“Yees,” was the low reply. “You air Daf Morris, not so?”
“Yes, I am Dave Morris, a cousin to little Nell Morris.”
At these words the wounded man winced a little. Being a prisoner and in the hospital had taken a good deal of his former bravado out of him.
“You haf made von great mistake,” he whined. “I am not ze bad man you think, no.”
“I know all about that,” returned Dave coldly.
“Must I stand ze trial when I am well?”
“Certainly.”
“It ees verra hard on a poor man, yes, verra hard.”
“You brought it on yourself, Bevoir. You have caused our family a good deal of trouble.”
“You are ze son of James Morris, not so?”