"The face shows fairly well," he announced. "I'd easily enough recognize the man if ever I ran across him, and that's something."
Frank looked long and earnestly at the proof.
"So that's our hermit, is it?" he remarked; "the old man they say acts so queerly, and has kept to himself up there on his estate for years, living the life of a recluse among his books and papers. There must be some good reason for his acting that way. He's met with some sort of terrible disappointment in life it may be; but then that's no business of ours."
"But Frank, I was meaning to suggest something to you to-day," began Will, looking uncertain, as though he did not know just how the other might take the proposition he had on the tip of his tongue.
"Oh! so that's the way the wind blows, does it?" remarked Frank, raising his eyebrows as he looked at his chum. "Somehow when you declined to let Bluff take the camera along with him I had an idea you were figuring on some scheme. You look like a regular conspirator, Will. Out with it before you choke."
"Listen then, Frank; I was hoping I might coax you to go up there again to-day when I could be along."
Frank whistled upon hearing this suggestion.
"I reckon you mean go to the hermit's place, Will?" he remarked inquiringly.
"Yes, that's just it, Frank, and please, now, don't shut down on me too quickly. Say you'll think it over, and let me know at noon."
Frank scratched his head as though considering. The fact of the matter was he himself had a peculiar yearning to make that trip again. There is a sort of subtle fascination about prowling around forbidden territory. Then the mystery connected with the hermit had aroused his curiosity. That strange cry, too, lingered in his memory even more than Frank cared to confess to Bluff.