Out on the lawn was Philip Ross, who, with surprise and displeasure, saw Harry opening the gate for one whom he mentally designated as an old tramp.
“What do you want here?” he asked, in a tone far from courteous or respectful.
“What is your name?” asked the old man, fixing his glance on the questioner.
“My name is Philip Ross, and I am the son of Colonel Ross,” answered Philip, with an air of consequence.
“Then I am your great-uncle, Philip,” said the old man, surveying his young kinsman with an interest inspired by the feeling of relationship.
“My great-uncle,” repeated Philip, in mingled bewilderment and dismay.
“Yes, Philip, I’m your mother’s uncle, come all the way from Illinoy to visit you.”
Harry was amused to see upon the face of his young antagonist a look of stupefaction.
It was a severe blow to Philip, especially in Harry’s presence, to be claimed as a kinsman by a shabby, old tramp. It was upon his tongue to express a doubt as to the relationship, but he forbore.
“Is your mother at home?” asked the old man.