had but a moment before finished posting the name of this
uncle on the board, signaled to Clyde, who came over.
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“Didn’t you say you had an uncle or something by the name
of Griffiths in the collar business somewhere in New York
State?”
“Sure,” replied Clyde. “Samuel Griffiths. He has a big collar
factory in Lycurgus. That’s his ad you see in all the papers
and that’s his fire sign over there on Michigan Avenue.”
“Would you know him if you saw him?”
“No,” replied Clyde. “I never saw him in all my life.”
“I’ll bet anything it’s the same fellow,” commented Ratterer,
consulting a small registry slip that had been handed him.
“Looka here—Samuel Griffiths, Lycurgus, N. Y. That’s
probably the same guy, eh?”
“Surest thing you know,” added Clyde, very much interested
and even excited, for this was the identical uncle about
whom he had been thinking so long.
“He just went through here a few minutes ago,” went on
Ratterer. “Devoy took his bags up to K. Swell-looking man,
too. You better keep your eye open and take a look at him
when he comes down again. Maybe it’s your uncle. He’s
only medium tall and kinda thin. Wears a small gray
mustache and a pearl gray hat. Good-lookin’. I’ll point him
out to you. If it is your uncle you better shine up to him.
Maybe he’ll do somepin’ for you—give you a collar or two,”
he added, laughing.
Clyde laughed too as though he very much appreciated this
joke, although in reality he was flustered. His uncle Samuel!
And in this club! Well, then this was his opportunity to
introduce himself to his uncle. He had intended writing him
before ever he secured this place, but now he was here in
this club and might speak to him if he chose.
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But hold! What would his uncle think of him, supposing he
chose to introduce himself? For he was a bell-boy again
and acting in that capacity in this club. What, for instance,
might be his uncle’s attitude toward boys who worked as
bellboys, particularly at his—Clyde’s—years. For he was
over twenty now, and getting to be pretty old for a bell-boy,
that is, if one ever—intended to be anything else. A man of
his wealth and high position might look on bell-hopping as
menial, particularly bell-boys who chanced to be related to
him. He might not wish to have anything to do with him—
might not even wish him to address him in any way. It was
in this state that he remained for fully twenty-four hours
after he knew that his uncle had arrived at this club.
The following afternoon, however, after he had seen him at
least half a dozen times and had been able to formulate the
most agreeable impressions of him, since his uncle
appeared to be so very quick, alert, incisive—so very
different from his father in every way, and so rich and
respected by every one here—he began to wonder, to fear
even at times, whether he was going to let this remarkable
opportunity slip. For after all, his uncle did not look to him to
be at all unkindly—quite the reverse—very pleasant. And
when, at the suggestion of Ratterer, he had gone to his
uncle’s room to secure a letter which was to be sent by
special messenger, his uncle had scarcely looked at him,
but instead had handed him the letter and half a dollar.
“See that a boy takes that right away and keep the money
for yourself,” he had remarked.
Clyde’s excitement was so great at the moment that he
wondered that his uncle did not guess that he was his
nephew. But plainly he did not. And he went away a little
crest-fallen.
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254
Later some half dozen letters for his uncle having been put
in the key-box, Ratterer called Clyde’s attention to them. “If
you want to run in on him again, here’s your chance. Take
those up to him. He’s in his room, I think.” And Clyde, after
some hesitation, had finally taken the letters and gone to
his uncle’s suite once more.
His uncle was writing at the time and merely called:
“Come!” Then Clyde, entering and smiling rather
enigmatically, observed: “Here’s some mail for you, Mr.
Griffiths.”
“Thank you very much, my son,” replied his uncle and
proceeded to finger his vest pocket for change. but Clyde,
seizing this opportunity, exclaimed: “Oh, no, I don’t want
anything for that.” And then before his uncle could say
anything more, although he proceeded to hold out some
silver to him, he added: “I believe I’m related to you, Mr.
Griffiths. You’re Mr. Samuel Griffiths of the Griffiths Collar
Company of Lycurgus, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I have a little something to do with it, I believe. Who
are you?” returned his uncle, looking at him sharply.
“My name’s Clyde Griffiths. My father, Asa Griffiths, is your
brother, I believe.”
At the mention of this particular brother, who, to the
knowledge of all the members of this family, was distinctly
not a success materially, the face of Samuel Griffiths
clouded the least trifle. For the mention of Asa brought
rather unpleasingly before him the stocky and decidedly not
well-groomed figure of his younger brother, whom he had
not seen in so many years. His most recent distinct picture
of him was as a young man of about Clyde’s age about his
father’s house near Bertwick, Vermont. But how different!
Clyde’s father was then short, fat and poorly knit mentally
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255
as well as physically—oleaginous and a bit mushy, as it
were. His chin was not firm, his eyes a pale watery blue,
and his hair frizzled. Whereas this son of his was neat,
alert, good-looking and seemingly well-mannered and
intelligent, as most bell-hops were inclined to be as he
noted. And he liked him.
However, Samuel Griffiths, who along with his elder brother
Allen had inherited the bulk of his father’s moderate
property, and this because of Joseph Griffiths’ prejudice
against his youngest son, had always felt that perhaps an
injustice had been done Asa. For Asa, not having proved
very practical or intelligent, his father had first attempted to
drive and then later ignore him, and finally had turned him
out at about Clyde’s age, and had afterward left the bulk of
his property, some thirty thousand dollars, to these two
elder brothers, share and share alike—willing Asa but a
petty thousand.
It was this thought in connection with this younger brother
that now caused him to stare at Clyde rather curiously. For
Clyde, as he could see, was in no way like the younger
brother who had been harried from his father’s home so
many years before. Rather he was more like his own son,
Gilbert, whom, as he now saw he resembled. Also in spite
of all of Clyde’s fears he was obviously impressed by the
fact that he should have any kind of place in this interesting
club. For to Samuel Griffiths, who was more than less
confined to the limited activities and environment of
Lycurgus, the character and standing of this particular club
was to be respected. And those young men who served the
guests of such an institution as this, were, in the main,
possessed of efficient and unobtrusive manners. Therefore
to see Clyde standing before him in his neat gray and black
uniform and with the air of one whose social manners at
least were excellent, caused him to think favorably of him.
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256
“You don’t tell me!” he exclaimed interestedly. “So you’re
Asa’s son. I do declare! Well, now, this is a surprise. You
see I haven’t seen or heard from your father in at least—
well, say, twenty-five or six years, anyhow. The last time I
did hear from him he was living in Grand Rapids, Michigan,
I think, or here. He isn’t here now, I presume.”
“Oh, no, sir,” replied Clyde, who was glad to be able to say
this. “The family live in Denver. I’m here all alone.”
“Your father and mother are living, I presume.”
“Yes, sir. They’re both alive.”
“Still connected with religious work, is he—your father?”
“Well, yes, sir,” answered Clyde, a little dubiously, for he
was still convinced that the form of religious work his father
essayed was of all forms the poorest and most
inconsequential socially. “Only the church he has now,” he
went on, “has a lodging house connected with it. About forty
rooms, I believe. He and my mother run that and the
mission too.”
“Oh, I see.”
He was so anxious to make a better impression on his
uncle than the situation seemed to warrant that he was
quite willing to exaggerate a little.
“Well, I’m glad they’re doing so well,” continued Samuel
Griffiths, rather impressed with the trim and vigorous
appearance of Clyde. “You like this kind of work, I