“It is a copy of a deed of trust, drawn by my father, naming you and Mr. Doolittle as trustees of the property that was bought by the railroad for their bridge approach,” Tom said, speaking rapidly. “It is only a copy, of course, and was never executed. What I want to know is whether any such paper was ever legally drawn up, and whether or not my mother and I can get any money from that land. We need it—she needs it—very much.”
Tom was pleading now. He had put his pride behind him.
“Certainly not! Certainly not!” cried Captain Hawkesbury, fairly spluttering. “How dare you come to me with such a question? That land Mr. Doolittle and I took for some of the money your father owed us. It barely sufficed. There was not a dollar left. Something for you? Indeed not! If I had what was right you would be paying me now. But I will let that pass. I am surprised at your impudence in coming to me with such a suggestion.
“This document is worthless—utterly worthless. I never saw it before, and certainly there is none like it on file. It is of no value!”
Saying which Captain Hawkesbury tore the copy of the trust deed into several pieces, and threw them into the waste-paper basket.
“Stop!” cried Tom. “That paper is mine!”
He sprang forward, but was too late.
“What, would you raise your hand to me?” fairly shouted the captain. “This is insubordination, sir! I could order you under arrest for that!”
Tom drew back. He could not afford to have his career at West Point spoiled.
“But that paper! It was mine. You had no right to destroy it!” he said.