“That’s true,” said John James.
“I don’t s’pose you remember Maidie—she was a baby when you saw her last.” John said he hardly remembered Maidie. “An’ Billy—he’s ten; and Dolly, four—they’ve come sence you left us. They’re both mine.”
“And I’ve a little brother, Aunt Sarah,” put in Maidie.
“Yes, Asher an’ Mary’s had both sorrow an’ joy,” said the cheerful woman, more soberly. “They lost a little girl, but they have a little two-year-old boy. His name’s John, after you.”
“Oh, so I’ve a namesake,” said John James. He tried to get his bearings, and kept his ears open for names and facts. But reflection was also at work; he remembered that the day after to-morrow was Christmas, and the uncle from the West had not one Christmas gift for his namesake or the family. He realized with a sudden alarm that he had to do something, and do it quickly.
“By the way, is there a long-distance telephone round here?” he asked.
“Why, yes; down at the depot,” said Billy, pulling up. “Want I should drive back?”
“No; I’ll just run over there, myself,” said John James. “You keep old Griggs round the corner here. I’ll be right back.”
He made haste across the wide country square. Aunt Sarah, watching him, said, “He’s spry, ain’t he?” and then, “I guess he’s well off. That coat didn’t cost no small sum.”
John James found the telephone, and got connections with a Boston business man whom he knew well. Before he had talked three minutes, the business man’s hair began to rise on his head, and he interrupted to inquire if John James was really himself or another. With great irritation, John James replied in hasty language, and bade him confine his attention to the subject in hand. He talked for fully ten minutes. At the end he was assured that his order was received and would be duly honored.