“I don’t want it back.”
“Oh; well.” He was gone again.
Outside in the street he saw the judge wandering by, and stopped him. “That there son-in-law of yours—” he began.
“Son-in-law?” inquired the judge, stiffly.
“Whatever pleases you; step-sister.”
“Mr. Tennant is the half-brother of the husband of my granddaughter.”
“’T any rate, that man in there, that Paul, he’s so tremendously rash there’s no counting on him; if there’s anything to do he goes and does it right spang off without a why or a wherefore. He absolutely seems to have no reasons!—not a rease!”
“I cannot agree with you. To me Mr. Tennant seems to have a great many.”
“But you haven’t heard about this. Come along out to the Park for a walk, and I’ll tell you.”
He moved on. But the judge did not accompany him. A hurrying mulatto, a waiter from one of the steamers, had jostled him off the narrow plank sidewalk; at the same moment a buggy which was passing, driven at a reckless speed, spattered him with mud from shoulder to shoe.