"Nervous? Do you think so? Do I look it?" Chester asked.
"Oh yes, a little," said Sively. He was taking a bunch of cigars from the waiter, and, when he had signed his name to the accompanying slip of paper, he said, "Harry, pull the door to after you, and see that we are not disturbed."
"Certainly, sir."
Langdon, with widening eyes, watched the negro as he went out and closed the door, then he glanced at his cousin inquiringly.
"I want to be alone with you, my boy," Sively said, with ill-assumed ease. "You can trust me, you know, and—well, the truth is, my boy, I want to know what you are in trouble about."
"Me? Good gracious!"
"Oh, don't begin that!" Sively said, firmly, as he struck a match and held it to the end of his cigar. "I won't stand it. You can't keep your feelings from me. At first, when Pomp told me about your not going out to those affairs when I was away, I thought your father had thrown you over for good and all, but it isn't that. My uncle couldn't do it, anyway. You are in trouble, my boy; what is it?"
Langdon flushed and stared defiantly across the table into the fixed eyes of his cousin for a moment, and then he looked down.
"No, my father is all right," he said. "He's found out about the horse, but he didn't take it so very hard. In fact, he went to Darley and bought him back for only a slight advance on what I sold him for. He is worried about me, and writes for me to come on home."
"Then, as I supposed, it is not your father," said Sively.