The taller and elder of the two appeared to be a man of about forty-five. And though his face was bronzed by exposure to the elements, a dark, pointed beard and eye-glasses served to give him an air quite in accord with the title of “professor.”
The most conspicuous features about the other, evidently but a few years older than the lads, at whom he stared with a mingled look of wonder and amusement, were a pair of clear blue eyes, and dark, chestnut hair.
“Now, fire away, fellows!” he began easily.
“Yes, do! Really this is a most welcome surprise,” interjected the other. Then, dropping his bantering tone for one of seriousness, he added, “But do kindly assuage my feeling of overwhelming curiosity. How does it happen that a crowd of boys——”
“Oh, yes; we know just what you’re going to ask,” Tom’s voice had a weary note in it—“that kind of question has been often tossed to us before. But I think, sir——”
“Quite right,” replied the man, smilingly. “Our explanations should come first. Besides, we owe you an apology for so unceremoniously entering your house.”
All this, spoken in a jovial tone, had the effect of prepossessing the crowd in the visitors’ favor.
“My name is Horatio Kent,” he explained. “And I am a lecturer. Every year I deliver a series of travelogues in the large Eastern cities, which are illustrated by motion-pictures.”
“What a great job!” cried Cranny.
“It has its advantages. This is my assistant—an expert motion-picture photographer.”