“Hal,” said the doctor, when the old captain had slowly jogged out of sight, “I’ve got a few words to say to you, out on the porch. Give me five minutes, please?”
“Why, surest thing you know! Just let me get my pipe, and I’ll be with you.”
He seemed all engaging candor—just a big, powerful fellow, open of face and manner, good-humored and without guile. As he rejoined the doctor, Filhiol wondered whether, after all, his analysis might not be wrong. But no, no. Something at the back of Hal’s blue-eyed look, something arrogant with power, something untamed, atavistic, looked out through even the most direct glance. Filhiol knew that he was dealing with no ordinary force. And, carefully choosing his words, he said:
“Listen, young man. I’m going to ask a favor of you.”
“My grandfather’s guest has only to ask, and it’s done,” smiled Hal, as he settled himself in one of the rockers, and hoisted his white-shod feet to the porch-rail.
“You know, Hal,” the doctor commenced, “your grandfather has been greatly distressed about your conduct.”
“Well, and what then?” asked Hal, his eyes clouding.
“He has a strange idea that some of the misdeeds of his youth, long since atoned for, are being visited upon you, and that he’s responsible for—h-m—certain irregularities of your conduct.”
“Yes?”
“In short, he half believes a curse is resting on you, because of him. It would be most deplorable to let that belief receive corroboration from any source, as for example, from any of your Oriental studies.”