“Very well, boy, I am a man of honor, which cannot be said of every man who lives on the other side of the lake,”—by which, of course, he meant Colonel Wimpleton,—“and I will keep my agreement; but if the business were to be done over again, I wouldn’t have anything to do with a person from Centreport.”
“I’m sorry you think so hard of us, sir,” I ventured to reply. “I will do the very best I can for you; and I hope we shall not live in Centreport much longer.”
“Well, I don’t know that I need to blame you for what Wimpleton does. He is a mean man, and his soul is smaller than a mosquito’s. This morning the old rascal sent his agent over here to offer the engineer of my flour mills twenty dollars a month more than he is getting now. The villain was paid up to last night, and left without giving me any notice, and my mills are all stopped.”
Major Toppleton walked the library in a violent rage, and I waited for further developments before I dared to speak.
“He hired my engineer away from me, I’m told, because I employed you,” added the magnate, pausing before me.
“I’m very sorry I made any trouble,” I answered, diffidently.
“You didn’t make it. I only wonder how Wimpleton was my friend for so many years. He omits no opportunity to stab me when he gets a chance. I suppose he is gloating over it now because no smoke rises from my mills.”
“Do you want an engineer, sir?” I had the audacity to ask at this opportune moment.
“Of course I do. Wimpleton sent over for mine solely to vex me, and I would give a thousand dollars to be even with him this moment.”
“I can run the engine of your mills,” I replied.