any time. Yet my bankers tell me he has never asked for a penny. By and by I shall want Bub and Mr. Whitten to fill in the gaps he has left open.”
“It is your nephew who suggested the pulp pipe line,” broke in Hatton.
“He has not told me that,” cried the delighted president.
“We always called him Reddy and Rusty,” added Bub.
“Dear! dear!” murmured the president. “To think of a Malcolm, a nephew of a Thaxter, being styled by such a common nickname.”
“I liked it,” stoutly insisted Stanley. “It made me feel like other boys. I was heartily tired of being bowed to and waited upon. I think it was that that in part caused me to get sour and disagreeable. However, I want to say right here that a fellow never had a better friend and uncle than I have. All the fault has been mine, and as Abner has so often said I needed to be ‘larruped.’”
“Hold on, Reddy—I mean Mister Malcolm,” protested Abner. “Them remarks was made to a younker that needed ’em. I might have spoke different, if I’d—no, I’ll tell the truth. I guess I’d said it anyway.”
“That sounds better,” laughed Thaxter.
