"Er, perhaps Cyril might like it,
though; eh?"
"Come, come, Bertram, be sensible for once," pleaded his brother,
nervously. "This is serious, really serious, I tell you!"
"What is serious?" demanded Cyril, coming down the stairway. "Can't it
wait? Pete has already sounded the gong twice for dinner."
William made a despairing gesture.
"Well, come," he groaned. "I'll tell you at the table.... It seems I've
got a namesake," he resumed in a shaking voice, a few moments later;
"Walter Neilson's child."
"And who's Walter Neilson?" asked Bertram.
"A boyhood friend. You wouldn't remember him. This letter is from his
child."
"Well, let's hear it. Go ahead. I fancy we can stand the--LETTER; eh,
Cyril?"
Cyril frowned. Cyril did not know, perhaps, how often he frowned at
Bertram.
The eldest brother wet his lips. His hand shook as he picked up the
letter.
"It--it's so absurd," he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and read
the letter aloud.
"DEAR UNCLE WILLIAM: Do you mind my calling you that? You see I want
SOME one, and there isn't any one now. You are the nearest I've got.
Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm named for you. Walter Neilson was my
father, you know. My Aunt Ella has just died.
"Would you mind very much if I came to live with you? That is, between
times--I'm going to college, of course, and after that I'm going to
be--well, I haven't decided that part yet.
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