"I don't blame you in the least, sir," said Bingley, nowise abashed, "but you needn't worry, for the Peppers aren't my kind. You must be Grandfather King?" he added.
"Yes, I am," said old Mr. King, straightening up, and throwing back his white hair with a proud gesture. "So you've heard about me?" he asked, in a gratified way.
"I should rather think we had," said Bingley, "why, all of us know about you, sir." Here he got out of his chair again. "You won't care to, after you know all, but I should like to shake hands with you, sir."
"Most certainly," responded the old gentleman heartily, "although your room isn't to your credit." Thereupon he bestowed a courtly hand-shake upon the young man, with the utmost cordiality, making Bingley, who seemed to have a good deal of trouble with his legs, to retreat to his chair in a high state of satisfaction.
"It was mean of me to ask you such a favor, sir," said Bingley, gazing up at the ceiling, "before I had told you all, but I couldn't help it, some way, and I knew you wouldn't touch my hand after you'd heard. Well, I was one of a gang who went to Joe Pepper's room last week for the purpose of lamming him."
"You went to Joe Pepper's room for the purpose of lamming him?" repeated old Mr. King, darting out of his chair.
"Yes, sir"—Bingley still kept his gaze glued to the ceiling—"but we didn't do it, though; Joe lammed us."
"Oh!"
"So the rest of the gang are going for him to-night; I'm not able to," said Bingley, trying to appear careless.
"Joel to be in such business—how could he!" fumed old Mr. King. "A gentleman—and I thought so much of his turning out well. It will kill his mother—oh, how could he?" turning fiercely on Bingley.