not seen my uncle since I was a boy. But he had been a bachelor, we
were both Hewletts, and I had been named Paul after him.

I had seen for some time that Carson meant to get rid of me. It had
been a satisfaction to me to get rid of him instead.

He had been alternately a prospector and a company promoter all the
working years of his rather shabby life. He had organized some dubious
concerns; but his new offices on Broadway were fitted so
unostentatiously that anyone could see the Northern Exploitation
Company was not trying to glitter for the benefit of the small investor.

Coal fields and timber-land somewhere in Canada, the concession was
supposed to be. But Tom was as secretive as a clam, except with Simon
Leroux.

Leroux was a parish politician from some place near Quebec, and his
clean-shaven, wrinkled face was as hard and mean as that of any city
boss in the United States. His vile Anglo-French expletives were as
nauseous as his cigars. He and old Tom used to be closeted together
for hours at a time.

I never liked the man, and I never cared for Carson's business ways. I
was glad to leave him the day after my legacy arrived.

He only snorted when I gave him notice, and told the cashier to pay me
my salary to date. He had long before summed me up as a spiritless
drudge. I don't believe he gave another thought to me after I left his
office.