Harry was indignant at this open ridicule of so honest and worthy a fellow as Stackpole, and he wondered whether the Yankee would be obtuse enough not to see it. His doubt was soon solved.
“It looks to me as if you was pokin’ fun at me, Fletcher,” said Obed, with a quiet, steady look at the other. “I’m a good-natured fellow in the main, but I don’t stand any nonsense. I know very well I’m a rough-looking chap, and I don’t mind your sayin’ so, but I ain’t willin’ to be laughed at.”
“My dear fellow,” said Fletcher smoothly, “you quite mistake my meaning, I assure you. I am the last person to laugh at you. I think you are too modest, though. You are what may be called a ‘rough diamond.’”
“I accept your apology, Fletcher,” said Obed. “If no offence was meant, none is taken. I don’t know much about diamonds, rough or smooth, but at any rate I ain’t a paste one.”
“A good hit! Bravo!” laughed Fletcher. “You are a man of great penetration, Stackpole, and a decided acquisition to our party.”
“I’m glad you think so,” said Obed dryly. “If I remember right, you didn’t want me to join you.”
“At first I did not, but I have changed my mind. I didn’t know you then.”
“And I don’t know you now,” said Obed bluntly. “If you don’t mind, s’pose you tell us what brought you out here.”
Fletcher frowned, and regarded the Yankee suspiciously, as if seeking his motive in asking this question, but his suspicions were dissipated by a glance at that honest face, and he answered lightly, “Really, there isn’t much to tell. My father was a merchant of Manchester, and tried to make me follow in his steps, but I was inclined to be wild, incurred some debts, and finally threw up business and came out here.”
“Have you prospered as far as you’ve gone?”