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“Or quite a junk shop!” interposed the Shark. He was staring hard at the visitor through his spectacles, and his expression was dubious, if not hostile. The other boys moved uneasily. They had begun to recover from the surprise of the visit, and to understand that Varley felt himself on a purely friendly errand. Therefore there should be allowance for his ignorance of the local code, and avoidance of controversy. The Shark’s speech embarrassed them, but not Varley. He laughed, lightly and good-naturedly.

“You’re on the mark, at that. Museums and junk shops are a lot alike; but that doesn’t prevent ’em from being interesting. Why, I went into a queer old shop one day, and there was an old machine, with all sorts of rings and pivots, and hung on ’em was a—a—well, it looked like an oblong sphere and——”

“What!” shouted the Shark.

Varley glanced at him questioningly. “I beg your pardon?” he said with a touch of formality.

The Shark drew a long breath. “An oblong sphere!” he repeated slowly. “Jee-whippiter!”