“Hold on,” warned Abner. “Don’t show yer ignorance before yer Uncle, Reddy. Strawberries don’t grow at this time of year. Kind of slipped, eh?”
“Wait and see,” smiled Stanley, winking at Bub.
After Abner had been pushed into the back seat of the machine with Stanley and Bub on either side of him, Hatton humbly reminded, “Does that interview with Nace stand?”
“Certainly. I’ll be here on the hour. Mr. Whitten and the boys will stop with me to-night. We’ll all be here. Only you need not say anything to Nace about my nephew, or their discovery on Flat-Top.”
“Most assuredly not,” said Hatton, bowing his way back to the office.
That night Abner was in wonderland. With no conception of a private car he had imagined he was to be taken to the usual rough and ready coach used on roads penetrating the lumber district and be entertained with a nondescript lunch.
Josef, overcome to behold his favorite, no sooner learned Stanley’s wishes than he bestirred himself to an unusual degree. Thaxter, a man of quiet habits and plain tastes, was almost surprised into betraying his amuse-
