"I was deucedly down with malaria when uncle died, you know."
"I was sorry to hear that from your mother."
"Yes, might have come around to the trial, I suppose; but mother wouldn't have it. You understand how she feels. Besides, what good could I do?"
"You are better now?"
"Awoke this morning as fresh as a new-born babe. Going down to play with the foils awhile. Can't stop long."
Was it the glow of convalescence or of wine that shone in Harry's face? He made one or two imaginary passes with his cane, regardless of the feelings of the prisoner, to whom such a picture of prospective enjoyment could hardly be soothing.
"But I say, Rob," he cried, apparently remembering himself, "this is hard on you. What do you think of it all?"
Floyd eyed his cousin, as if the appropriate answer were not easy to find.
"It is hard," he replied.
"What would Uncle Ben say if he were alive?"