"Isn't that the way you spell your name?" asked Mrs. Horton.
"Culver: John Winston Culver," said Culver. "J. W. Culver will do, of course."
"John Winston Culver!" cried Robert, leaping from the divan in a manner you wouldn't expect from a wounded soldier. "Not Culver, the inventor?"
"A little that way," laughed Culver, "but scarcely enough to be called the inventor. I wish I was!"
Robert was shaking him by the hand.
"Well, you are all right!" he said. "Why, our people in the foundry have been looking for you all over the East. What are you doing here?"
"It is too long a story to tell you now," said Mr. Culver, "but I will be more than glad to get in touch with the office if there is anything in it."
"There is a fortune in it," said Robert, "just as soon as you get the machine perfected! We must have it, and we will give you fine terms for a right to its exclusive use. What are you doing here?"
"I am your mother's chauffeur," said Mr. Culver. "I wanted something to do that would give me a good deal of leisure to work on the engine and after I came back from France we were visiting my wife's people here and I saw your mother's advertisement and took the place."
"It is almost too good to be true!" said Robert. "If you agree, we'll work the thing out together."