Anne was at a loss to know what to say. She looked doubtfully at Madge who was unable to help her.
“I can’t make any promise about the formula,” she said after a slight hesitation.
“You’re not dealing with another company, I hope,” Mr. Brownell said quickly.
“Oh, no. Father wrote to several firms, I believe, but I’ve not entered into any correspondence.”
Mr. Brownell did not seem entirely convinced. He debated a minute, studying the lake meditatively.
“Any fish here?” he questioned abruptly.
“It’s the best fishing lake in this part of the country,” Madge informed quickly. “Only this morning my uncle caught a seven pound bass. And it put up a magnificent fight.”
“I’d enjoy meeting a bass like that. If I can find accommodations I’ll stay a day or so.”
Madge suggested that her aunt might take him in, and arrangements were soon made. As the amphibian taxied away without its passenger, Clyde Wendell came down the trail. Anne did not wish to speak to him and hurriedly took her departure.
“What shall I do about the formula?” she whispered to Madge as they said goodbye at the water’s edge. “Shall I tell him it’s lost?”