“Good afternoon, Uncle Elk,” was his greeting as he closed the door behind him.
The hermit was sitting in his rocking chair, reading “The Truth of Religion,” by Rudolf Eucken, Professor of Philosophy in the University of Jena and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1908. The old man laid aside the heavy volume, still open, face downward.
“Michael, I’m glad to see you.”
He leaned forward, shook hands and motioned the youth to the chair opposite. Mike obeyed with the remark:
“We have been expecting a call from ye, Uncle Elk.”
“You don’t wish me to bore you with too much of my presence,” said the hermit, with a twinkle of his bright eyes.
“That’s something that can’t be done, if ye tried it till ye were an old man,” replied Mike warmly. And then told of the mishap that had befallen Jack Crandall. Uncle Elk listened sympathetically.
“That’s bad, but it might have been much worse.”
“Which Jack himself has obsarved,—for instance, ’spose it had been mesilf.”
“That surely would have been worse for you, but better for him. You say that Dr. Spellman set his injured leg?”