“Wireless shoes!” exclaimed the man. “That’s a good one. I thought you called them electric shoes.”
“I did,” answered the boy. “I used that term because it might explain itself. Wireless slipped off my tongue next in an unguarded moment. I suppose I’ll have to give you a lecture now on perpetual electricity in order to make myself clear.”
Guy now proceeded to explain the wireless theory of the rheumatic cure shoes, as it had been explained to him by Smithers. This he felt was no violation of confidence, as he had gathered from the Bond street jeweler that the idea could not be successfully stolen without a careful examination of the inclosed mechanism of the “radio footgear.”
“That’s a great idea if it’ll work,” declared Gunseyt. “And even if it doesn’t work it’s interesting enough to be amusing. I’m going to come to your room and have a look at them before we get to New York if you don’t mind.”
“Come any time I’m in,” was Guy’s invitation as he walked away.
“I’ll be in tonight,” the man called out after him.
“All right; I’ll look for you,” returned the boy hospitably.
True to his promise, Gunseyt called at Guy’s stateroom in the evening. The latter produced the “wireless shoes” and the visitor examined them with apparently deep interest. Mrs. Burton was present and expressed a good deal of amusement over “such nonsense.” Gunseyt however, endeavored gently to argue her into a more serious view of the subject.
In the midst of this discussion came a knock on the door, followed by remarkable actions on the part of Gunseyt. With rapid, nervous movements, he jammed the shoes back into the box and laid it on a table in a remote corner of the room.
Guy was astonished. Mrs. Burton also observed the act and wondered at it. The boy opened the door.