"You must have worked all night."
The old attorney rubbed his hands.
"I think I may claim a touch of inspiration last night, Peter. Reminiscences rippled from under my pen, propitious words, prosperous sentences. Er—the fact is, Peter, you will see, when you begin copying, I had come to a matter—a—a matter of some moment in my life. Every life contains such moments, Peter. I had meant to write something in the nature of a defen—an explanation, Peter. But after you left the library last night it suddenly occurred to me just to give each fact as it took place, quite frankly. So I did that—not—not what I meant to write, at all—ah. As you copy it, you may find it not entirely without some interest to yourself, Peter."
"To me?" repeated Peter, after the fashion of the unattentative.
"Yes, to yourself." The Captain was oddly moved. He took his hands off the script, walked a little away from the table, came back to it. "It— ah—may explain a good many things that—er—may have puzzled you." He cleared his throat and shifted his subject briskly. "We ought to be thinking about a publisher. What publisher shall we have publish these reminiscences? Make some stir in Tennessee's political circles, Peter; tremendous sales; clear up questions everybody is interested in. H-m—well, I'll walk down town and you"—he motioned to the script— "begin copying—"
"By the way, Captain," said Peter as the old gentleman turned for the door, "has Rose said anything to you yet?"
The old man detached his mind from his script with an obvious effort.
"What about?"
"About leaving your service."
"No-o, not especially; she's always leaving my service."