“Here?”
“Well, that isn’t decided.”
“Where did you first meet Uncle Julius?”
“The kid’s growing curious,” said Stark to himself. “Does he think he can pull wool over the eyes of Phil Stark? If he does, he thinks a good deal too highly of himself. I will answer his questions to suit myself.”
“Why don’t you ask your uncle that?”
“I did,” said Leonard, “but he snapped me up, and told me to mind my own business. He is getting terribly cross lately.”
“It’s his stomach, I presume,” said Stark, urbanely. “He is a confirmed dyspeptic—that’s what’s the matter with him. Now; I’ve got the digestion of an ox. Nothing ever troubles me, and the result is that I am as calm and good-natured as a May morning.”
“Don’t you ever get riled, Mr. Stark?” asked Leonard, laughing.
“Well, hardly ever. Sometimes when I am asked fool questions by one who seems to be prying into what is none of his business, I get wrathy, and when I’m roused look out!”
He glanced meaningly at Leonard, and the boy understood that the words conveyed a warning and a menace.