no transfixing possible. He said quite coolly:

"Oh, it's you, is it? I thought it was one of my office boys. Sit
down, if you want to see me, and wait till I am ready." So I sat
down and waited. Father always said that I should try to conciliate
and please my uncle. Father is a very shrewd man, and Uncle Roger is
a very rich one.

But I don't think Uncle R- is as shrewd as he thinks he is. He
sometimes makes awful mistakes in business. For instance, some years
ago he bought an enormous estate on the Adriatic, in the country they
call the "Land of Blue Mountains." At least, he says he bought it.
He told father so in confidence. But he didn't show any title-deeds,
and I'm greatly afraid he was "had." A bad job for me that he was,
for father believes he paid an enormous sum for it, and as I am his
natural heir, it reduces his available estate to so much less.

And now about Rupert. As I have said, he ran away when he was about
fourteen, and we did not hear about him for years. When we--or,
rather, my father--did hear of him, it was no good that he heard. He
had gone as a cabin-boy on a sailing ship round the Horn. Then he
joined an exploring party through the centre of Patagonia, and then
another up in Alaska, and a third to the Aleutian Islands. After
that he went through Central America, and then to Western Africa, the
Pacific Islands, India, and a lot of places. We all know the wisdom
of the adage that "A rolling stone gathers no moss"; and certainly,
if there be any value in moss, Cousin Rupert will die a poor man.
Indeed, nothing will stand his idiotic, boastful wastefulness. Look
at the way in which, when he came of age, he made over all his
mother's little fortune to the MacSkelpie! I am sure that, though