The old inventor and Bob were seated idly on the workshop steps. No
longer did the vibrant hammer and purring plane blend their metallic
notes with the music of the surf. Their work was done, and until he
was "kitched with a new idee" Willie had nothing to do but smoke
beneath the shade of the grapevine and rambler rose and watch the vast
reach of water to the line where it melted into the blue of the sky.
Since his interview with Mr. Galbraith, Robert Morton had had all he
could do to keep from Willie the assurance that Janoah's accusations
were false and that instead of misfortune good luck was winging its way
toward the low gray house on the bay. Bob was a generous fellow and it
added tenfold to his present happiness to know that joy was also coming
to one toward whom he cherished an abiding affection. The secret,
however, was Mr. Galbraith's, and until the New Yorker saw fit to
impart it he must maintain silence. Therefore, with smiles wreathing
his face and the wonderful story locked tightly in his possession, he
tried to be patient until the final revelation should be made.
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