“Oh, still pack boxes in a basement,” remarked Hugh, but a light of curiosity began to shine in his eyes.
“I know Miss Frink; I know what she likes. She hates dawdlers; she hates failures. She herself is an example of a successful business woman. She didn’t inherit money. I have heard that a tea-room and a peculiarly delicious candy started her fortune fifty years ago. She is in the early seventies now, not a hundred and fifty as you estimated;—and what are the seventies in these days? Just the youth of old age.”
“Are you kidding?” returned Hugh.
“I never was more in earnest.”
The boy grunted. “Why, the very name of Sinclair would give Sukey hydrophobia.”
“That is why you can’t use it,” returned his mentor promptly. “What was your mother’s maiden name?”
“Draper, and I suppose that would be anathema, too.”
“Perhaps. She has a wonderful memory.”
“My middle name is Stanwood.”
“That would do. Then the initial on your clothing would be all right.”