Short, lean, black going on gray hair, he wore a dark suit, walked rigidly erect, and was well past middle age. On the other hand, James Henry Bastion was over six feet, displayed the family’s square jaw and cleft chin, and had brown slicked down hair. He was a swell guy - dressed to the nines in a gray striped flannel coat, gray Oxford flappers and ivory spats over alligator hide shoes. The tilt of his hat proclaimed a cocky confidence reserved for a fledgling world-beater.

Exiting the Ferry Building, they were greeted by a faint sea scent and the stronger stench of the fish markets. With wrinkled noses and dodging the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk, they made their way to the line of cars parked at the curb.

Joseph, speaking above the noise of the street clatter, told the younger Bastion, "I’m to drop you at the office. Your uncle is anxious to see you."

"Is everything okay? Is he well?"

 "Doin’ fine. I’d say he’s put Mr. Charles death as far behind him as any of us are able. He’s planning for the future again. I gather you’re a big part of it." The last was added with a skeptic’s tone and a jaundice eye.

"Oh, swell!"

There was just a trace of a grimace on the younger man’s face, his untamed soul dreading a desk, regular hours, and a strait-laced social life that included formal dinners with the mayor’s babbling wife. His mood quickly picked up when Joseph stopped to stow the luggage in the rear seat of a new Pierce-Arrow.

"Gracious Gertrie, when did we get this?"

"Delivered last week."

"My graduation present?"
hand_l.gif (320 bytes)   

Print Chapter .....printer1.gif (222 bytes)

hand_r.gif (317 bytes)