“They were using those stamps when I was at home,” he said reminiscently, “but they don’t use them any more.”
“Indeed,” said the doctor, without very much interest.
“Ten years ago, just fancy it,” Vickers went on, turning the letter over. “And he did not go back. I would have, in his place. If I had an affectionate cousin Nellie—I have always been rather fond of the name Nellie. Can you understand his not going?”
“We do not understand the Anglo-Saxon, nor pretend to,” returned the doctor. “You know very well, Don Luis, you all seem strangely cold to us.”
“Cold!” cried Vickers, with a laugh; “well, I never was accused of that before. Wait till you see my letter to Nellie: for of course it will be to Nellie that I shall write. Or no, I can’t, for I’m not sure of the last name. No. I’ll write the old man after all. ‘Dear Sir: It is my task to communicate a piece of news which must necessarily give you pain.’ (I wish I knew how much the old boy would really care.) ‘Your son expired yesterday in the performance of the bravest action that it has ever been my good fortune to see, or hear tell of. As you probably know, Mr. Lee held a position of some responsibility in the railroad.’ (It is a responsibility to keep the bar.) ‘Yesterday we were all standing about after working hours’ (I wonder when Lee’s began), ‘when a dispute arose between two of the men. In these hot climes tempers are easily roused, and words too quickly lead to blows, and blows to weapons. We all saw it, and all stood hesitating, when your son stepped forward and flung himself between the two. I grieve to say that he paid for his nobility with his life. It may be some satisfaction to you to know, my dear sir, that one of the boys whose life he saved, for both were hardly full grown, was the only son of a widowed mother.’ We could not make them both only sons of widowed mothers, could we? When are you going to bury him?”
“To-morrow.”
“Let me chip in for the funeral. We’ll have it handsome while we are about it. I must not stay now. Give me the letters, and I’ll get it off by to-morrow’s steamer. I’ll make it a good one, but I need time. And I have a report to write for the President, on the progress of my troop. Have you seen them? Don’t they do me credit?”
Doctor Nuñez looked at him gravely, as he stooped his head and passed out into the sunlight. As he was gathering up the reins, the older man said suddenly,
“Don Luis, would you be very much of a Yankee if I offered you a piece of advice?”
“Very much of a Yankee? I don’t understand. I should be very uncommonly grateful. Your advice is rare. What is it? To give up whiskey?”