"
* * * * *
Old Matthew Kendrick was alone. His grandson had just left him. He was
marching up and down his private library. His hands were clasped tightly
behind his back; above his flushed brow his white hair stood erect from
frequent thrustings of his agitated fingers; even his cravat, slightly
awry, bore witness to his excitement.
"Gad!" he was saying to himself. "The boy's alive after all! The boy's
waked up! He's taking notice! And the thing that's waked him up is a
country store--by cricky! a country store! I believe I'm dreaming yet!"
If the citizens of the thriving town of Eastman, almost of a size to
call itself a young city and boast of a mayor, could have heard him they
might not have been flattered. Yet when they remembered that this was
the owner of a business so colossal that its immense buildings and
branches were to be found in three great cities, they might have
understood that to him the corner store of Hugh Benson looked like a toy
concern, indeed. But he liked the look of it, as it had been presented
to his mind's eye that night; no doubt but he liked the look of it!
"Give him Carson to go up there and manage the business for those two
infants-in-arms? Gad! yes, go myself and make change at the desk for the
new firm," he chuckled, "if that would keep Dick interested.
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