"Nothing, nothing," was Mr. Carlton's enigmatic reply. He was as good as his word, for despite his peculiar reluctance in the matter he lost no time in perfecting the plan, and the next morning after the party reached New York he informed the boys that the motor-car would be at the door at nine o'clock to take them to the refinery. Bob and Van, to whom New York was more or less of an old story, hailed this announcement with pleasure and promptly stowed themselves away in the big limousine which was to whirl them to Long Island where the works were located. All the way out Van was singularly silent, and appeared to be turning something over in his mind; once he started to speak, but checked himself abruptly. Bob watched him uneasily. "I believe you've lost your enthusiasm about sugar," said he at last, "and did not really want to come." "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. It was evident that they were expected, for a clerk rose from his desk and came forward to greet them. "Mr. Hennessey, the superintendent, said I was to bring you to his office when you arrived," he said. "Thank you." "You are Mr. Carlton's son, aren't you?" "Yes." "I thought you must be. Mr. Hennessey himself is going to take you through the works." The clerk led the way to the door of a private office, where he knocked. "Mr. Carlton and his friend are here," he announced to the boy who opened the door. "Tell Mr. Hennessey right away."