“Huh, I see, I see!” exclaimed the old man, his glance on the floor.
“You may understand my eagerness more fully,” said Nelson, “when I tell you that you are the first and only blood relative I remember ever to have seen.”
The old man shrugged his bent shoulders, and Nelson was almost sure that he sneered, but no sound came from his tightly compressed lips.
The young man, in even greater embarrassment, looked at the portraits on the wall, and, for the lack of anything more appropriate to say, remarked: “Your servant tells me that these are my grandparents—your father and mother.”
“Yes, they are my parents,” the old man said, deep down in his throat. Then all of a sudden his eyes began to flash angrily. “That old hussy's been talking behind my back, has she? I'll teach her what her place is in my house, if—”
“Oh, she only answered a question or two of mine,” said Nelson, pacifically. “I told her you were my uncle and for that reason I was interested in family portraits.”
“Your uncle!” That was all the reply old Floyd made.
Nelson stared at him in deep perplexity for a moment, then he said: “I hope I am not on the wrong track, sir. A friend of mine—a rough mountaineer, it's true, but a sterling fellow—called here some time ago, and he came back and told me that you said—”
“He came here like the spy that he was,” snorted the old man. “He came here to my house pretending to want to rent land, and in that way got into my confidence and had me talk about family matters; but he didn't want to rent land. When he failed to come back my suspicions were roused and I made inquiries. I found out that he was the sharpest, keenest man among mountain revenue detectives, and that he had no idea of leaving his present location. Now I'd simply like to know what you and he are after. I haven't got anything for you—not a dollar in the world, nor any property that isn't mortgaged up to the hilt. Why did you send a man of that kind to me?”
“You actually astound me, sir,” Nelson said. “I hardly know what to say.”