“Will you show it to me?”
“With pleasure.”
Herbert led Cameron upstairs into his own chamber, where, since his father's death, the work which had cost his father so many toilsome hours had been kept. Cameron examined it carefully. Herbert waited anxiously for his verdict. At length he spoke.
“As far as I am qualified to judge,” he said, “your father's invention seems to embody an improvement. But you must not rely too much upon my opinion. My knowledge of the details of manufacturing is superficial. I should like to show it to my father.”
“There is nothing that I would like better,” said Herbert, “if you think he would be willing to examine it.”
“He would be glad to do so. It is for his interest to examine anything which will facilitate the details of his business. I am intending to go home next Friday afternoon, and, with your permission, will carry this with me.”
“I shall feel very much obliged to you if you will,” said Herbert. “It may be worth nothing. I know it would have been my father's wish to have it examined by one who is qualified to judge.”
“It is a pity your father could not have lived to enjoy the benefit of his invention, if it succeeds.”
“He was a great loss to us,” said Herbert. “There were but three of us, and he was at an age when we might hope to have him with us for a good many years yet. If I had been a few years older, I should have been better able to make up his loss to my mother.”
“She is fortunate in having a son who is so willing to do his best for her,” said Cameron, kindly. “We don't know what the future may have in store for us, Herbert; but you may rely upon my continued friendship.”