"
"What a notion! Of course I wanted to come."
"But you seem so glum, old man."
"Glum! Nonsense! I never was in better spirits in my life."
With a sudden shifting of the subject Van pointed to a stack of
chimneys cleaving the sky and observed:
"I wonder if those belong to your father's plant?"
"I fancy they do," was Bob's quick answer. "Dad said we'd see a
bunch of tall chimneys, and that the refinery was of yellow brick."
"Then this is the place," Van declared, drumming on the window glass
with forced gaiety.
He did not, however, leap from the car with the spring of
anticipation that Bob did, and noticing his spiritless step his
friend once more remarked upon it.
"You seem bored to death to have to drag yourself through here,
Van," said he. "What's the matter? You know if you do not want to
come you don't have to."
"I do want to."
"But somehow you seem so-so--"
"So _what?_"
"Why, you seem to hang back as if you could hardly put one foot
before the other," answered Bob. "Don't you feel well?"
"Prime! There's nothing the matter with me. What put that idea into
your head?"
"Chiefly you yourself."
"Well, cut it out. I don't see what you're fussing about me for. I'm
just as anxious to see how sugar is made as you are."
Still Bob was unconvinced. He could not have explained why, but he
felt certain that Van's enthusiasm was feigned. For a second he
paused undecidedly on the pavement before the door of the great
factory; then shrugging his shoulders he entered, followed closely
by his chum.
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