“Well? She knows you have children, doesn’t she?”
Wipes shook his head. “’Twas tagged.”
“Tagged?”
“‘To Cadet The’dore Fitz’ugh.’” The name sounded like a sneeze.
“Oh!” The boy fell back in his chair. “And she read it, of course. What did you tell her?”
“Oi said ’twas yer pa’s coachman’s kid, sorr, th’t’d need of air.”
Fitzhugh’s people lived in New York. It was far-fetched, but yet the gods were good, for they might have lived in San Francisco. Fitzhugh blessed the soldier again. “Wipes, you’re a lot brighter than you look. What did she say?”
“She said how good ’twas ’f ye, sorr, t’ remimber th’ poor.”
Fitzhugh smiled placidly and was aware of a warm feeling around his heart.
“Oi told ’r ye’d not like ut mintioned outside, sorr.”