goodness to save my life the day we got lost on one of your New Hampshire mountains. He didn't tell you any of this because he didn't want to spoil your pleasure; but I am certain that if he had known who I was before I came he would not have allowed you to ask me into your home." "Nonsense! You are way off. Why, he's been as interested in having you with us as I have; at least he has acted so." "_Acted_ is just the word," Van cut in. "He has acted, all right. I guess you'll find he's been acting all the time. Honor bright, hasn't he said anything to you about me?" "No, not one word." Then suddenly Bob flushed; the memory of his father's strange conversation about the boy's visit to the refinery rushed over him. "Dad did say one thing which I did not understand at the time," he confessed reluctantly. "Perhaps, though, he did not mean anything by it." "What was it?" Bob struggled to evade the issue. "Oh, it was nothing much." "Come, Bobbie, you and I are friends," interrupted Van, "and we want to keep on being friends no matter how our fathers feel toward one another. If they have quarreled it is a great pity, but at least we needn't. The only way to straighten out this tangle is to be honest with each other and get at the truth; then, and not until then shall we know where we stand." "You're a brick, Van!" "Come ahead then--let's have it. What was it your father said?" "He merely asked whether it was your plan or mine to visit the refinery, and when I told him I suggested it he inquired all over again if I was sure you did not mention it first," Bob returned in very low tone. The words seemed wrung from him, and he colored as he repeated them. "Was that all?" "Not quite. After I had convinced him that the trip was my own idea he said: '_Well, well--it can do no harm; the process is an open secret, anyway._'" "You see I was right in my guess as to his feelings, Bobbie." "Maybe."