Abel looked at his guest uneasily; but he put down his hat and lighted a cigar; then seated himself, almost defiantly, opposite his uncle, with the table between them.
“Now, Sir; what is it?”
Lawrence Newt paused a moment, while the young man still calmly puffed the smoke from his mouth, and calmly regarded his uncle.
“Abel, you are not a fool. You know the inevitable results of certain courses. I want to fortify your knowledge by my experience. I understand all the temptations and excitements that carry you along. But I don’t like your looks, Abel; and I don’t like the looks of other people when they speak of you and your father. Remember, we are of the same blood. Heaven knows its own mysteries! Your father and I were sons of one woman. That is a tie which we can neither of us escape, if we wanted to. Why should you ruin yourself?”
“Did you come to propose any thing for me to do, Sir, or only to inform me that you considered me a reprobate?” asked Abel, half-sneeringly, the smoke rising from his mouth.
Lawrence Newt did not answer.
“I am like other young men,” continued Abel. “I am fond of living well, of a good horse, of a pretty woman. I drink my glass, and I am not afraid of a card. Really, Uncle Lawrence, I see no such profound sin or shame in it all, so long as I honestly pay the scot. Do I cheat at cards? Do I lie in the gutters?”
“No!” answered Lawrence.
“Do I steal?”
“Not that I know,” said the other.