“Did he ever call you Son?”
“I have no remembrance of his ever having done so. His favorite way of addressing me was Boy.”
A slight tremulousness in speaking this endearing name added to its effect. I gripped at my heart beneath my coat. Our uncle had used the same word in speaking to me—once.
“Did he ever talk to you of his intentions in regard to his property, and if so when?”
“Often, before I became of age.”
“And not since?”
“Oh, yes, since. But not so often. It did not seem necessary, we understood each other.”
“Mr. Bartholomew, did it never strike you as peculiar that your uncle, having a daughter, should have chosen his brother’s son as his heir?”
“No, sir. You see, as I said before, we understood each other.”
“Understood? How?”