“If your name is Fox they have heard of you.”
“There is no need to beat about the bush. My name is Fox—James Fox.”
“What made you take up such a business, Mr. Fox?” asked Ernest gravely.
“Well, I like that! You, a kid, undertake to lecture me.”
“You were once a kid yourself.”
The outlaw’s face grew grave suddenly and his tone became thoughtful.
“Yes, I was a kid once. At sixteen—is that your age?”
“Yes.”
“Well, at sixteen I was as innocent as you. I had a good mother then. If she had lived perhaps I would have turned out different. Why, it seems a great joke, doesn’t it. I attended Sunday-school till I was fifteen. Are you afraid that you will come to harm?”
Ernest looked intently in the brigand’s face.