“A few moments’ conversation with you, sir,” Tom answered. The captain did not ask him to sit down, but remained seated at his own desk, looking at Tom with sharp eyes, in which our hero fancied he could detect a gleam of hate.
“I haven’t much time,” said the military man. “Is it something in regard to your duties here?”
“No, it is something personal.”
“I have nothing to do with you, personally!” was the frigid answer.
“There was a time when you were glad to have something to do with us,” went on Tom, boldly. “When father—”
“That’s enough!” exclaimed Captain Hawkesbury sharply. “You need not bring up the past. I was very much disappointed in your father. He made a failure, and I and some of his friends were hard put to make matters come out right for the estate.”
“I don’t believe that!” cried Tom, stung by the cruel words.
“What! Do you mean to tell me that I am not speaking the truth?” Captain Hawkesbury almost leaped from his chair.
“I don’t mean anything of the sort,” went on Tom, resolved to stake everything now. “I think you and Mr. Doolittle were mistaken about my father, and that there is a misunderstanding somewhere. Perhaps this will help to clear it up,” and Tom suddenly produced the draft of the deed. Caution for the moment left him, and he tossed the document on the desk in front of the angry captain.
“Eh! What’s this? What’s this?” exclaimed the officer, putting on his glasses and taking up the paper. “What is this to me?”