But Master Parker, albeit he gladly would have lingered behind, was not to be permitted to escape his ordeal. With dragging foot he entered the den at his father’s heels, and stood unhappily clutching his cap, while his elders shook hands somewhat formally.
“Ah, Mr. Parker, glad to see you!” said the Major. “Be seated, I beg you. And come up to the fire. Chilly evening, sir; chilly, though seasonable.”
“Major Bates, permit me to present my son, Samuel,” said Mr. Parker.
Sam stepped forward with a resigned hopelessness like that of a condemned criminal. He felt himself quailing before the Major’s eye; but felt a surprising—and vaguely encouraging—heartiness in the grip the old soldier gave his timidly extended hand.
“Samuel, I trust you are well,” quoth the Major, courteously enough. Then, not being impressed with the importance of minors in the scheme of the universe, he turned to the boy’s father, after suggesting to his youthful caller that he, too, take a chair near the fire.
Mr. Parker cleared his throat. “Ahem, ahem! Major, I have been given to understand that you have been the victim of an unfortunate accident.”
“Accident!” The Major sat straighter in the chair in which he had just seated himself. “Sir, that’s misuse of English. What I was victim of was a most cowardly and scoundrelly attack. Thank heaven, though, the perpetrator of the outrage was at once apprehended and taken into custody.”
“You’re sure of the identity of the——”
The Major’s eyes flashed; he was guilty of the discourtesy of interrupting a guest.
“Am I sure? Sir, I am as absolutely certain of the miscreant as I am of this”—he touched the court-plaster on his cheek—“and of this”—he waved the bandaged hand. “I’ve two good reasons to remember him, sir.”