"But I have a little no-good farm up beyond Clarence Mountain that I was going to give to Henry," cried Twelve, aggrieved. "And if you—and if you—if you—through your house burning down, or anything—why, all the boys were prepared to take him right off your hands, and—and—"
Trescott arose and went to the window. He turned his back upon them. They sat waiting in silence. When he returned he kept his face in the shadow. "No, John Twelve," he said, "it can't be done."
There was another stillness. Suddenly a man stirred on his chair.
"Well, then, a public institution—" he began.
"No," said Trescott; "public institutions are all very good, but he is not going to one."
In the background of the group old Judge Hagenthorpe was thoughtfully smoothing the polished ivory head of his cane.
XXIV
Trescott loudly stamped the snow from his feet and shook the flakes from his shoulders. When he entered the house he went at once to the dining-room, and then to the sitting-room. Jimmie was there, reading painfully in a large book concerning giraffes and tigers and crocodiles.
"Where is your mother, Jimmie?" asked Trescott.