Major Hampton’s views on corporations and dividends, and his new plan of management for the Smelter Company spread all over the camp with astonishing rapidity, and there was general rejoicing among the miners and laborers.
One employee in the smelter who had been with the company for some three years made the discovery that, while he was receiving three dollars per day, which meant an annual income to himself and family of $1095, his dividend would bring him an extra lump sum of $219 annually.
When figuring this out to his wife he said: “Think of the pairs of shoes it will buy for our kiddies, Bess.”
And the woman, an Irishwoman, had replied: “Bless the little darlin’s. And hats and coats as well, not to speak of ribbons for the girls. God bless the Major. Sure but he’s a wonderful man.”
Several workers sitting in a corner of the Red Dog saloon were calculating with pencil and paper their annual dividends on the already famous Buell Hampton plan.
“Boys,” said one of them after they had their several accounts figured to the penny, “maybe we won’t make the dividend bigger next year – what?”
“I should say,” responded another. “I’ll do at least twice the work every day of the coming year, because there’s now an object for us poor devils to keep busy all the time. We’re sharing in the profits, that’s just what it means.”
“There’ll be a great reduction in breakage and waste,” remarked another employee.
“The directors can leave it to us to make the next year’s dividend a dandy one.”
These were just a few of the grateful encomiums flying around.
On the day following the stockholders’ meeting the newly elected directors convened, all except Grant Jones, who was over at Dillon and had not yet been advised of his election. After Major Buell Hampton had been voted into the chair a communication from W. B. Grady was read, stating that he wished to know at once if the directors desired his services for the ensuing year; if so he required a written contract, and should the directors not be ready to comply with this ultimatum they could interpret this letter as a formal resignation. There was a general smile around the directors’ table at this bluffing acceptance of the inevitable. It was promptly moved, seconded, and carried unanimously that Mr. W. B. Grady be at once relieved from all further connection with the Smelter Company’s plant and business.
Major Hampton then explained that in accordance with his scheme the men in the various departments would be invited at an early date to elect their foremen, and these foremen in turn would have the power, not to elect a general manager, but to recommend one for the final consideration of the directors. Until a permanent appointment was made he suggested that Boney Earnest, the blast furnace foreman dismissed by the late manager because of a personal quarrel, should take charge of the plant, he being a man of tried experience and worthy of absolute trust. This suggestion was promptly turned into a substantive motion and adopted by formal resolution. The meeting adjourned after Director Bragdon in his capacity as company attorney had been instructed to proceed immediately to the work of preparing the proper amendments to the by-laws and taking all legal steps necessary to put into operation the new plan.
Thus neither mine nor smelting plant was shut down, but everything went on without interruption and with greater vigor than before the momentous meetings of stockholders and directors. The only immediate visible effect of the company’s radical change in policy was Grady’s deposition from the post which had enabled him to exercise a cruel tyranny over the workingmen.
And in the solitude of his home the dismissed manager, broken financially although those around him did not yet know it, was nursing schemes of revenge against Buell Hampton, the man of mystery who had humiliated him and ousted him from power.
Where was his henchman, Bud Bledsoe? – that was the question throbbing in Grady’s brain. But Bud Bledsoe was now an outlaw among the hills, with a price on his head and a sheriff’s posse ready at a moment’s notice to get on his heels.
“By God, I’ve got to find him,” muttered Grady. And that night, in the falling dusk, he rode out alone into the mountain fastnesses.
CHAPTER XXIX – SLEIGH BELLS
THE morning after the directors’ meeting, when Roderick awakened and looked out of the window, he found the air filled with flakes of falling snow. He wasted no time over his toilet. Immediately after breakfast he bundled up snugly and warmly, went over to the livery stable and engaged a team and a sleigh. Soon after, the horses decorated with the best string of sleigh bells the livery could provide, he was holding the reins taut and sailing down through the main street of the little mining town headed for the country. He was going to the Shields ranch. Half a dozen invitations had been extended him during the past weeks, and he told himself he had been neglectful of his old employer.
