A faint sound of voices from below reached his ears. Then the front door was opened and two figures appeared on the steps. They were Mr. Wingate and Nat.
Bob scarcely dared to breathe, as they walked slowly toward the gate.
"Don't bother me about it any more," Mr. Wingate was saying; "this is only a matter of business, and we prefer to discuss it in private."
"I don't believe you've told me the real thing," growled Nat. "Why do you want to keep anything back?"
"You should not have been so silly as to leave the boys and come here. You ran away at Clair Bay, and now when I ask you to stay with your friends you come here to bother me with annoying questions."
"But why are you so afraid to answer them?" demanded Nat.
"I declare! You would try the patience of a saint," cried Mr. Wingate, angrily. Then he added, in a milder tone: "Now, Nat, if everything goes well, my promise is to be fulfilled. Run along—I am keeping those gentlemen waiting."
Nat was clearly in a disgusted frame of mind as he slowly walked away.
Bob Somers straightened up to ease his aching back. The expression on his face indicated the greatest astonishment.
"Crickets, I'm glad to know this," he muttered. "Nat Wingate isn't half as bad as we thought. He did run away from his uncle, after all. What a piece of luck! Guess even Chubby will open his eyes when he hears the news."