“I don't think, to do Fred full justice,” Dearing gently urged, “that he quite realizes the seriousness of your objections to him. I really believe, when he is told of the step you are about to take, that he will act sensibly. He has a good side to him when he is thoroughly himself, and I am going to look him up after supper and lay the whole thing fairly before him.”
“Does Margaret know you—” The General's voice failed to carry further.
“Yes; I've told her what I intend to do, and I think that is one reason she has remained in her room. She is hard hit, Uncle Tom. Girls never can understand things of this sort. Their sympathies always go with the unfortunate, and Madge knows Fred is down, and that most people are against him.”
“Well, I hope you will accomplish something,” General Sylvester said, hopefully. “You can straighten it out if any one can. I can trust you, Wynn, and I am proud of you—proud of you in every way. I never regret the loss of the old order of things when I think of what you are and what you are bound to become as a leader of young men of your period.”
“We are certainly sharp enough to pull the wool over kind old eyes like yours, Uncle Tom.” Dearing laughed as he leaned forward and laid his hand on the old man's shoulder. “In your day young blades boasted of what they did under cover of the night, but we thank the darkness for its shelter and don't talk of our acts. Why, you old-timers didn't know the first principles of devilment! If it were not giving away professional secrets, I'd tell you things that would make your hair stand on end. You've heard me say I believe in the good old-time, psalm-singing, God-fearing religion—well, I do. The longer I live the more I think we need it. Look what modern thought has done for Kenneth Galt. He has read so much on science and philosophy that he has reduced us all—good, bad, and indifferent—to mere cosmic dust. According to him, we are simply mud babies energized by planetary force, and living on the pap of graft. Ask him to account for good spiritual impulses, and he will—if he admits there are any—show you conclusively that good conduct is the mere evolutionary result of communal self-interest; men came to believe murder was wrong only because they didn't want their own throats cut.”
“I have always wondered what Kenneth does believe,” Sylvester said, with his first smile. “He certainly is an interesting man; and he's rich, and growing more so.”
“Yes; he was well provided for at the start,” responded Dearing, “and he has invested wisely.”
“I have seen him talking to Margaret several times of late,” Sylvester remarked. “That is one thing that irritates me. I don't care a red cent about his cranky religious views; they will take care of themselves, for he is a straight, safe, and honorable man; and if this harum-scarum Fred Walton had not been taking up so much of her time, why—”
“You old match-maker!” Dearing laughed. “I'm going to stir up Aunt Diana and get something to eat. I am as hungry as a bear.”
While he and his uncle sat together at the long table in the big dining-room, Dearing asked the cook if she had notified his sister that supper was served.