So, after waiting a minute and enduring my uncle’s tongue instead of his fists, I went away with Landlord Vose.
I was not in the mood for any further paltering or palavering in regard to my personal and private standing with the Kingsley family. I had a collection to make and I proposed to go and make it. I ought to have known better than to force the issue at that time. But youth is headstrong, the sense of my injuries was hot, and I felt that if ever the judge might be willing to show his gratitude that would be the time.
He was crossing the square on his way home and I left Mr. Vose and hurried after. I caught up with him at the front door.
“I want to come in and have a word with you and with your daughter,” I told him.
“Impossible,” he said, curtly. “I’m afraid my wife is at death’s door. And my daughter—she is very bitter!”
“I propose to have you explain enough so that she will not be bitter, sir. It’s my due. You know what kind of a service I have rendered. I have made an enemy of my uncle—ruined all my prospects to help you. There are things you can tell your daughter to—”
“How does my daughter enter into any affairs between you and myself? You must let me alone in my sorrow. Later I will pay you for your services. I am grateful. If I were not in such distress I would explain how grateful I am. I will pray that I may be spared till I can pay back to you what I owe.”
“Good Cæsar! I don’t want your money, Judge Kingsley. I’ll work and earn more to help you out of your difficulties. I only ask you to be a man and make your daughter understand—”
“My daughter again! You don’t presume—”
“I do presume, sir. She was kind to me until this horrible misunderstanding came up. I expect you to tell her that I am your best friend. It’s my right!”