“To-morrow,” returned Hartley.
“If you would permit me,” urged Connorton, “I think I could make the matter clear to you in a very few minutes.”
“It is really quite important, Mr. Hartley,” put in Paulson, “and I would suggest that you let Mr. Connorton explain.”
The inventor frowned, and looked down at the shelving rock.
“No, no,” expostulated Connorton, hastily; “don’t do that again, Hartley! Keep away from the lake! I won’t say a word without your permission.”
“Oh, very well,” agreed Hartley. “I’ve been pretty badly upset to-day. You have annoyed me persistently—ruffled my artistic temperament. Indeed, I have been strongly tempted, Mr. Connorton, to let Joe take you out and drown you, as he wished to do. Joe doesn’t like to be disturbed any more than I do; and it is so easy for a man to be accidentally drowned up here, especially a man who can’t swim.”
Connorton’s eyes reflected a sudden great fear, and his face became white.
“However,” pursued Hartley, calmly, “you don’t know any better, so I shall try to forgive you. I shall even permit you to speak briefly—very briefly—of business, for we might as well get that out of the way, I suppose. But don’t let Joe hear you.”
Connorton assured himself that Joe was beyond earshot, and then produced the assignment of patent. “It’s a trifle,” he explained, “a mere formality.”
“Ah, yes,” returned Hartley; “you followed me into the wilderness for a trifle.”