inance.

"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 anticipation of the visit Celestina had arrayed herself in a fresh
print dress and ruffled apron 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 naivete 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 ag