Part 18 (2/2)

”You have a wonderful location here, Bob,” observed Mr. Galbraith who had been studying the view. ”I never saw anything finer. What a site for a hotel!”

Robert Morton could not but smile at the characteristic comment of the man of finance.

”You would have trouble rooting Mr. Spence out of this spot, I'm afraid,” said he.

”Mr. Spence?”

”He is my host. My aunt, Miss Morton, is his housekeeper.”

Robert Morton had learned never to waste words when talking with Mr.

Galbraith.

”I see. I should be glad to meet your aunt and Mr. Spence.”

”I know they would like to meet you too, sir. They are just inside.

Won't you come in?”

Leading the way, Bob threw open the door into the little sitting room.

In antic.i.p.ation of the visit Celestina had arrayed herself in a fresh print dress and ruffled ap.r.o.n and had compelled Willie to replace his jumper with a suit of homespun and flatten his locks into water-soaked rigidity. By the exchange both persons had lost a certain picturesqueness which Bob could not but deplore. Nevertheless the fact did not greatly matter, for it was not toward them that the capitalist turned his glance. Instead his swiftly moving eyes traveled with one sweep over the cobweb of strings that enmeshed the interior and without regard for etiquette he blurted out:

”Heavens! What's all this?”

The remark, so genuine in its amazement, might under other conditions have provoked resentment but now it merely raised a laugh.

”I don't wonder you ask, sir,” replied Willie, stepping forward good-humoredly. ”'Tain't a common sight, I'll admit. We get used to it here an' think nothin' about it; but I reckon it must strike outsiders as 'tarnal queer.”

”What are you trying to do?” queried the capitalist, still too much interested to heed conventionalities.

Simply and with artless navete Willie explained the significance of the strings while the New Yorker listened, and as the old man told his story it was apparent that Mr. Galbraith was not only amused but was vastly interested.

”I say, Mr. Spence, you should have been an inventor,” he exclaimed, when the tale was finished.

He saw a wistful light come into the aged face.

”I mean,” he corrected hastily, ”you should have a workshop with all the trappings to help you carry out your schemes.”

”Oh, Mr. Spence has a workshop,” Robert Morton interrupted. ”The nicest kind of a one.”

”Would you like to see it?” inquired Willie.

”I should, very much.”

”I'm afraid it's no place to take you, sir,” objected Celestina, horrified at the suggestion. ”It ain't been swept out since the deluge. Willie won't have it cleaned. He says he'd never be able to find anything again if it was.”

Mr. Galbraith laughed.

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