“When was your birthday?”
“A month ago.”
“Then I must give you a birthday present You can’t object to that,” and Mr. Wilson took a ten-dollar gold piece from his pocket and pressed it upon Edward.
“Thank you very much. I can’t decline a birthday gift.”
“That’s what I thought. I am an old friend, and have a right to remember you. Was Mr. Rand in the same office with you?”
“No; Chester is an artist.”
“An artist! A boy like him!” ejaculated the Oregonian in surprise.
Chester smiled.
“I am getting older every day,” he said.
“That’s what’s the matter with me,” rejoined Mr. Wilson. “You haven’t any gray hair yet, while I have plenty.”