When he reached the ranch and his team was duly stabled, the sleigh run in out of the storm, he was cordially welcomed by the family before a roaring fire of cheerfulness, and a multitude of questions were poured upon him.
“Why did you not come sooner and what about Major Hampton and the smelter? We have heard all sorts of wonderful things?”
“Why, what have you heard about the Major?” inquired Roderick, endeavoring to get a lead to the things that had evoked such surprise.
“I will tell you,” said Barbara. “Papa heard of it the day before yesterday when he was in town. The stockholders were having a meeting, and people said it had turned out to the surprise of everyone that Major Hampton was the owner of a control of the company’s stock.”
“Yes,” replied Roderick, “the rumor is correct. Great things have indeed happened. But haven’t you heard from Ben Bragdon?”
“Not a word.”
“Well, I suppose he has been too busy reconstructing the by-laws and the company’s affairs generally. Major Hampton has put him in as attorney. There’s a financial plum for you, Miss Barbara.”
“And Mr. Carlisle?” she asked in great astonishment.
“Like W. B. Grady, he is down and out,” replied Roderick. “There’s been a clean sweep. And behold in me a full-blossomed member of the board of directors. Our chairman, the Major, has handed me over a small library of books about smelting of ores, company management, and so on. He tells me I’ve got to get busy and learn the business – that I’m slated as vice-president and assistant manager, or something of that kind. What do you think of all that, Mr. Shields? There’s a rise in the world for your cowboy and broncho-buster of a few months ago.”
The cattle king and all the others warmly congratulated Roderick on his rising fortunes. Dorothy now took the lead in the conversation.
“You folks, keep still a moment until I ask Mr. Warfield just one question,” she said eagerly.
“Oh,” exclaimed Roderick, quickly, “I can answer the question. No, Grant Jones has not been over to Encampment for quite a while.”
A general laugh followed.
“He has a devil over at his office,” added Roderick gravely.
“A what?” they exclaimed.
“A devil. You surely know what a devil in a printing office is? It is a young fellow who washes the ink from the rolls and cleans the type or something of that sort – sweeps out, makes fires and does a wholesale janitor business. If he is faithful for fifteen or twenty years, then he learns to set type and becomes a printer. Grant is breaking his new devil in. Scotty Meisch, formerly one of your father’s cowboys, is his name.”
“Oh, little Scotty,” exclaimed Barbara. “I remember him.”
“Well, does that necessarily keep Grant away?” asked Dorothy.
“Oh, no, he is not necessarily kept away. He is probably a believer, Miss Dorothy, that absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ I was very disappointed,” Roderick went hurriedly on, smiling, “that Grant was not in town to share the sleigh with me in coming over this morning. Of course he doesn’t know it yet, but he also has been elected as one of the directors of the Encampment Mine and Smelter Company.”
“He has?” exclaimed Dorothy, her face lighting: “My word, but he’ll be all puffed up, won’t he?”
“Oh, no,” replied Roderick, “Grant is a very sensible fellow and he selects his friends and associates with marked discrimination.”
“Well, that’s what I think,” concurred Dorothy emphatically.
She was not a little embarrassed by a second ebullition of general laughter. There was a flush of rising color on her pretty cheeks.
“Well, I don’t care,” she added bravely. “If I like anybody I let them know about it, and that’s all there is to be said.”
While luncheon was in progress, Roderick suggested that as the sleighing was very good and his sleigh a very large one – the seat exceedingly wide – the young ladies should come sleigh-riding with him in the afternoon.
“Splendid,” shouted the sisters in unison. “Certainly, we will be delighted provided mother has no objections.”
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Shields, good-naturedly. “This first snow of the season makes me feel like having a sleigh-ride myself. But, there, your seat certainly won’t take four of us, and I know that Mr. Shields is too busy to think of getting out his sleigh this afternoon.”
“Well, I’LL tell you what I’ll do, Mrs. Shields,” said Roderick, stirring his coffee. “I’ll take you for a ride first. We will go as far as the river and back again, and then if the young ladies are real good why of course I’ll give them the next spin.”
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Shields, “you young people go on and have your sleigh ride and a good time.”
