Dear, old Aunt Eliza!"
"Is she very old?" Clara J. asked, willing to be convinced if I
could deliver the goods.
"Old," I echoed, then suddenly remembering Bunch's description;
"oh, no; she's a young widow, about 28 or 41, somewhere along in
there. You'll like her immensely, but I hope she doesn't come out
until we get settled in a year or two."
Clara J. dried her eyes, but I could see that she hadn't restored
me to her confidence as a member in good standing.
She pleaded a headache and went away to her room, while I sat down
with Bunch's telegram in my hands and tried to find even a cowpath
through the woods.
Uncle Peter came out, none the worse for his cold plunge, and sat
down near me.
"Ah, my boy, isn't this delightful!" he cried, drinking in the air.
"There's nothing like the country, I tell you! Look at that view!
Isn't it grand? John, to be frank with you, up until I saw this
place I didn't have much faith in your ability as a business man,
but now I certainly admire your wisdom in selecting a spot like
this--what did it cost you?"
Cost me! so far it had cost me an attack of nervous prostration,
but I couldn't tell him that. I hesitated for the simple reason
that I hadn't the faintest idea what the place had cost Bunch. I
had been too busy to ask him.
"It's all right, John," the old fellow went on; "don't think me
inquisitive. A rubberneck is the root of all evil. It's only
because I've been watching you rather closely since we came out
here and you seem to be nervous about something.
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