A great gladness glowed in Van's eyes, for terse as was the phrase it bore to him the very recognition he had coveted from Bob's father. Mr. Carlton, however, did not enlarge upon the subject, but casting it swiftly into the background asked:
"Are you sure you both would rather spend your last morning in New York going through a candy factory than doing anything else? Factories are tiresome places, you must remember."
"But a candy factory could never be tiresome!" asserted Bob.
His father laughed.
"There are just as many miles in a candy factory as any other," he replied. "Any of the men who work there would tell you that, I fancy."
"But they are such nice miles!" argued Bob. "Don't you say we go, Van?"
"I sure do. I want to see how they dip chocolates," Van answered.
"It's all aboard to-morrow morning, then," Mr. Carlton said as he lit his after-dinner cigar.
"There's one thing, Dad, that it's only fair to warn you about," called Bob, turning on the lowest step of the stairway to address his father. "Our expedition may cost you something. You see they probably won't let us eat any candy at the factory; we'll just have to walk round with our eyes open and our hands crammed into our pockets to keep from swiping it. All the time we'll be getting up a tremendous candy appetite, and the minute we get outside we'll just have to make a bee-line for the first candy shop in sight and get filled up. So you must be prepared to cash in for refreshments."
The corners of Mr. Carlton's mouth twisted into an enigmatic smile.