“Why not?” and Eugene elevated his eyebrows. “It is either that, or you wish to establish a claim on me, so that I may share my fortune with you.”
“Your fortune!” ejaculated Mrs. Hardy; “you have none.”
“You know that I expect one,” said Eugene in a condescending manner.
“Then, you don’t think I came here to-day just out of the kindness of my heart—that I am willing to take care of you, and treat you just as if you were my own little boy, simply from love.”
Eugene shrugged his shoulders. “No; why should you? I have no right to this.”
“Oh, you naughty, naughty boy!” said Mrs. Hardy, pushing back her chair and angrily confronting him. “I never heard any one talk like you in my life. I don’t know what your grandfather could have been thinking of to bring you up like this. You are not like the Boston bad boy at all; you are much worse. I wouldn’t have you in my house;” and the little woman flung herself out of the room.
Virtue Ann and Bridget could not detain her. She fairly ran home; and, throwing herself on a sofa, she mourned in silence and alone until her husband came in for his supper. Then she gave him an account of her visit.
The sergeant laughed until he grew purple in the face. “Bess,” he said, “you want an adopted mother yourself. You’re not used to managing children. You mustn’t fly into a temper so quickly.”
“He was so aggravating,” sobbed Mrs. Hardy.
“Of course; but think of the way he’s been brought up. Why, he’s just like a hunted animal now. The weakest thing will turn at the last. Have you ever seen a rat in a corner? He’ll fix his teeth in the biggest stick you can poke at him.”