“Well, whenever you see something that you think tells you anything, Tommy, you just follow it up and never mind about folks laughing. I shouldn’t wonder if you’ve made a haul here.”
“There was one of ’em that interested me specially,” ventured Tom; “the one about motors.”
Mr. Conne glanced over the papers again. “Hmm,” said he, “I dare say that’s the least important of the lot—sort of crack-brained.”
Tom felt squelched.
“Well, anyway, they’ll all be taken care of,” Mr. Conne said conclusively, as he stuffed the papers in his pocket.
Tom could have wished that he might share in the further developments connected with those interesting papers. But, however important Mr. Conne considered them, he put the matter temporarily aside in the interest of Tom’s proposed job.
“I just happened to think of you,” he said, as he took his hat and coat, “when I was talking with the steward of the Montauk. He was saying they were short-handed. Come along, now, and we’ll go and see about it.”
Mr. Conne’s mind seemed full of other things as he hurried along the street with Tom after him. On the ferryboat, as they crossed to Hoboken, he was more sociable.
“Don’t think any more about those letters now,” he said. “The proper authorities will look after them.”
“Yes, sir.”