just as
fond of games;--and workin' like a prize pup in my office and makin'
good. _He_'ll tell you.... But if you go get married, boy, before you
show you _could_ take care of yourself, and what money I might leave
you--oh, I don't say you got to put over any miracle, but I _do_ say
you got to learn the value of money first. You'd do that by earnin'
some. If you don't, then you and me'd have a quarrel. Sound logical to
you?"

Henry was frowning a little, and sitting nearer to the edge of his
chair. "Too _darned_ logical," he said.

His uncle surveyed him with great indulgence. "What's the idea?" he
asked, humourously. "You ain't gone off and got yourself married
already, have you?"

Henry stood up, and squared his shoulders, and looked straight into
his uncle's eyes. His voice was strained, but at the same time it held
a faint note of relief, as if he had contained his secret too long
for his own nerves. "Yes, Uncle John...."

And waited, as before the Court of last appeal.

CHAPTER II

The older man sat limp in his chair, and stared until the ash of his
cigar tumbled, untidily, over his waistcoat. He brushed at it with
uncertain, ineffective motions, but his eyes never left his nephew. He
put the cigar once more to his lips, shuddered, and flung it away.

"Boy--" he said, at length, "Boy--is that true?"

Henry cleared his throat. "Yes, Uncle John."

"Who is it? Anna Barklay?"

"Yes, Uncle John."

"_When?_"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Does--Judge Barklay know it yet?"

"No, not yet. He's out of town."

His uncle drew a tremendous breath, and pulled himself upright. "Boy,"
he said, "why in the hell did you ever go and do a thing like that?...
Haven't I been pretty decent to you, the best I knew how?... Why'd
you ever go, and--_have_ I been mistaken in you all this while? Why,
boy, I thought you and me were _friends_."

There was another heavy silence. "I don't know. It just happened. The
way things do--sometimes. We've always been crazy about each other."

Mr. Starkweather was looking at and through his nephew, who was
man-grown and presumably a rational human being; but what Mr.
Starkweather actually saw was the vision of a little boy dressed in
Lord Fauntleroy velvet, with silver knee-buckles and a lace collar;
and much as a drowning man is supposed to review, in a lightning
flash, every incident of his whole life, so was Mr. Starkweather
reviewing the life of Henry, beginning with the e