He told how he and Sam Hynes had rescued Professor Potter when the latter was capsized off the head of Squaw Island, and wound up his narrative by giving the details of his visit to Yarmouth, and his employment by the committee who controlled the immense fund which was to be expended in adding a museum to the university.
Tom listened in genuine amazement; and, by the time the story was finished, he was so angry that he could scarcely breathe.
He would have been glad, indeed, if he could have disbelieved every word his brother uttered, but his story bore the impress of truth upon the face of it.
We know how he had accounted for Oscar’s presence there on the plains, and he had fairly rejoiced in the belief that his brother was a runaway thief like himself.
Misery loves company, you know, and Tom found great satisfaction in the thought that Oscar, whom everybody in Eaton believed to be strictly honest and truthful, had at last yielded to temptation and sunk to a level as low as that which he himself occupied. But, when the real facts of the case were revealed—when Tom learned that his brother had left home in broad daylight, and with his mother’s full and free consent; that he was backed up by a committee worth a hundred thousand dollars, and provided with letters that would place him on terms of intimacy with the highest officers on the plains, both civil and military; that those officers would give him a good “send-off,” and stand ready at all times to assist him by every means in their power—when Tom thought of all these things, his rage got the better of him, and he jumped to his feet with the wildest kind of a warwhoop.
“Have you got the impudence to come here and tell me that you are growing rich every day, while I am freezing and starving?” he demanded, in a voice which was rendered almost indistinct by intense passion.
“I tell you that I have a steady income, and it is the truth,” replied Oscar.
“And you never stole any of old Smith’s money?”
“Of course not. I never handled a dishonest penny in my life.”
“And do you know that while you were comfortably housed at the fort last night, and having a good time with those officers, who wouldn’t look at me any sooner than they would look at a yellow dog—do you know that while you were enjoying yourself in that way, I was sitting shivering over this camp fire, with nothing but hardtack to eat, and nobody but an ignorant, ragged backwoodsman for company? Do you know it?” yelled Tom, who hardly realized what he said in the excess of his fury. “What do you mean by it? and what amends are you going to make for treating me so?”