Leonard watched the growing intimacy with
curiosity. He was a sharp boy, and he felt
convinced that there was something between
his uncle and the stranger. There was no
chance for him to overhear any conversation,
for he was always sent out of the way when
the two were closeted together. He still met
Mr. Stark outside, and played billiards with
him frequently. Once he tried to extract
some information from Stark.
"You've known my uncle a good while," he said,
in a tone of assumed indifference.
"Yes, a good many years," answered Stark,
as he made a carom.
"Were you in business together?"
"Not exactly, but we may be some time,"
returned Stark, with a significant smile.
"Here?"
"Well, that isn't decided."
"Where did you first meet Uncle Julius?"
"The kid's growing curious," said Stark to
himself. "Does he think he can pull wool
over the eyes of Phil Stark? If he does, he
thinks a good deal too highly of himself. I
will answer his questions to suit myself."
"Why don't you ask your uncle that?"
"I did," said Leonard, "but he snapped me
up, and told me to mind my own business. He
is getting terribly cross lately."
"It's his stomach, I presume," said Stark,
urbanely. "He is a confirmed dyspeptic--
that's what's the matter with him. Now; I've
got the digestion of an ox. Nothing ever
troubles me, and the result is that I am as calm
and good-natured as a May morning."
"Don't you ever get riled, Mr. Stark?" asked
Leonard, laughing.
"Well, hardly ever.
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