“Why, Tom, what do you mean? Has Rowena—”
“Flung me? No, but the old man has.”
Wilson said to himself, “Aha!” and thought of the mysterious girl in the bedroom. “The Driscolls have been making discoveries!” Then he said aloud, gravely:
“Tom, there are some kinds of dissipation which—”
“Oh, shucks, this hasn’t got anything to do with dissipation. He wanted me to challenge that derned Italian savage, and I wouldn’t do it.”
“Yes, of course he would do that,” said Wilson in a meditative matter-of-course way, “but the thing that puzzled me was, why he didn’t look to that last night, for one thing, and why he let you carry such a matter into a court of law at all, either before the duel or after it. It’s no place for it. It was not like him. I couldn’t understand it. How did it happen?”
“It happened because he didn’t know anything about it. He was asleep when I got home last night.”
“And you didn’t wake him? Tom, is that possible?”
Tom was not getting much comfort here. He fidgeted a moment, then said:
“I didn’t choose to tell him—that’s all. He was going a-fishing before dawn, with Pembroke Howard, and if I got the twins into the common calaboose—and I thought sure I could—I never dreamed of their slipping out on a paltry fine for such an outrageous offense—well, once in the calaboose they would be disgraced, and uncle wouldn’t want any duels with that sort of characters, and wouldn’t allow any.”