n person. Consider, then, that you shall have an income of your own. You see, Richard?
No, I don't.
Why, it's simple enough!
Yes, the facts are, but I don't understand--an income, a home. Why, I never dreamed of such a thing!
And why not, my boy, why not? We haven't seen enough of each other, Richard. Perhaps I have been at fault there, not to show more clearly the interest I have always taken in you. Yes, indeed, a warm interest, Richard!
Why not, Uncle Richard? Three years ago you might have asked me that question. Now I ask you _why_?
Why? How strange! How could that question arise between a man and his own nephew?
Three years ago, before Aunt Ethel died, I spent Thanksgiving with you. It was during the recess, my second year at Harvard. I came here practically from my mother's funeral. I had just learned the truth about our affairs--not a thing of ours really ours, not a penny left. How moth
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