“No, no!” he snapped, irritably. “She is going to be married again, the fool, and wants to hand it to her new husband.” He showed a flicker of pride in the midst of his troubles. “There is nobody calling Zebulon Kingsley a thief as yet, except himself and your uncle. I know that I am and he suspects,” he added, bitterly.
“Then the woman must have her money, sir. We must keep everybody from even suspecting for a time.”
I took both his hands in mine. He did need comfort and sympathy, even such as I could offer him.
“I’m square with you, Judge Kingsley. I know how to find those men. I’ll go after them. And I know you’ll do your part to help me. I only ask you to buck up! Let nobody suspect!”
“I ought to doubt every man in the world after what I have been through! I ought to doubt you! Why are you doing all this for me, sir?” he demanded, and then I was glad it was dark there under the tree. I must have revealed confusion aplenty. “I have never shown you any favors, young man. It has been the other way. I never liked your breed.”
“I know that, Judge Kingsley, but—” I could not go any further at the moment.
“Well?”
“You see,” I gulped, “when I was a little shaver you gave me a quarter and I bought a catechism and studied it and—I guess—I’m quite sure—it made a better boy, and—”
It wasn’t convincing, that talk wasn’t! He caught me up sharply:
“The truth isn’t in you, young Sidney!”