“Ain’t tol’ me dat. But yo’ better make has’e and see Major Carey.”
“Is that what he told you to say?” asked Morey indignantly, clinching his fists.
“Da’s what he says prezacly.”
Morey walked down the path in a feverish quandary, Amos following him like a dog. Why had he not been arrested at once if a warrant was out? Why should he be told to go and see Major Carey? The possibilities alarmed him. What if he was arrested and fined? He had no money to pay a fine. Would he be locked up in jail? Would the whole thing be used as a club over him? And just when he had the big, new project in mind—a resolution to put his father’s dream to the test?
Suddenly a wild thought came to him. His face flushed and then his jaw set. He did not mean to be arrested and submit to the disgrace of it; he was determined to see and consult with those who would properly estimate the value of his mother’s farm and sell it if possible; he meant to find those who could understand the meaning of his father’s secret. He had resolved to leave Aspley Place at once. But where should he go? There was only one answer. He had but one friend old enough to advise him—Lieutenant Fred Purcell. But Lieutenant Purcell was in Washington.
At eight o’clock the next morning, when Mammy Ca’line took Mrs. Marshall’s black coffee to her room she found, beneath the door, a note. She handed it to her mistress, who read:
“Dear Mother: I have gone away for a short time—a few weeks, I reckon. It’s on business. Amos is with me. I took him because I know you’ll feel better about my going. Don’t worry. I can’t tell you where I am. In a short time I’ll write. You’ll hear that I licked Judge Lomax. I didn’t. He insulted me and I protected myself. If Major Carey or Captain Barber asks you where I am, tell him it’s none of their business. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you good-bye, but I was afraid you wouldn’t stand for what I’m doing, and I had to go.
“Your loving son,
“Morey.”