Thereupon Mrs. Grant promptly caught his hand and peered quite as closely at the tip of the exploring finger as the Shark had peered at the map.
“Nonsense! There isn’t a particle!” she cried indignantly.
“There is,” said the Shark bluntly. “Feeling is often more accurate than sight, and I felt it distinctly.”
Mrs. Grant gasped. “Goodness gracious, boy! Your mother must be one of those miracle housekeepers to bring you up to notice such things!”
“Eh?” The Shark, in turn, was bewildered, but luckily bethought him of his manners. “Excuse me, Mrs. Grant, but—but we can’t be talking about the same thing.”
“I’m talking about dust!”
“Oh!” There was relief in the Shark’s tone: also there was a little impatience. “Dust nothing! What do I care—er—er—I mean I was pretty sure there was a minor water-shed right there, but I had to feel to make certain. The light, you know, is not very strong; hence the chance of error of vision is increased, and——”
Mrs. Grant’s laugh cut him short. It, too, betrayed relief.
“Ha, ha, ha! And I thought, if there’d been any error of vision, it must ’a’ been mine, when I dusted yesterday! And I don’t make my brags about some things, but if anybody can find dirt——”
There she checked herself, and laughed again. “Mercy me, boys, hear me run on! But I’m like everybody else; I’ve got my prejudices, and if you get me started—— There, there! I’m starting, but I’m starting myself. And what you’re really thinking about, I’ll warrant, is dinner, for you’ll be hungry as bears—or boys—after your ride. I never could see much difference—between the bears and the boys. Not that I knew any bears real well, but I did get acquainted with a lot of boys, and they’d act sometimes a good deal the way folks say bears’ll take on, especially about meal time. But ‘error of vision’—and what was that other thing—‘minor water-shed,’ wasn’t it? Somehow, the boys I’ve known didn’t talk much about such things.”