“No,” objected Barbara. “You shall have the first sleigh ride, Mama, and if you don’t go then Dorothy and I stay at home.”
“Come now, Mrs. Shields,” urged Roderick, “accept my invitation, for I see if you don’t I shall not be able to persuade the young ladies to come.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Dorothy, “it is just lovely of him to invite you, and certainly the sleigh ride will be invigorating. The truth is, we girls will enjoy the ride afterwards doubly if we know you have had the first ride of the season before we have ours.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Shields, “since you all insist, so let it be.”
Soon after Roderick’s team was hitched to the sleigh and came jingling down to the front gate. Mrs. Shields was tucked snugly in under the robes and away they dashed with sleigh bells jingling, down the road towards the Platte River several miles away.
When they got back Barbara and Dorothy were in readiness, and Roderick started away with them amid much merry laughter and promises from the girls to be home when they got home but not before. The snow was still falling in great big flakes and the cushion beneath the runners was soft and thick. Mile followed mile, and it was late in the afternoon when the sleighing party found themselves in Encampment. Roderick insisted that the young ladies should have supper at the Hotel Bonhomme; they would start on the return trip home immediately afterwards.
When the sleigh drove up to the hotel, who should be looking out of the front door but Grant Jones? He rushed outside and assisted the sisters to alight.
“I will be back in a few minutes,” shouted Roderick, as he dashed away to the livery stable.
“Say, Joe,” said Roderick while the horses were being unhitched, “I will want the rig again after dinner, and Grant Jones will also want a sleigh.”
“All right,” replied the stableman. “I can fix him out all right and everything will be in readiness. Just telephone and I’ll send the rip over to the hotel.”
At the dinner table Grant Jones was at his best. He had already heard about the Smelter Company affairs and his own election as a director, and waved the topic aside. It was the surprise of seeing Dorothy that filled him with good-humor and joviality. As the meal progressed he turned to Roderick and said: “Oh, yes, Roderick, I’ve just been hearing from Scotty Meisch that during the summer months you learned to be a great trout fisherman.”
“Yes,” replied Roderick with a smile, “I certainly had a great trout-fishing experience.”
“Where?” asked Barbara quickly.
“On the South Fork of the Encampment River.”
“Now, Mr. Roderick Warfield,” said Barbara quite emphatically, “I invited you to go trout fishing with me a good many times, and you told me I should be the one to teach you the gentle art. Instead of this you go away and learn to catch trout all alone. How many did you catch?”
Roderick reddened with embarrassment.
“Twenty-six,” he said.
“Well, that was a pretty good catch for a novice. How big were they?”
“About two pounds,” Roderick answered, absent-mindedly.
Grant Jones was fairly choking with laughter. “I say, Barbara,” he began.
“I didn’t go trout fishing alone,” interrupted Roderick quickly.
“Look here, Barbara,” persisted Grant, calling to her across the table. But Barbara was all attention to Roderick.
“Who went with you?” she inquired.
“Miss Gail Holden,” he replied and his face was actually crimson.
Barbara laid down her knife and fork and leaned back in her chair, placed her arms akimbo with her pretty hands on her slender waist line, and looked at Roderick as if she were an injured child. Finally she said: “Trifler!” Then everybody laughed at Roderick’s confusion.
But he quickly recovered himself.
“Trifler yourself!” he laughed back in rejoinder. “What about Ben Bragdon? What would he have said had we gone trout-fishing together?”
“You were not out of the running then,” said Barbara archly.
“Oh, yes, I was, although the secret was to be kept until after the nomination for senator.”
It was Barbara’s turn now to blush. She looked around in some bewilderment. Grant had bestowed a vigorous kick on Roderick’s shins beneath the table. Only then did Roderick realize that he had broken a confidence. Dorothy was eyeing Grant reproachfully. It was a case of broken faith all round.
“Well, you sisters have no secrets from each other,” exclaimed Roderick, meeting the situation with a bright smile. “In just the same way Grant and I are chums and brothers. Besides it was a friendly warning. I was saved in time from the danger of shattered hopes and a broken heart, Miss Barbara.”
“So went fishing for consolation,” she replied with a smile.
