His face glowed with almost beatific light as he saw his
dream slowly take form. Nothing he had ever done equalled this
masterpiece. The project was his first thought at waking, the last
before closing his eyes at night. Sometimes, even, when all but the
sea slept, he would tiptoe downstairs, candle in hand, just to steal a
glance at the child of his fancy. So absorbed was he in its growth and
progress that it never crossed his mind to marvel that two men of
Howard Snelling's and Robert Morton's ability should sacrifice to the
invention the golden hours of the rare June days. Their interest was
nothing miraculous. Who wouldn't have been interested in such a
wonderful undertaking?
Indeed, Mr. Snelling's concern for the venture was almost as keen as
his own. From morning until late noon he toiled. Occasionally the
Galbraiths' chauffeur brought him over from Belleport, but more often
it was Cynthia who made the trip with him. Mr. Galbraith, it appeared,
had been called back to New York on urgent business; Roger had gone
with friends on a yachting cruise; and Mrs.
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