"I know it, Father." Bob flushed guiltily. "I ought to have been. But since we have seen maple-sugar made Van and I thought it would be fun to see the process that white sugar has to go through before it is ready for the market."
"Van thought so, did he?" queried Mr. Carlton.
"Why, yes, he thought so. I believe, though, it was I who suggested it."
"Humph!" murmured Mr. Carlton. He mused a moment. "I suppose it would do no harm," he said at last, half to himself.
"Harm!"
"No, no! Of course not," interrupted Mr. Carlton hurriedly. "The process is an open secret anyway, except perhaps—Oh, I guess it would be all right."
Bob regarded his father with a puzzled stare.
"I will arrange for you and Van to go through the works right away," continued Mr. Carlton. "It simply will be necessary for me to telephone the superintendent and tell him you are coming so he will have some one on hand to explain things to you. This was your scheme, you say?"
"Yes, sir. Why?"
"Nothing, nothing," was Mr. Carlton's enigmatic reply.