In his indignation, Harlan was too confused just then to grasp the fact that his tormentor was craftily handing him over to the Presson womenfolk, bound, branded, and supple—unless he proposed to merit his grandfather's label in their estimation.
"Now, look here, grandfather"—he began, wrathfully; but the Duke pulled him away, drowning his protests in a laugh.
"You have placed me in a ridiculous position, and that's a mighty mild way to put it," complained the indignant victim, when they were outside. "I don't understand, grandfather, why you do something to me every now and then that knocks all the props out from under me. It isn't decent—it's vulgar—it's shameful, the way you do some things!"
"Operate in a queer way, do I?" inquired the old man, blandly.
"You certainly do."
"Did you ever stop to think, boy, that human nature is a queer thing?"
"Whose human nature are you referring to—yours or mine?"
"You know what the old Quaker said to his wife: 'All the world's queer, dear, except thee and me—and thee's a little queer!'"
The angry young man would have liked to get a little more light on the question, but Chairman Presson was ready for them and hustled them into the carriage. And on the ride to the station, during the journey by train, at the convention city, there were other matters uppermost besides a young man's pique.