From his uncle's home Randy rode on his bicycle to Peter Thompson's store—a fairly large concern, the largest, in fact, in Deep Haven. He found his uncle behind a desk in the rear, busy over some accounts. For several minutes he paid no attention to his visitor. Then he stuck his pen behind his ear and gave Randy a sharp look.
"How do you do, Uncle Peter?" said the youth.
"Why—er—who is this?" stammered Peter Thompson. "I don't seem to quite know you."
"I am Randy Thompson, your nephew."
"Oh, yes, my younger brother Louis' son, I believe."
"Yes, sir."
"I remember you now." Peter Thompson held out a flabby and cold hand. "Come to town on business, I suppose."
"In a way, yes, sir. Father is down with rheumatism."
"Hum! Didn't take proper care of himself, I suppose."
"He had to work in a cellar and that put him in bed."