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"That," replied he, "is, as Kipling says, another story, and a long one too. I don't know that I myself could follow every step of it. But you will find McPhearson can. So seriously has he taken his profession that he is not to be floored by anything in time-keeping history. Ask him to tell you what you wish to know."
"I don't believe," ventured he, with a wistful expression, "it would be fair to swap any of the stuff I know for yours. You see, the things you have stored away in your mind are so much so much finer." "They weren't at first, laddie," returned McPhearson kindly. "I gathered a deal of worthless material before it occurred to me I could improve its quality.
He turned out excellent long-case clocks as well as some musical ones, and many of these survive him. He died in Baltimore in 1803. "And Simon?" "Ah, the story of Simon and his deeds would fill a book. He was the flower of the family, so far, anyway, as clockmaking went. His handiwork cannot be surpassed," exclaimed McPhearson with enthusiasm.
Moreover, old bracket clocks are not often for sale. Those who own them are aware of their value and will not part with them." "Then I guess all I can do is to listen to this one," sighed Christopher. "That is all I can do myself," McPhearson declared, with a wan smile. "I should consider I had a fortune could I own a treasure like this.
"I never get tired of them," smiled McPhearson. "If I did, it would be fatal. They are my daily bread." "And mine, too, for that matter," rejoined Christopher. "Perhaps," admitted the Scotchman. "Still you do not subsist wholly on clocks. Your bread is studded with pearls, emeralds, and rubies." The fancy pleased the boy, and he laughed. "Rather indigestible eating," he protested.
"But how could I?" retorted Christopher irritably. "I couldn't go up to the man and ask him politely whether he was the burglar who took a diamond ring from my father's shop, could I?" The absurdity of the question brought back his good humor. "No. I grant that," McPhearson agreed. "Still you might have proceeded with a grain less speed. I always think an action can bear considering."
Indeed he seemed to have read and studied omnivorously and not a week passed that he did not add to his store of learning some interesting romance of a pair of old Sheffield candlesticks or a royal ruby. In fact Mr. Rhinehart was not just a man; he was a walking story-book, and, like McPhearson, a thoroughly delightful companion.
Miss Alden, my Latin teacher, would fall in a faint if she heard me rolling out these Latin derivatives, I'll bet. I'm not often taken this way. Say, Mr. McPhearson, I seem to be learning quite a lot if I'm not in school. This is a darn pleasanter way to do it, too."
"I told you it was the monks who packed their time the fullest and paid the greatest heed to the hours in those days." The boy did not answer immediately and when he did it was to venture politely: "I suppose equitable motion was a fine thing." McPhearson peeped at him over the top of his glasses. "Have you any idea, laddie, what it was?" he interrogated.
"He say there's no excuse for it no excuse!" McPhearson opened the door and glanced inside. "Can you see anything wrong, sir?" queried the old butler eagerly. "Not yet. I've got to make a more thorough examination." "Likely you have. But whatever's the matter, you'll find it I know that. I never see such a man for clocks as you in all my born days; an' the master, he say the same. 'Mr.
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