Uncle Harold, bachelor, 65 years old—Pipe.
Jimmy, boy, 12 years old—Book.
In the office of Hawkins & Hawkins that morning, the senior member of the firm found a man waiting for him. This man was the emissary of his mighty chief, and upon this chief rested the whole structure of a "deal" which was just then looming large on the horizon of Hawkins & Hawkins—and in which the oblong bit of paper in Jasper's pocketbook had no part.
Mrs. Jasper Hawkins greeted her husband with palpitating interest that evening.
"Well—what did you get?" she asked.
The man of business lifted his chin triumphantly.
"Not everything we asked for, to be sure," he began, "but we got more than we expected to, and—" He stopped abruptly. The expression on his wife's face had suddenly reminded him that by no possible chance could she know what he was talking about. "Er—what do you mean?" he demanded.
"Why, Jasper, there's only one thing I could mean—the presents, you know!"
A curious something clutched at Jasper's breath and held it for a moment suspended. Then Jasper throttled the something, and raised his chin even higher.
"Time enough for that to-morrow," he retorted lightly. "I did n't promise to get them to-day, you know."