"You're not?"
"No, sir. I don't see that the parson's son had any call to go out to Egypt to shoot Arabs, particularly when he knew that my farm hung on his life."
"He went at the call of duty," said the squire unctuously; "went to defend his Queen and country."
"Don't believe it," said David doggedly. "Neither the Queen nor the country was in any danger. He went because he had a roving disposition and no stomach for useful ways."
"Well, anyhow, he's dead," said the squire, "and naturally we are all sorry—sorry for his father particularly."
"I suppose you are not sorry for me?" David questioned.
"Well, yes; in some respects I am. The luck has gone against you, there's no denying, and one does not like to see a fellow down on his luck."
"Then in that case I presume you do not intend to take advantage of my bad luck?"
The squire raised his eyebrows, and his lip curled slightly.
"I don't quite understand what you mean," he said.