“I wouldn’t mind spending a little money for a thing like that,” the financier answered. “Models like the ones you’re talking about are just what the small museums ought to have.” “Big ones, too,” put in Perry. “Of course. But a considerable part of the funds of the larger museums must be spent on expeditions and scientific work on a broad scale. That’s their main work. But in order to get the public interested—which I think is an important part of a museum’s duty to the people—that model idea catches me about right. Why don’t you have that fellow come on and spend a couple of days with us? I’ll see that it’s worth his while.” “I’ll ask him like a shot, if you’re willing,” Perry replied. “I’d enjoy it heaps! I’ve never had more fun than I did last summer when you asked that American Museum artist down here. Jumping Jehu, couldn’t he paint!” “Yes,” his father agreed, “when it comes to restorations of fossil monsters, he’s about the best ever. You picked up quite a bit about painting from him, too.” “I certainly did. And I’d like to know a little more about modelling,” the boy added shrewdly, well knowing that his father was always willing to help him in every way. “All right, then, Perry, if you want to drop a note to that sculptor-modeller, go ahead.” The financier started to go and then turned back. “I’ve been thinking about the missing parts of that Pteranodon,” he said. “Don’t you suppose, Perry, that the rest of those bones ought to be somewhere around? If I sent the collector another check, do you think he could dig around and find some more? I’d like to see that skeleton absolutely complete.” The boy shook his head. “I don’t believe it would be any use, Father,” he said. “You see, that Pteranodon was found in chalk.” “Well?” “That means that he must have died and tumbled into the water and sunk to the bottom. The floor of the sea is pretty flat, especially when it’s made up of those microscopic shells floating down, so that the bones, when they reached the bottom, must have been spread out on a level. They’re too light to sink in much, and as the chalk shells steadily rained down, they covered the old monarch of the air like a sheet. Then the bottom of the sea rose and became dry land. When, millions of years later, and probably not long ago, rain and wind and all the rest of the things that make erosion, washed away the chalk that had accumulated on top of the Pteranodon, he lay there just as flat as ever, flatter, because his hollow bones were crushed by the chalk that once had lain on top of him.” “Yes, that’s true,” said the merchant thoughtfully, “the bones would be on a level.”