“He always gets the mail first, doesn’t he?” asked Larry.
“Yes, I believe he does.”
“I thought so; and I’ll swear he never got a letter from Vermont in his life.”
When we went down Bates was limping about the library, endeavoring to restore order.
“Bates,” I said to him, “you are a very curious person. I have had a thousand and one opinions about you since I came here, and I still don’t make you out.”
He turned from the shelves, a defaced volume in his hands.
“Yes, sir. It was a good deal that way with your lamented grandfather. He always said I puzzled him.”
Larry, safe behind the fellow’s back, made no attempt to conceal a smile.
“I want to thank you for your heroic efforts to protect the house last night. You acted nobly, and I must confess, Bates, that I didn’t think it was in you. You’ve got the right stuff in you; I’m only sorry that there are black pages in your record that I can’t reconcile with your manly conduct of last night. But we’ve got to come to an understanding.”
“Yes, sir.”