"
"An' what about your uncle?"
"I'll put him up in Bisbee till I get a chance to ship him back to Bangor.
He likes Bangor, you know!" Gilbert smiled.
"He takes it sort o' hard, don't he?"
"Well, you can't blame the old boy. You see, I got him to sell out
everything--everything, and invest in this ranch. Maybe it wasn't the right
thing to do; but I thought I was certain to succeed. I meant all for the
best, 'Red.' You know that." Who could doubt those gray eyes of Gilbert
Jones, that open, frank, boyish face?
"Of course I do." He got up, and walked over to the window. "Your uncle
don't like jokin' much, does he? I asked him the other day why he didn't
get a chauffeur. Gosh! he got mad!" "Red" laughed at the recollection.
"Uncle Henry's in no joking mood just now. You can't blame him much."
"Red" turned and looked at his employer. He didn't know whether he should
ask the next question or not; but he took his courage in his hands.
"He--he wants you to--to marry Angela Hardy, don't he?"
Gilbert looked surprised. "Hardy's daughter?"
"Red" nodded.
"How did you know?" Jones asked.
"Because he ain't talked of nothin' else for six months. You wasn't
thinkin' of doin' it, was you?" He hung on Gilbert's answer.
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