The old man took from the table drawer a long leather case, drew out another pair of spectacles which he exchanged for the ones he was already wearing, and after scrutinizing the buckle and scowling at it for an interval he carried it to the window.
"What's the matter?" Bob demanded, instantly alert. "Isn't the repairing properly done?"
"'Tain't the repairin' I'm lookin' at," Willie returned slowly. "I've no quarrel with that."
Still he continued to twist and turn the disc of silver, now holding it at arm's length, now bringing it close to his eye with a puzzled intentness.
Robert Morton could stand the suspense no longer.
"What's wrong with it?" he at last burst out.
Willie did not look up but evidently he caught the note of impatience in the younger man's tone, for he drawled quizzically:
"Don't it strike you as a mite peculiar that a buckle should go to Boston with D. L. H. on it an' come home marked C. L. G.?"
"What!"
"That's what's on it—C. L. G. See for yourself."