“No, sir—a colonel of infantry!—I say, when I went to the war, one of these Hazards accompanied me as my orderly. His grandson is back of that curtain now—asleep—in my bed!” Mahaffy put down his glass.
“You were like this once before,” he said darkly. But at that instant the shuck tick rattled noisily at some movement of the sleeping boy. Mahaffy quitted his chair, and crossing the room, drew the quilt aside. A glance sufficed to assure him that in part, at least, the judge spoke the truth. He let the curtain fall into place and resumed his chair.
“He's an orphan, Solomon; a poor, friendless orphan. Another might have turned him away from his door—I didn't; I hadn't the heart to. I bespeak your sympathy for him.”
“Who is he?” asked Mahaffy.
“Haven't I just told you?” said the judge reproachfully. Mahaffy laughed.
“You've told me something. Who is he?”
“His name is Hannibal Wayne Hazard. Wait until he wakes up and see if it isn't.”
“Sure he isn't kin to you?” said Mahaffy.
“Not a drop of my blood flows in the veins of any living creature,” declared the judge with melancholy impressiveness. He continued with deepening feeling, “All I shall leave to posterity is my fame.”
“Speaking of posterity, which isn't present, Mr. Price, I'll say it is embarrassed by the attention,” observed Mahaffy.