“Is it that I have been unkind to you?”
“No; I ain’t got no fault to find the way I been treated. It’s account o’ Lieutenant ’Cormack.”
“Has he asked you that you quit?”
“No; no! He ain’t asked nothin’. But if I hadn’t ’a’ be’n here I wouldn’t ’a’ got into this trouble. If I hadn’t ’a’ heard what he said here that night I wouldn’t ’a’ had to be a witness ag’inst him. Now I’ve got to tell; and it’s goin’ to break him. I hadn’t no business to come here in the first place.”
Chick dropped into a chair, put his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand. He was a picture of despair. Donatello gazed at him curiously for a moment, and said nothing. But when he did speak his voice was vibrant with sympathy.
“It is not you,” he said, “who should yourself accuse. You have done nothing. If it is to blame, the fault is mine. It was I who asked him that he come. It was I who brought him into contact with these men to whom he spoke words. You have simply heard them. The law, it makes you tell that which you have heard. How can fault be yours?”
He spread out his hands appealingly.
“I don’t know,” replied Chick, wearily. “All I know is I hadn’t ought to ’a’ come here; and I’m goin’ to quit. That’s what I come for, to tell you I’m goin’ to quit. An’ you don’t owe me nothin’. You’ve treated me white; I want to be fair with you.”
Even if there had been any basis for contention, Donatello would not have had the heart to argue the matter. The boy was suffering too keenly, and it was evident that his mind was made up.