“You say that this all happened to your uncle?” asked Paul somewhat suspiciously.
“Yes, sure, to my uncle in Montana.”
“Really happened to him?” insisted Paul, who had detected a suspicious quiver on Tubby’s lips.
“Yes, indeed. It happened to him just before he fell out of bed.”
A shout of laughter went up then, echoing and ringing among the rafters. Paul good-naturedly joined in it, though the merriment was at his own expense, but his laughter was suddenly checked. There was a small window in one side of the place, and, peering through this aperture, Paul had just detected a face. It was a countenance that was familiar to him, and seemed to be taking the utmost interest in the details of his invention.
“What’s the matter, Paul?” asked Rob, checking his mirth, as he saw the younger lad’s eyes fixed upon the window-pane.
“I—I saw a face there, an instant ago,” stuttered Paul. “It was looking in on us, but it instantly vanished.”
“A face! Gee, whiz! who could it have been?” exclaimed Tubby.
“I don’t know,” rejoined Paul, “but I kind of thought I recognized it for the minute that I saw it.”
“Who do you think it was?”