“Sure. They’ve been as thick as thieves—or rather I should say as close as twins—Oh, that reminds me. How are dear Barbara and Dorothy?”
“Shut up—stop your nonsense. What were you going to say?”
“Oh, just this, that ever since the Major paid us a visit at Keokuk, letters have been passing nearly every week between him and the banker. I’ve seen all the correspondence.”
“I have known nothing about this,” said Roderick, in great perplexity.
“Well, doubtless you are not in the same confidential position as I occupy,” replied Whitley airily. “But of course now that you are a director of the company you’ll come to know—or at least should know; that’s part of your duties—that Allen Miller is a big stockholder.”
There flashed to Roderick’s mind Buell Hampton’s vague reference, on the night preceding the stockholders’ meeting, to some new friend, a professional man of finance, with whom he held joint control of the company’s stock.
“A true friend of humanity,” he murmured, recalling the Major’s words. “Great Scott, that’s about the last identification tag I would have expected for Uncle Allen.”
“Well, old chap,” interposed Whitley, “don’t mumble in conundrums. You take it from me that Buell Hampton and your uncle are financial pals—associates might be the more dignified word. That’s no doubt why the Major nominated you for the board of directors.”
Roderick paled.
“By God, if that’s the case, I’ll resign tomorrow. I’ve been standing on my own feet here. I owe nothing to Uncle Allen.”