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Merry, and while you are my nephew and not my son, it will be my hope that some day your son will carry on the name and the traditions of the family. All that I have will be yours, but I know you well enough to understand that your coming to me will not be affected by what I have to give you. You have demonstrated your independence.

What about this week-end? And telephone me if you will. I am rather impatient—it may be a matter of blood pressure which makes me anxious to have news of you as soon as possible, but again it may be a matter of affection. My heart will beat a bit quicker at the thought of seeing you. Perhaps, you thought I hadn't a heart. But I have, and I am, therefore,

Affectionately, your

Uncle Buck."

Meriweather laid the letter down with a feeling of intense emotion. So there it was. The old chap really had a heart. Who would have believed it? Was it the thought of what was ahead that had changed him? Some of the fellows had been like that on the eve of battle—revealing themselves for the first time. Had his uncle, brought face to face at last with that dark opponent, found his fighting blood?

Something he had felt as a boy for the man for whom he was named rushed back upon Merry. It would' seem good to go up to the old house—to be at peace once more with this remaining member of the family. And anyhow, who could resist that poignant appeal?

Three days later the two men dined alone in the oak-beamed dining-room, with a tenant's wife to wait on them.