“Oh, Roy!” cried his aunt, admiringly, “do you think you’ll be able to get a position?”
“Without a doubt, aunt,” rejoined Roy, confidently; “no doubt several business houses would be glad—to have me with them,” Roy was going to say but he thought better of it and concluded, “to give me a chance.”
Peggy said nothing, which rather irritated the boy. He concluded, however, that being a girl, she could hardly be expected to appreciate the responsibilities of the man of the household. For since that afternoon and its disclosures, Roy had, in his own mind, assumed that important position.
Somewhat to Roy’s surprise he found no difficulty in obtaining access to Mr. Harding at the bank. On the contrary, had he been expected he could not have been ushered into the old man’s presence with greater promptness. He stated his business briefly and straightforwardly.
“Now, Mr. Harding,” he concluded, “is there no way in which this matter can be straightened out?”
The old man, in the rusty black suit, picked up a pen and began drawing scrawly diagrams on the blotter in front of him. Apparently he was in deep thought. But had Roy been able to penetrate that mask-like face he would have been startled at what was passing in Simon Harding’s mind. At last he spoke:
“I understand that you have built an aeroplane which is a success?” he questioned.
“That’s right, sir,” said Roy, flushing proudly; “but the ideas we put into it were my father’s—every one of them. He practically made it his life work, you see, and––”
“And you beggared yourself carrying those ideas out, eh?” snarled the old man. “Oh, you need not look astonished. I know all about your affairs. More than you think for. And now having expended a wicked sum for the engine of this flying thing where do you expect to reap your profit?”
Roy was rather taken aback. In the past days—since the first wonderful flight of the Golden Butterfly—he had not given much thought to that part of it. He realized this now with a rather embarrassed feeling. Old Harding eyed him keenly.