“I knew it must be you paid off the shortage at the Planters' National. When I sent the money it was returned. You'd got ahead of me. I was THAT grateful to you, son.”
The lawyer found himself flushing. “Oh, Jeff paid that. He was earning money at the time and I wasn't. Of course I intended to pay him back some day.”
“Did Jeff do that? Then you and he must be friends. Tell me about him.”
“There's not much to tell. He's managing editor of a paper here that has a lot of influence. Yes. Jeff has been a staunch friend to me always. He recognizes that I'm a rising man and ought to be kept before the public.”
“I wonder if he's like his father.”
“Can't tell you that,” his son replied carelessly. “I don't remember Uncle Phil much. Jeff's a queer fellow, full of Utopian notions about brotherhood and that sort of thing. But he's practical in a way. He gets things done in spite of his softheadedness.”
There was a knock at the door. “Mr. Jefferson Farnum, sir.”
James considered for a second. “Tell him to come in, Miss Brooks.”
The lawyer saw that the door was closed before he introduced Jeff to his father. It gave him a momentary twinge of conscience to see his cousin take the old man quickly by both hands. It was of course a mere detail, but James had not yet shaken hands with his father.
“I'm glad to see you, Uncle Robert,” Jeff said.