"
"Well, you and Mother look a lot alike, Uncle Charlie. She's thinner
than you are but--"
"Well, I should hope so," exploded Charlie. "Take a chair, Harry,--and
tell us all about yourself. Wait a minute. Sam, shake hands with
my nephew, Harry Conkling,--Mr. Slutterback, Mr. Conkling. Harry
lives up in Laporte. His mother--"
"Guess again, Uncle Charlie. No more Laporte for me. I've been
living in Chicago ever since I got married. Working for--"
"Married? You married? A kid like you? Well, I'll--be--darned!"
"Sure. And I'm not Harry, Uncle Charlie. I'm Wilbur. Harry's two
years older than I am. He's married and got a kid three years old.
Lives in Gary."
"You don't mean to say you're little Wilbur? Little freckle-faced
Wilbur with the pipe-stem legs?"
Mr. Webster's nephew took a chair near the stove, unbuttoned his
overcoat, and held his hands to the fire. He was a tall, rather
awkward young man, with large ears, a turned-up nose and a prominent
"Adam's Apple."
"I'm working for one of the biggest oil companies in the world.
We've got six hundred thousand acres of the finest oil-producing
territory in the United States, and we control most of the big
concessions in Honduras, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia and--thirty million
dollar concern, that's all it is. Oh, you needn't look worried.
I'm not going to try to sell you any stock, Uncle Charlie.
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