"They lived out West, and—"
"I know all that fairy tale, Aunty. Let's have the facts."
Miss Lydia was silent; her poor old eyes blinked; then she said: "They—deserted you, Johnny. But you mustn't mind."
The young man's face reddened sharply. "They weren't married, I suppose, when I was born?" he said, in a husky voice.
"They—got married before you were born."
He frowned, but he was obviously relieved; then he looked puzzled. "Yet they deserted me? Were they too poor to take care of me?"
"Well, no," Miss Lydia confessed.
"Not poor, yet they dumped me onto your doorstep?" he repeated, bewildered, but with a slow anger growing in his face. "Well, I guess I'm well rid of 'em if they were that kind of people! Cowards. I'd rather have murderers 'round, than cowards!"
"Oh, my dear, you mustn't be unjust. They gave me money for your support."
"Money!" he said. "They paid you to take me off their hands?" He paused; "Aunt Lydia," he said—and as he spoke his upper lip lifted and she saw his teeth—"Aunt Lydia, I'll never ask you about them again. I have no interest in them. They are nothing to me, just as I was nothing to them. But tell me one thing, is Smith my name?"