re
eager as children. For days they watched the time so to be sure not to
miss nine, twelve, and three o'clock. Then the novelty wore off, and the
audience gradually diminished."
"I should never be tired of listening," Christopher announced.
"Nor I. Perhaps, though, that is because the quaintness of the themes
appeals to us more than does the tone of the bells themselves, for their
cadence is, you must admit, a bit thin and suggestive of a music box."
"Maybe. But I like music boxes."
"In that case, Richard Parsons' music cannot fail to please you. Who
knows but you may be owning one of these bracket clocks of your own some
day? You better begin to save up your pennies."
"It would take too many, I'm afraid."
"I grant that it would take quite a few."
CHAPTER VII
AN EXCURSION
Another week passed and still no tidings of the stolen diamonds came.
The inspector, to be sure, asserted with high confidence that he had
clews but apparently they were tangled tracks reaching too far away to
bring immediate results; neither would he confide what they were.
Instead he shook his head sagely, cautioned patience, and merely
observed he was giving the culprits plenty of rope.
This information was disheartening enough to Mr. Burton, his partner,
and Christopher himself, but to the unfortunate Hollings it was
well-nigh exasperating.
"Anybody'd think we had half a century to land those thieves," snarled
he. "Why, they have had almost time enough to get to Holland or Siam,
and dispose of their loot. I can't see what the police are thinking of
not to round them up quicker than this. Since they have a description of
the men and can even call them by names there is no excuse for
them--none."
"My father seems to think the men at headquarters know what they are
about," Christopher said, making an attempt to soothe the ire of the
distressed clerk.
"Maybe they do," sighed Hollings. "I hope so." Nevertheless, there was
no spontaneity in his optimism.
Thus the days went along and Christopher came to find in them great
contentment. Perhaps his serenity was due in part to the fact that the
weakness of his eyes shut him out so completely from almost every other
diversion that he welcomed any sort of companionship with
disproportionate appreciation. He could not read, he could not write, he
could go neither to the theater nor the movies. And while he thus halted
and marked time, the world and everybody in it march
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