Part 23 (2/2)

So Mr Rimbolt, as has happened more than once before, gives in, and Percy does as he pleases.

He does full justice to his dinner, and takes no part in the conversation, which is chiefly carried on by Mr Rimbolt, sometimes with his wife, sometimes with Raby. At length, however, the first cravings of appet.i.te being subdued, he shows a readiness to put in his oar.

”How goes the invisible paint, Percy?” asks his father, with a twinkle in his eye.

”Used up,” replies the boy solemnly. ”I'm sure it would answer. I painted Hodge with it, and could scarcely see him at all from a distance.”

”I believe you paint yourself,” says Raby, laughing, ”and that's why the men can't find you.”

Percy is pleased at this, and takes it as a recognition of his genius.

He has great faith in his own discovery, and it is everything to him to find some one else believing in it too.

”If you like to come to the river to-morrow, I'll show you something,”

says he condescendingly. ”It licks the paint into fits!”

”Raby will be busy in the village to-morrow,” says her aunt. ”What is it you are doing at the river?”

”Oh, ah!” solemnly responds the son, whose year at a public-school has not taught him the art of speaking respectfully to his parents; ”wouldn't you like to know?”

”I wish you'd play somewhere else, dear. It makes me so uneasy when you are down by the river.”

”Play!” says Percy rather scornfully; ”I don't play there--I work!”

”I fear you are neglecting one sort of work for another, my boy,” says Mr Rimbolt; ”we never got through Virgil yet, you know--at least, you didn't. I've been through three books since you deserted our readings.”

”Oh, Virgil's jolly enough,” replied the boy; ”I'm going to finish it as soon as my experiments are over.”

”What experiments?”

”Oh, it's a dodge to--I'd show it you as soon as it's finished. It's nearly done now, and it will be a tremendous tip.”

This is all that can be extracted from the youthful man of science--at least, by the elders. To Raby, when the family retires to the drawing- room, the boy is more confidential, and she once more captivates him by entering heart and soul into his project and entreating to be made a party in the experiments.

”I'd see,” says he; ”but mind you don't go chattering!”

Mr Rimbolt gravitates as usual to his library, and here it is that half an hour later his son presents himself, still in his working garb.

”Father,” says the hopeful, ”please can you give me some money?”

”Why, you have had ten s.h.i.+llings a week since you came home!”

”Aren't you a millionaire, father?”

”Some people say so.”

”Doesn't that mean you've got a million pounds?”

”That's what 'millionaire' means.”

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