"
"Can't tell you that," his son replied carelessly. "I don't
remember Uncle Phil much. Jeff's a queer fellow, full of Utopian
notions about brotherhood and that sort of thing. But he's
practical in a way. He gets things done in spite of his
softheadedness."
There was a knock at the door. "Mr. Jefferson Farnum, sir."
James considered for a second. "Tell him to come in, Miss Brooks."
The lawyer saw that the door was closed before he introduced Jeff
to his father. It gave him a momentary twinge of conscience to see
his cousin take the old man quickly by both hands. It was of
course a mere detail, but James had not yet shaken hands with his
father.
"I'm glad to see you, Uncle Robert," Jeff said.
His voice shook a little. There was in his manner that hint of
affection which made him so many friends, the warmth that
suggested a woman's sympathy, but not effeminacy.
The ready tears brimmed into his uncle's eyes. "You're like your
father, boy. I believe I would have known you by him," he said
impulsively.
"You couldn't please me better, sir. And what about James--would
you have known him?"
The old man looked humbly at his handsome, distinguished son.
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