“Lonesome? Why doesn’t he drop over and see us now and then?”
“He says the neighbours have all forgotten him. But I went with him to the Post and a lot of people remembered him. Jim—Mr. Powers, I mean, and Mr. Macdonald, and Mr. Tom Smith and Jake Smith and Mr. Perrault and old Murphy, Mr. Murphy, I mean, and a lot more men, they all remembered him. But he thinks they have forgotten him. Of course they don’t come and sit and talk as they used to when—before—I mean when Mother was here too. Everything is different now, and Daddy just sits and—and—Uncle Colonel, when Sleeman comes—” Paul always forgot his manners in mentioning Sleeman—“when Sleeman comes they just play cards and play and play, and they make such a noise, and Sleeman keeps filling up Daddy’s glass. Old Jinny sometimes comes in and just takes the bottle right away. And I wish she would every night, because next day Daddy has always a bad headache. Oh, I wish Sleeman wouldn’t come.”
The Colonel’s face grew grave and stern.
“How often is Sleeman there?” he asked.
“He comes every week two or three times,” said Paul. “He’s a bad man. When he dies he will go to hell. And it would be better for him to die soon, because he is getting worse every day, wouldn’t it, Uncle Colonel?”
“He’s no kind of a man to be round your house, at any rate.”
“And Onawata hates him. She would like to kill him, I know,” said Paul quietly.
“What are you saying, boy?” asked the horrified Colonel.
“Onawata would like to kill him.”
“How do you know, Paul?”