Young Mr. Colfax's arm swept around in a circle.
“There are twelve hundred acres to look after here, and a few niggers. That's enough for a gentleman.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed his cousin, “this isn't a cotton plantation. Aunt Lillian doesn't farm for money. If she did, you would have to check your extravagances mighty quick, sir.”
“I look after Pompey's reports, I do as much work as my ancestors,” answered Clarence, hotly.
“Ah, that is the trouble,” said Virginia.
“What do you mean?” her cousin demanded.
“We have been gentlemen too long,” said Virginia.
The boy straightened up and rose. The pride and wilfulness of generations was indeed in his handsome face. And something else went with it. Around the mouth a grave tinge of indulgence.
“What has your life been?” she went on, speaking rapidly. “A mixture of gamecocks and ponies and race horses and billiards, and idleness at the Virginia Springs, and fighting with other boys. What do you know? You wouldn't go to college. You wouldn't study law. You can't write a decent letter. You don't know anything about the history of your country. What can you do—?”
“I can ride and fight,” he said. “I can go to New Orleans to-morrow to join Walker's Nicaragua expedition. We've got to beat the Yankees,—they'll have Kansas away from us before we know it.”