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. I think I'll consult you. You may have some preference, you know. You can be thinking it up until I come.