“And found it,” laughed Grant.
“Who says that?” demanded Roderick, sternly. “Miss Holden would have every reason seriously to object.”
“The devil says it,” replied Grant, assuming a grave countenance.
“That’s a poor joke,” said Roderick, offended.
“Oh, Scotty Meisch is an observant lad,” remarked the editor drily.
“The printer’s devil!” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands. And all four laughed heartily – Roderick most heartily of all despite his momentary dudgeon.
“Then since all these whispers are going about,” remarked Barbara when quiet was restored, “I think it will be advisable for me to have a heart-to-heart talk with Gail.”
“Oh, please don’t,” faltered Roderick. “Really, you know, there’s no foundation for all this talk – all this nonsense.”
“Indeed? Then all the more need for me to drop her a friendly warning – guard her against shattered hopes and a broken heart and all that sort of thing.”
The tables were fairly turned, but Barbara, with quick woman’s wit, saw that Roderick was really pained at the thought lest Gail Holden might learn of this jesting with her name.
“Oh, don’t be afraid,” she said, reassuringly. “We three will keep your secret, young man. We are all chums and brothers, aren’t we now?” And with one accord, laughing yet serious too, they all shook hands to seal the bond, and any breaches of confidence in the past were forgiven and forgotten.
It had been a merry supper party, but it was now time to be starting for the ranch. As they rose from the table Roderick turned to Grant and said: “You will have to excuse me, old boy, as I am taking the ladies home.”
“Taking the ladies home? Well, ain’t I goin’ along?” asked Grant, with a doleful look at Dorothy.
“No room in our sleigh,” said Roderick coldly.
“Roderick,” said Grant, half sotto voce, “you are cruel.” But Roderick was unsympathetic and did not even smile. He turned away indifferently. Drawing Barbara aside, he told her in an undertone of the arrangements he had made with the livery stable for an extra sleigh.
“Then you’ll be alone with me,” she said, with an amused smile. “Won’t you be afraid? Broken heart, etc?”
“Not now,” he replied sturdily.
“Or of Mr. Bragdon? He mightn’t like it, you know.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of him,” laughed Roderick. “And I guess he will trust me – and you,” he added gently and with a chivalrous little bow.
Shortly the sleighs were brought round to the hotel. Grant was beside himself with delight when he discovered the extra rig for himself and Dorothy, and he laughingly shouted to Roderick: “I say, old man, you’re the best ever.” Soon the merrymakers were tucked snugly beneath the lap robes, and were speeding over the glistening expanse of snow to the joyous tinkle of the silver bells.
CHAPTER XXX – WHITLEY ADAMS BLOWS IN
RODERICK WARFIELD’S election to a seat on the board of directors of the Encampment Mine and Smelter Company had for him a series of most unexpected consequences. He had had no knowledge that Uncle Allen Miller and a number of his financial followers in Iowa were now large stockholders in the corporation. Nor had he been aware that Major Buell Hampton, after his journey to New York, had visited the Keokuk banker. The Major had learned from his brokers in Wall Street that Allen Miller was on the market for this particular stock and had already acquired a considerable holding. Hence his flying business visit to Keokuk, which had resulted in the combination of forces that had gained the control and ousted Grady, Carlisle, and their pawns on the old directorate.
Major Hampton had since been in continuous correspondence with the banker, but had never for a moment associated the names of Allen Miller and Roderick Warfield as having any possible connection by relationship or otherwise. The selection of the new board had been left entirely in Buell Hampton’s hands after the banker had given his assent to the profit-sharing scheme. That assent had not been won without considerable argument. The plan upset all the banker’s old theories about industrial enterprises. At the same time the shrewd old man of finance was reading the signs of the times, and had long since come to realize that a readjustment of the relations between capital and labor was inevitable. He was all the more inclined to make this experiment, in the first place because he was not going to be bothered with the working out of the practical details, and in the second place because the magnetic personality of Buell Hampton had at once inspired him with confidence both in his ability to do things and in his integrity. Therefore the shrewd old banker had fallen in with the Major’s plans, and given him a free hand when entrusting him with the powers of attorney for himself and the other Iowan stockholders.
