Bagasse took his seat on the sofa, and Harrington sitting beside him, in a few words told him all.
“And now,” he joyfully said, in conclusion, “everything begins to lighten, since I know where this poor Antony is to be found.”
“Ah, Missr Harrin’ton,” returned the old man, smilingly regarding him over an upturned chin, “zat face you haf is now ze face of ze new husband! Ze dear ladee wife will lof zat face so gay. Missr Harrin’ton, you are ze most grand zhentilman I sall evair see. You feel kind for ze vair old devail himself. You get white, you get ze dark round you eye for zat neeger man so mush as he was you own self. Nobody, not ze white man, not ze neeger man, not no man at all, feel so bad for you like you feel for evairy ozzer man. Why is zat?”
Harrington’s maxillary muscles wrinkled, and his teeth flashed in an amused laugh, while his face grew scarlet at this complimentary recognition of the human kindness that was so mighty in him.
“Bagasse,” said he, “don’t praise me for having the feelings of a man. If you could have seen the poor fellow when I found him in the street, and if you could have heard his account of the life he had been living, you would feel as badly as I did. But here’s Wentworth and the Captain at last,” he added, catching sight of them from the window near him, as they entered the garden gate.
They came in presently, and for a moment there was a confusion of salutations. Then the Captain, having been introduced to Bagasse, turned to Harrington.
“John,” said he, “I’m awful exercised about keepin’ you waitin’, but”—
“Never mind,” interrupted Harrington. “I shan’t try to get the habeas corpus writ now. Let me tell you what’s happened.”
“By Jupiter!” cried Wentworth, reddening at the sight of Harrington’s kindled face. “Antony’s got off! Good! Hurrah!”
“Hold on. Not so fast, Richard,” returned Harrington. “Antony’s not off yet, but he’s going to be. Now listen.”