“Ervin—poor boy—do you know—do you mind telling me how—he died?”
“In the defense of Charleston—have you heard of his wonderful inventions? He went out one night to sink a ship with his new submarine and his boat sank, and all were lost.”
“All?”
“Yes, all.”
He was bowed like one in grief, and neither spoke for a while.
“And, Miss Brooks—he—I used to hear regularly from Ervin, he had some friends—a Mrs. Corbin, I believe.”
“She is my aunt, and is here now.”
“And a Colonel somebody—I—”
“Colonel Masters. He was the editor of the paper where Mr. McArthur worked.”
“Ah, he loved the old man well. You knew him, too, did you not? Why would he go in that torpedo boat—why did not some one stop him?”