“I have come home; but I am not a villain, sir,” I replied, with what dignity I could command.
“Don’t contradict me. I say you are a villain.”
“Your saying so don’t make it so,” I answered, desperately; for I was goaded almost to despair by the misfortunes of the day; and though at any other time I should have been as meek as a nursing dove, I felt like defending myself from the charges he was about to make.
“Don’t be impudent to me, young man,” scowled he. “You know me, and you know what I am.”
“I know what you are,” I added, significantly; and I was astonished at my own boldness.
He looked at me savagely, apparently trying to determine what construction to put upon my remark. Waddie stood at his side, quite self-possessed, considering the wicked deed he had done. His presence reminded me of the revolver I had in my pocket, and I took it out and presented it to him.
“Here is your revolver, Waddie. I did not intend to keep it, when I took it,” said I.
“I don’t want it. It is yours now,” replied he, declining to take the weapon. “I gave it to you for the job you did for me, and I am not going to back out now.”
“Take it, Waddie,” interposed his father. “Such a trade is not legal or binding.”
“I’m not going to take it,” replied the hopeful, stoutly. “It was a fair trade, and it would not be honorable for me to back out.”