ver gone near his uncle's residence. But
he knew where the house was located--a fine brick affair, with a swell
front--and leaning his bicycle against a tree, he mounted the stone
steps and rang the bell.

"What's wanted?" demanded the servant who answered the summons, and she
looked Randy over in a supercilious manner, not at all impressed by the
modest manner in which he was attired.

"Is Uncle Peter at home?" asked Randy, politely.

"Who's Uncle Peter?"

"Mr. Peter Thompson?"

"No, he isn't."

"Where is he?"

"At his store, I expect."

"Is Mrs. Thompson at home?"

"I don't know. I'll see. Who shall I say wants to see her?"

"Randy Thompson."

Randy was left standing in the elegantly furnished hallway while the
servant departed. He could not help but contrast such elegance with his
own modest home.

"Come into the drawing room," said the servant, briefly, on returning,
and ushered him into the finest apartment he had ever entered.

Here he was kept waiting for fully quarter of an hour. Then a showily
dressed woman swept into the room with a majestic air and fixed a cold
stare upon our hero.

"Are you my aunt?" he asked, somewhat disconcerted by his chilling
reception.

"Really, I couldn't say--not having seen you before," she answered.

"My name is Randy Thompson. I am the son of Louis Thompson, of
Riverport."

"Ah, I see."

The woman said no more, but seemed to await developments. Randy was
greatly embarrassed. His aunt's coldness repelled him, and he easily
saw that he was not a welcome visitor. A touch of pride came to him and
he resolved that he would be as unsociable as his relative.

"What can he want of me?" thought the woman.

As Randy said nothing more she grew tired of the stillness and drew
herself up once more.

"You must excuse me this morning," she said. "I am particularly
engaged. I suppose you know where your uncle's store is. You will
probably find him there." And then she rang for the servant to show our
hero to the door. He was glad to get out into the open air once more.

"So that is Aunt Grace," he mused. "Well, I don't know as I shall ever
wish to call upon her again. She is as bad as an iceberg for freezing a
fellow. No wonder she and mother have never become friends."

CHAPTER VIII

RANDY AND HIS UNCLE PETER

From his uncle's home Randy rode on his bicycle to Peter Thompson's
store--a fairly large concern, the largest, in fact, in Deep Haven. He
found