“You tell your father not to have anything to do with that Still and that man Leech.” His tone was a mixture of sincerity and persuasiveness.
“Why?” Ruth smiled.
“Because—one’s a carpet-bagger and t’other a scalawag.”
“Why, we are carpet-baggers, too.”
“Well—yes—but—. Steve he says so, too. And he don’t want you to get mixed up with ’em. That’s the reason.” His embarrassment returned for a moment.
“Oh! Captain Allen says so? I’m very much obliged to him, I’m sure.” Ruth laughed, but her form straightened and her color deepened.
“No, no, not that way. Steve is a dandy. And so is Jacquelin. He’s just as good as Steve. Never was anybody like Jacquelin. You ought to know him. That fellow Leech imprisoned him. But I knocked him down—I could die for Jacquelin—at least, I think I could. That’s the reason I hate ’em so!” he broke out, vehemently. “And I don’t want you to get mixed up with ’em. You aren’t like them. You are more like us.”
Ruth smiled at the ingenuousness of this compliment.
“And you tell your father, won’t you?” he repeated. “Good-evening.” He held out his hand, shook hers, sprang on his horse, and, making her a flourishing bow, galloped away, evidently very proud of his horsemanship.
He left Ruth with a pleasant feeling round her heart, which she could scarcely have accounted for. She wondered what it was that his brother and Captain Allen were afraid the boy would do.