"Spin the big news, Dad," added Gilbert, who, because of the favor of his father, felt very free and close to him always.
"Well, while I was in Chicago at the Union League Club, I met a young man who is related to us, a cousin of you three children, by the way, the eldest son of my brother Asa, who is out in Denver now, I understand. I haven't seen or heard from him in thirty years." He paused and mused dubiously.
"Not the one who is a preacher somewhere, Daddy?" inquired Bella, looking up.
"Yes, the preacher. At least I understand he was for a while after he left home. But his son tells me he has given that up now. He's connected with something in Denver—a hotel, I think."
"But what's his son like?" interrogated Bella, who only knew such well groomed and ostensibly conservative youths and men as her present social status and supervision permitted, and in consequence was intensely interested. The son of a western hotel proprietor!
"A cousin? How old is he?" asked Gilbert instantly, curious as to his character and situation and ability.
"Well, he's a very interesting young man, I think," continued Griffiths tentatively and somewhat dubiously, since up to this hour he had not truly made up his mind about Clyde. "He's quite good-looking and well-mannered, too—about your own age, I should say, Gil, and looks a lot like you—very much so—same eyes and mouth and chin." He looked at his son examiningly. "He's a little bit taller, if anything, and looks a little thinner, though I don't believe he really is."
At the thought of a cousin who looked like him—possibly as attractive in every way as himself—and bearing his own name, Gilbert chilled and bristled slightly. For here in Lycurgus, up to this time, he was well and favorably known as the only son and heir presumptive to the managerial control of his father's business, and to at least a third of the estate, if not more. And now, if by any chance it should come to light that there was a relative, a cousin of his own years and one who looked and acted like him, even—he bridled at the thought. Forthwith (a psychic reaction which he did not understand and could not very well control) he decided that he did not like him—could not like him.
"What's he doing now?" he asked in a curt and rather sour tone, though he attempted to avoid the latter element in his voice.
"Well, he hasn't much of a job, I must say," smiled Samuel Griffiths, meditatively. "He's only a bell-hop in the Union League Club in Chicago, at present, but a very pleasant and gentlemanly sort of a boy, I will say. I was quite taken with him. In fact, because he told me there wasn't much opportunity for advancement where he was, and that he would like to get into something where there was more chance to do something and be somebody, I told him that if he wanted to come on here and try his luck with us, we might do a little something for him—give him a chance to show what he could do, at least."