"Yes, sir, I rather think I have," said William quite calmly and simply.
"You have!" A sudden excitement fused the cold voice. "When did you find it?"
"It would be about half an hour ago."
"Oh, indeed!" said the old man.
This queer fellow's casual tone was extremely puzzling. Why should he be inclined to apologise for having discovered the name of the artist, when it was of such vital importance? The only possible explanation of the mystery at once presented itself to the astute mind which asked the question.
"Then I expect you've been a fool. If you couldn't find Hobbema's signature you had no right to find the signature of anyone else."
William was out of his depth. He could only regard his master with eyes of bewilderment. But June was not out of hers; she was careful, all the same, not to regard Uncle Si with eyes of any kind. She merely regarded her plate. And as she did so, a little shiver that was almost pain ran through her. Uncle Si was such a deep one that she felt ashamed of knowing how deep he was.
"I don't understand, sir," said William, in the way that only he could have spoken.
"Boy," said his master, "you make me tired. In some ways you are clever, but in others you are just the biggest idiot that ever happened. I should have thought a child would have known that this has either got to be a Hobbema or it has got to be nothing. The best thing you can do is to go upstairs right now and take out that signature."