In point of fact there was another secret motive animating Allen Miller to this line of action. Unless he cooperated with Buell Hampton, the control would remain with W. B. Grady and his associates. And it was Grady whom the banker was after – Grady, the financial shark who had robbed his lifelong friend, General John Holden, of his underlying bonds in the original and now defunct smelter company, at the time when the amalgamation scheme had been devised to freeze out the first founders of the enterprise. General Holden had been the chief victim of this rapacious trick of financial jugglery, and Allen Miller was working secretly to undo the wrong. But the banker was animated not only by reasons of friendship. He had another incentive almost as strong. He wanted to satisfy his keen sense of personal pride toward Roderick Warfield. For the vital cause of quarrel between the old banker and the youth he loved yet had disowned was the unnamed girl he had thrust upon Roderick as a suitable bride because of her fortune. And this fortune had been proved to be illusory on the very day succeeding the rupture that had culminated in Roderick’s fine display of scorn and anger, when he had flung himself out of the banker’s room and started off for parts unknown to fight his own way in the world.
It was the financial disaster which had overtaken General Holden that had opened Allen Miller’s eyes to the truth that he had been utterly wrong in his attempted methods of managing a headstrong, and as the old guardian had thought at the time a wayward, youth like Roderick Warfield. He had bitterly regretted the harsh words that had dared the offender to play football with the world and, as he now realized, had by their sarcastic bitterness driven the high-mettled young man from his boyhood home. He had never doubted Roderick’s prowess to make a way for himself by his own unaided efforts, and, despite the quarrel, had always felt sure of the lad’s affection. So Roderick one day would come back, to find the latchstring hanging outside the door of his home, the promised place in the bank still awaiting him, and – the pride and dogged determination of the old man would not yield the point – the rich, attractive, and in every way highly eligible bride still available. The only flaw in the program was Gail Holden’s fall from fortune, and to repair this had been the object of the banker’s continuous and strenuous endeavor.
He had grabbed at the chance of lending money on the Mine and Smelter Company bonds standing in the name of W. B. Grady, which bonds he considered were by moral right really the property of General Holden. But he had lent discreetly, postponing any big advance while he held the documents and nosed around for information that might give some valid reason to dispute their ownership. And in course of time he had made one surprising discovery. Obtaining from General Holden all correspondence with Grady, he had found one sentence in which the sponsor for the new amalgamation scheme had guaranteed the withdrawal of all underlying bonds in the old smelter company before the scheme would be put through. Yet this condition had not been complied with, for Allen Miller had, in the course of tracing every old bond, discovered that five were still in existence and had never been surrendered. They belonged to a widow away back in Pennsylvania who had gone to Europe and whose whereabouts at the time Grady apparently had not been able to ascertain. But the persistent old banker had followed the trail and through his agents in France had purchased this particular parcel of bonds at a high figure. They were few in number and insignificant in face value, but to Allen Miller they were priceless, for these underlying bonds put W. B. Grady in his power and could be made the means eventually of compelling restitution to General Holden of the fortune that had been filched from him. Grady would have to make good or face the criminal charge of a fraudulent transaction.
Buell Hampton had been told nothing about this – it was sufficient for Allen Miller’s immediate purpose to have the company control wrested without delay out of Grady’s hands. This would render litigation easier, perhaps avoid it altogether – the better alternative, for the law’s harassing delays and heart-sickening uncertainties are proverbial. So when Buell Hampton had come to Keokuk in the cause of humanity, to fight for the toilers at the smelter and in the big mine, he had been agreeably surprised to find in the old banker such a ready listener to his philanthropic arguments. The alliance had been struck, with the result that Buell Hampton had been able to swing the stockholders’ meeting exactly as he desired.
Up to the very eve of that meeting the Major had kept his counsel and held his hand. The merest hint of the power he possessed might have given time for so astute a knave as Grady to devise some means more or less unscrupulous of repelling the attack. Therefore Buell Hampton had not dropped one word of what he intended to do until he had spoken to Roderick in his home on the night before the stockholders’ meeting. Little did either of them know at that time how vitally and directly Roderick was interested in the outcome of the Major’s fight for the downtrodden poor.
