"I don't like him," and Mrs. Smith gave a shrug of distaste. "He doesn't look you squarely in the face."
"I hate that trick he has of brushing his hair out of his eyes. It makes me nervous," confessed the younger Miss Clark.
"I can't see why a botanist doesn't occasionally look at a plant," observed Dorothy. "We've watched him day after day and we've almost never seen him do a thing except push his stick into the ground and examine it afterwards."
"Do you remember that girl who was with him at the Flower Festival?" inquired Ethel Brown. "I saw her with him again this afternoon at the field. When he pushed his cane down something seemed to stick to it when it came up and he wiped it off with his hand and gave it to her."
"Could you see what it was like?"
"It looked like dirt to me."
"What did she do with it?"
"She took it and began to turn it around in her hand, rubbing it with her fingers the way Dorothy does when she's making her clay things."
Mr. Clark brought down his foot with a thump upon the porch.
"I'll bet you five million dollars I know what he's up to!" he exclaimed.