Accustomed as they had been to a life of brotherly familiarity and unceremoniousness, this portentous message from the outside world of civilization recalled their old formal politeness. There was another pause, which seemed to be interminable to the waiting partners. Your uncle, Quincy Wells, died yesterday, leaving you sole heir. Will attend you to-morrow for instructions. But here Jackson Wells's youthful face lost its perplexity, and he began to laugh long and silently to himself.
Telegraph's too expensive for that sort o' feelin'.
You see, boys, I've got an Uncle Quincy, though I don't know him much, and he MAY be dead. That's always the way. There's hundreds of such cases. For a moment Jackson's face had really brightened under the infection of enthusiasm, but it presently settled into perplexity again. A cloud had settled on Zip Coon Ledge.