Mr. Biglin acted as though he had no patience with one who could ask so foolish a question.
“Because of your secession record,” said he. “You were in the Southern army, and your father is a rebel.”
“So are you,” said Rodney bluntly.
“I may have appeared to be at times in order to save my life, but I never was a secessionist at heart,” said Mr. Biglin loftily. “I don’t care who hears me say it, I am for the Union now and forever, one and—and undivided. And General Banks’ provost marshal, or whatever you call him, knows it.”
“If he believes it, he is the biggest dunderhead in the world and isn’t fit for the position he holds,” exclaimed Rodney. “I know you to be a vindictive, red-hot rebel, and since things have turned out as they have, I am sorry I did not tell the —th Michigan’s boys that you put the hounds on——”
“I never did it in this wide world,” protested Mr. Biglin, trying to look astonished, but turning white instead.
“Never did what?” inquired Rodney.
“Put hounds on anybody’s trail. You had better be careful what you say.”
“You don’t show your usual good sense in talking that way,” said one of the civilians. “Our friend has influence enough to make you suffer for it if he feels so inclined.”
“And I had influence enough to make his house a heap of ashes long ago if I had felt like it,” retorted Rodney. “I can prove every word I say any day and shall be glad of the chance.” And then he wondered what he would do if his visitors should take him at his word. He knew that he could not prove his assertions without mentioning the name of Mrs. Turnbull, and that was something he could not be made to do until he had her full and free consent.