“You may just as well understand, both of you,” he went on, firing his words at Billy in the dark, “you may as well understand, once for all, that you can’t tell, simply by looking at the house a man lives in, how hard that man works.
“Sometimes a man works so hard that he doesn’t know what sort of house he does live in.
“That doesn’t mean,” he said calming down a little, “that I don’t care about this house, for I do. It helps a man to live the right sort of life.”
Then he said, still more quietly:
“There’s another thing I want you to understand. It’s Billy himself that I want. I’m not talking to William Wallace. He is very well able to take care of himself. If I’m not talking to Billy, I’ll not talk. Which is it?” he demanded.
“It’s Billy,” said Billy, very humbly.
“Then give me a true answer, Billy Bradford,” he said gently. “It has been very pleasant to have you here, Billy,” he went on, almost persuadingly. “When you go I shall be all alone.”
Billy waited. He must, in honor, tell the truth.
Then his man-side came to help him, and he said slowly:
“Next to Uncle John, I like you better than anybody.”