No sooner had he left the room, than there
was a rumble, and Uncle Henry burst in on Gilbert, a smile of triumph on
his face.
"I got it!" he all but yelled.
"Got what?" his nephew asked.
"An idea!... Mebbe he'd lend you some."
"Some what? And who?"
"Money, of course! That feller Pell, I mean. He's rich, an' if he knowed
that you and his wife was old friends--I betcher he'd lend you some." He
paused, breathless, for he had run his sentences into one. Gilbert glared
at him, as if he thought he had gone stark mad. But Uncle Henry was not
afraid. "You won't ask him?" he inquired.
"Certainly not. What are you raving about, anyhow? Cut out this sort of
talk, Uncle. You're getting on my nerves."
The old man simply switched his chair about. He had heard Gilbert in an
angry mood before, and he knew that nothing would follow his little burst
of wrath. "Oh, you make me tired, you young people," he raged. "I'd ask him
if it was me, you can bet I would!"
"_You_ would," was all that Gilbert replied. Sarcasm was in his voice.
"First you won't marry Hardy's daughter and now you won't ask him for
money," Uncle Henry pursued the subject.
Gilbert was genuinely angry now.
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