“Y-o-u’-l-l not h-e-a-r his name tr-a-d-u-c-e-d!” repeated Colonel Conrad, in a prolonged, contemptuous tone, staring at Carlos with his piercing eyes. “I’d like to know what you are going to do about it?”
“I’ll defend him, sir, with my right arm,” said Carlos, rising to his feet. “I’ll call out the first man who dares to slander him. He was a good and true man, and I am here to prove it.”
“You had better sit down, young man,” said the colonel. “I suppose you have come here begging, but you’ll not gain anything by such behavior, I can tell you.”
“I am no beggar,” retorted Carlos, angrily, “and I will accept none of your money. But I have an errand to do, and after it is performed, I will leave you. It is a message from my father.”
“Well, Carlos,” said his uncle, suddenly assuming a nonchalant manner, “I see you have pluck, and I like you for it. But too much pluck is not always a good thing. I have had too much of it in my day, so has your father, the vil—but no, I’ll not call him names now; let him rest in peace.”
After a pause and a moment’s dreamy silence, he resumed:
“I have seen much sorrow in my time, boys, and have gone through some hard experiences. There was that quarrel with my brother—we were both hasty, and have not seen each other since. There was my wife—bless her memory!—who died many years ago, leaving me no children. Yes, I have passed through some sad experiences, and all I haveto do in my old age is to sit still and think about them. I tinker a little with one thing and another—bother my head over machinery and philosophy—and that is about all I have to relieve the tedium of my life. But no, there’s Florence—she’s a good girl.”
The last words he spoke rather to himself than to his listeners.
“You have a nephew living in Dalton, have you not?” said Leonard, who had as yet taken no part in the conversation.
“A nephew? Oh, yes—Geoffrey Haywood, I suppose you mean. He is a very good man—very pious and very honest. He has met with great success in his business. Yes, Geoffrey is my best friend.”