Aubrey interrupted him, shaking his head negatively. “I was only going out to wile away the time at the theatre. Sit down and free your mind, old man.”
Thus admonished, Reuel flung himself among the cushions of the divan, and began to state his reasons for desiring assistance; when he finished, Livingston asked:
“Has nothing presented itself?”
“O yes; two or three really desirable offers which I wrote to accept, but to my surprise, in each case I received polite regrets that circumstances had arisen to prevent the acceptance of my valuable services. That is what puzzles me. What the dickens did it mean?”
Aubrey said nothing but continued a drum solo on the arm of his chair. Finally he asked abruptly: “Briggs, do you think anyone knows or suspects your origin?”
Not a muscle of Reuel’s face moved as he replied, calmly: “I have been wondering if such can be the case.”
“This infernal prejudice is something horrible. It closes the door of hope and opportunity in many a good man’s face. I am a Southerner, but I am ashamed of my section,” he added warmly.
Briggs said nothing, but a dark, dull red spread slowly to the very roots of his hair. Presently Aubrey broke the painful silence.
“Briggs, I think I can help you.”
“How?”