After the eventful meetings of stockholders and directors it had been Buell Hampton’s first duty to send a full report of the proceedings to Allen Miller of Keokuk, whose power of attorney had enabled him to effect the coup deposing Grady and giving a share of the profits to the actual toilers at the furnaces and in the mine. In the course of this report the names of the new directors were set forth. Judge of the old banker’s utter amazement when his eyes fell upon the name of – Roderick Warfield. Surprise quickly yielded to joy and delight. The news was telephoned to Aunt Lois. The old banker could not leave town at the moment – an issue of city bonds required his close attention. But that very night an envoy was dispatched to Wyoming in the person of his bright and trusted young clerk, Whitley Adams.
And the first of the series of surprises for Roderick Warfield, one afternoon a few days after the sleigh ride, was the sight of his old college chum tumbling out of a bob-sled which, in default of coaching facilities, had brought him over from the railroad at Rawlins. Whitley had stopped the sled in the main street along which, in the crisp sunshine that had followed the heavy snowfall, Roderick happened to be strolling.
“Hello, old scout,” cried the new arrival with all the ease of a veteran globe-trotter.
“Where in thunder did you drop from!” exclaimed Roderick, clutching at his hand.
“From Iowa’s sun-kissed cornfields to Wyoming’s snow-capped hills,” laughed Whitley, humming the tune of the hymn he was parodying.
“What has brought you here?”
“Lots of things. A letter for you, to begin with.”
“From whom?”
“Your Uncle Allen Miller.”
“But he doesn’t know I’m here, does he?”
“The whole world knows you’re here, dear boy,” replied Whitley, pulling the latest issue of the Encampment Herald out of his pocket. “Why, you’ve become famous – a director of the great smelting corporation.” And he flourished the journal aloft.
“Who sent you that paper?”
“Major Buell Hampton, of course. At least he sent it to your uncle.”
“Get out. You’re kidding, Whitley.”
“No kidding about me, old man. Those irresponsible days are now over.” Whitley drew himself up with great dignity. “If Buell Hampton hasn’t told you that he came to Keokuk and made the acquaintance of Banker Allen Miller, well, that’s his affair, not mine. Where shall we have dinner? I’m as hungry as a grizzly.”
“Wait a moment, Whitley. Do you mean to tell me Uncle Allen knows the Major?”
“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.”
“There now, put all that touchy pride in your pocket, Roderick. By jingo, you’re worse than Banker Miller himself. But I took the old gentleman down a few pegs the afternoon he learned that you were in Wyoming,” Whitley rambled on, laughing. “He declared that I must have known your hiding place all the time.”
“And you answered?”
“Owned up at once, of course. Told him that others besides himself could be trusted with a confidence – that neither he nor anybody else could have bulldosed me into betraying a client. A client – that’s what I called you, old man. Oh, you can’t give me business points nowadays. What do you think he said in reply?”
“Ordered you out of the room, I suppose.”
“Not on your life! Commended my sagacity, my trustworthiness; told me again that I was a born banker, one after his own heart. And to show that he meant what he said, he raised my salary five dollars a week, and handed me over fifty dollars extra spending money for this trip. What do you think of that?”
“I can’t express a thought – I’m too much surprised over the whole train of events.”
“Oh, I suppose he knew I’d have to buy a few boxes of candy for the beautiful Wyoming girls,” Whitley went on. “I had told him after my first trip here that they were regular stunners – that they had been buzzing about me like flies around a pot of honey. Oh, he laughed all right. I know how to manage the old fellow – was half afraid he’d be coming along himself instead of sending me this time. But he bade me tell you he couldn’t possibly get away from Keokuk just now. Which reminds me – here’s your letter, old man; and one, too, from Aunt Lois. She saw me off at the train, and gave me a kiss to pass on to you.” Whitley, a bunch of letters in his hand, made a movement as if to bestow upon Roderick the osculatory salute with which he had been entrusted. But Roderick, smiling in spite of himself, pushed him back.