head in at the door.

"What are you three conspirators up to?" inquired he. "You look as if
you were making bombs or some other deadly thing."

"We are making a telephone, Dad, and it won't work," was Laurie's
answer.

Mr. Fernald smiled with amusement.

"You seem to have plenty of wire," he said. "In fact, if I were
permitted to offer a criticism, I should say you had more wire than
anything else. How lengthy a circuit do you expect to cover?"

"Oh, we're not ambitious," Laurie replied. "If we can cross the room we
shall be satisfied, although now that you mention it, perhaps it
wouldn't be such a bad thing if it could run from my room at home over
here." He eyed his father furtively. "Then when I happened to have to
stay in bed I could talk to Ted and he could cheer me up."

"So he could!" echoed Mr. Fernald in noncommittal fashion.

"It would be rather nice, too, for Mr. Wharton," went on the diplomat
with his sidelong glance still fixed on his father. "He must sometimes
wish he could reach Ted without bothering to send a man way over here.
And then there are the Turners! Of course a telephone to the shack
would give them no end of pleasure. They must miss Ted and often want
to speak with him."

He waited but there was no response from Mr. Fernald.

"Ted might be sick, too; or have an accident and wish to get help
and----"

At last the speaker was rewarded by having the elder man turn quickly
upon him.

"In other words, you young scoundrel, you want me to install a
telephone in this shack for the joy and delight of you two electricians
who can't seem to do it for yourselves," said Mr. Fernald gruffly.

"Now however do you suppose he guessed it?" exclaimed Laurie
delightedly, as he turned with mock gravity to Ted. "Isn't he the mind
reader?"

It was evident that Laurie Fernald thoroughly understood his father and
that the two were on terms of the greatest affection.

"Did I say I wanted a telephone?" he went on meekly.

"You said everything else," was the grim retort.

"Did I? Well, well!" commented the boy mischievously. "I needn't have
taken so much trouble after all, need I? But every one isn't such a
Sherlock Holmes as you are, Dad."

Mr. Fernald's scowl vanished and he laughed.

"What a young wheedler you are!" observed he, playfully rumpling up his
son's fair hair. "You could coax every cent I have away from me if I
did not lock my money up in the bank. I really think, though, that a
tel