With a shrug, Mr. Hunt bowed, and Mrs. Perkins turned to re-enter the house. At that moment Paul, with Rob, Merritt, and Tubby about him, came through the gate. He seemed excited. His checks were flushed. In his hand he held a yellow piece of paper.
“Hooray, mother!” he cried. “News from Washington. They gave me this telegram as we passed the office. It just came.”
“Is it good news, my boy?” asked Mrs. Perkins solicitously.
“The very best!” cried the boy, in a delighted, happy tone. “Mr. Merrill tells me that he has interested the government in my invention in connection with its being used on the South Polar expedition.”
“That is good news, indeed, my boy!” cried his mother joyously. “But, Paul, all this time we have been forgetting that there is a gentleman waiting to see you. Mr. Hunt, this is my boy, and these are his friends, Rob Blake, Merritt Crawford, and Tub—I mean Robert Hopkins.”
“I have heard of Rob Blake,” said Mr. Hunt, coming forward with a scowl. “I have heard of his friends, too. My business is with your lad, Mrs. Perkins.”
“I’m afraid, sir, that it won’t be much good now,” said Mrs. Perkins, vanishing.
As soon as she had gone, Mr. Hunt “opened fire.” He had decided in his own mind that a quick, decisive manner would succeed best with the quiet, dreamy Paul, so he called him aside with an imperative gesture.
“Come here, boy, I wish to speak with you,” he said, smiling with inward satisfaction as he noted how quickly the inventive lad obeyed the summons. Rob, Tubby, and Merritt, their books under their arms, stood near the gate.
“I don’t like the look of the father any more than I do the son,” declared Tubby emphatically.