"Why, Jack!" He was on his feet now, his hand extended, something
of his old-time cordiality in his manner. "You got my letter, did
you? Well, I wanted to talk to you about that ore property. You
own it still, don't you?" The habit of his life of going straight
at the business in hand, precluded every other topic. Then again
he wanted a chance to look the boy over under fire,--"size him
up," in his own vocabulary. He might need his help later on.
"Oh, we don't own a foot of it,--don't want to. If Mr. MacFarlane
decides to--"
"I'm not talking about MacFarlane's job; I'm talking about your
own property,--the Cumberland ore property,--the one your father
left you. You haven't sold it, have you?" This came in an anxious
tone.
"No," answered Jack simply, wondering what his father's legacy had
to do with his Chief's proposed work.
"Have you paid the taxes?" Arthur's eyes were now boring into his.
"Yes, every year; they were not much. Why do you ask?"
"I'll tell you that later on," answered his uncle with a more
satisfied air.
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