Roger. "I'll tell you what it is," growing confidential, and knowing he could trust Mr. Took. "I want to go to Syracuse to find a chemist. I have something, and I want to find out what it is. I was going to ask Professor Bailey, but he has gone away, and I'm in a hurry. I don't s'pose you know of a man out to the city who could tell all about minerals and such things, do you?"
"Ye say ye've got suthin' 'n' don't know what it is?" asked Mr. Took, with rather a puzzled look on his face.
Roger nodded.
"Then I know th' very place fer ye," said Enberry, suddenly. "Perfessor Bootsky 's th' man fer ye. He's a fortune teller. That's what ye want. He'll reveal th' past, present, 'n' future. I went t' him onct. Told me I'd hev bad luck inside of a month, 'n' I'll be gol-swizzled ef one a' my cows didn't up 'n' die on me. He's th' chap fer ye. Tell ye anythin' 'bout nothin' 'n' nothin' 'bout everythin', jest's ye like. I'll take ye t' him. G'lang, Kate!" and fired with sudden energy and enthusiasm, Mr. Took sent the mare along at a flying pace.