"Mr. Griffin," repeated Bob; "guess he wants to see dad."
But the girl was quite certain that she had made no mistake.
"Well, tell him I'll be down," said Bob, in a puzzled tone. He closed his book and descended to the drawing-room.
As he entered, a tall, thin man with rugged, kindly features rose to meet him.
For an instant, Bob did not recognize his well-dressed visitor. Then, like a flash, memory served him. Yet in this man, clean-shaven and sprucely attired, there was little to suggest the trapper they had known in the wilds.
"Yardsley!" he gasped, in the greatest astonishment, wringing his hand. "Why—how—it scarcely seems possible—and Maggie made such a mistake—said Mr. Griffin wanted to see me."
"She was quite correct," laughed the other—"J. Yardsley Griffin, at your service."
Bob stared at him in surprise.
Mr. Griffin seemed to be considerably amused, and continued, slowly, "You know I promised to call on you—and I make it a point to always keep my word."
Bob Somers' astonishment was growing. The trapper's manner of speech had changed as much as his appearance. There was no suggestion of the backwoods vernacular, and divining his thoughts, Mr. Griffin laughed.