Julius shook his head.
“He can’t make up his mind about anything. It takes you that way. I wonder how he ever got married.”
Gordon steadied himself.
“Where is—Aunt Lizzie?” he gulped.
“In her room, Uncle Isaac, reading.”
For a second Gordon’s face was contorted.
“Don’t call me uncle,” he grated, holding himself in hand. “I’m not your uncle, anyway.”
“No, sir,” admitted Julius. “I haven’t got any uncles. Not as far as I know. They run in some families and they don’t run in others.”
Suddenly his brow clouded, and he glared at Gordon with such intense malignity that even Bobbie quailed.
“Here—I’ve just got an idea in my head, sir,” he slowly, “a sort of inspiration. Is that Uncle Isaac?”