“You deserve it. Why didn’t you answer my letters?”
“Oh! I had no time; they kept my nose to the grindstone. I walked off with the prizes just to spite Aunt Priscilla. Mother is very proud of me; she calls me ‘my son’ now.” There was the old mocking glitter in his eye; he had not changed.
“Don’t be angry with me.” He took Floyd’s arm. Martin could be very winning when he wanted to. “You’ve grown into a fine, handsome fellow, with the unmistakable brand of the aristocrat; strong with the women, eh?”
“I don’t know.”
“As gone as ever on Julie?”
“More than ever.”
Then Floyd shot out a question.
“Do you know the history of the Gonzolas?”
Martin’s answer came back as quickly.
“Yes, they are baptized Jews.”