You are fortunate to have his aid."

"Almighty fortunate," Willie agreed; then, glancing narrowly at his
visitor, he added: "Then you think there's some likelihood that a
scheme such as this might work. 'Tain't a plumb crazy notion?"

"Not a bit of it. It isn't crazy at all. On the contrary, it should
be perfectly workable, and if it proved so, there would be a mine of
money in it."

"You don't say!"

It was plain that the comment contained less enthusiasm for the
prospective fortune than for the indorsement of the idea.

The New Yorker, however, said nothing more about the invention. He
browsed about the shop with unfeigned pleasure, poking in among the
cans of paint, oil, and varnish, rattling the nails in the dingy
cigar-boxes, and examining the tools and myriad primitive devices
Willie had contrived to aid him in his work.

"I was brought up in a shop like this," he at length exclaimed, "and I
haven't been inside such a place since. It carries me back to my
boyhood."

A strangely softened mood possessed him, and when at last he stepped
out on the grass he lingered a moment beneath the arch of grapevine and
looked back into the low, sun-flecked interior of the shop as if loath
to leave it.

"I am glad to have seen you, Mr. Spence," he said, "and Miss Morton,
too. Bob couldn't be in a pleasanter spot than this. I hope sometime
you will let me come over again and visit you while we are in
Belleport."

"Sartain, sartain, sir!" cried Willie with delight. "Tiny an' me would
admire to have you come whenever the cravin' strikes you. We're
almighty fond of Bob, an' any friends of his will always be welcome."

The little old man went with them to the car and loitered to watch them
roll away.

"You'll see me back to-night," called Bob from the front seat.

"Not to-night, to-morrow," Roger corrected laughingly.

"Well, to-morrow then," smiled the young man.

The engine pulsed, there was a quick throb of energy, and off they
sped. Almost without a sound the motor shot along the sand of the
Harbor Road and whirled into the pine-shaded thoroughfare that led
toward Belleport.

"A fine old fellow that!" mused Mr. Galbraith aloud. "What a pity he
could not have had his chance in life."

Bob nodded.

"I suppose he hasn't a cent to carry out any of these schemes of his."

"No, I am afraid he hasn't."

The financier lit a cigar and puffed at it in thoughtful silence.

"That motor-boat idea of his no