His voice shook a little. There was in his manner that hint of affection which made him so many friends, the warmth that suggested a woman's sympathy, but not effeminacy.
The ready tears brimmed into his uncle's eyes. “You're like your father, boy. I believe I would have known you by him,” he said impulsively.
“You couldn't please me better, sir. And what about James—would you have known him?”
The old man looked humbly at his handsome, distinguished son. “No, I would never have known him.”
“He's becoming one of our leading citizens, James is. You ought to hear him make a speech. Demosthenes and Daniel Webster hide their heads when the Honorable James K. Farnum spellbinds,” Jeff joked.
“I've read his speeches,” the father said unexpectedly. “For more than a year I've taken the World so as to hear of him.”
“Then you know that James is headed straight for the Hall of Fame. Aren't you, James?”
“Nonsense! You've as much influence in the state as I have, or you would have if you would drop your fight on wealth.”
“Bless you, I'm not making a fight on wealth,” Jeff answered with good humor. “It's illicit wealth we're hammering at. But when you compare me to James K. I'll have to remind you that I'm not a silver-tongued orator or Verden's favorite son.”
The father's wistful smile grew bolder. Somehow Jeff's arrival had cleared the atmosphere. A Scriptural phrase flashed into his mind as applicable to this young man. Thinketh no evil. His nephew did not regard him with suspicion or curiosity. To him he was not a sinner or an outcast, but a brother. His manner had just the right touch of easy deference youth ought to give age.