Then, leaving Capitola to be shown to her apartment by a chambermaid, he went out and ordered her luggage up to her room and dismissed the cab.
Next he walked to the Astor House, paid his bill, collected his baggage, took another carriage and drove back to the Washington Hotel.
All this trouble Old Hurricane took to break the links of his action and prevent scandal. This filled up a long forenoon.
He dined alone with his ward in their private parlor.
Such a dinner poor Cap had never even smelled before. How immensely she enjoyed it, with all its surroundings--the comfortable room, the glowing fire, the clean table, the rich food, the obsequious attendance, her own genteel and becoming dress, the company of a highly respectable guardian--all, all so different from anything she had ever been accustomed to, and so highly appreciated.
How happy she felt! How much happier from the contrast of her previous wretchedness, to be suddenly freed from want, toil, fear and all the evils of destitute orphanage, and to find herself blessed with wealth, leisure and safety, under the care of a rich, good and kind father (or as such Capitola continued to believe her guardian to be). It was an incredible thing! It was like a fairy tale!
Something of what was passing in her mind was perceived by Old Hurricane, who frequently burst into uproarious fits of laughter as he watched her.
At last, when the dinner and the dessert were removed, and the nuts, raisins and wine placed upon the table, and the waiters had retired from the room and left them alone, sitting one on each side of the fire, with the table and its luxuries between them, Major Warfield suddenly looked up and asked: "Capitola, whom do you think that I am?"
"Old Hurricane, to be sure. I knew you from Granny's description, the moment you broke out so in the police office," answered Cap.
"Humph! Yes, you're right; and it was your Granny that bequeathed you to me, Capitola."
"Then she is really dead?"
"Yes. There--don't cry about her. She was very old, and she died happy. Now, Capitola, if you please me I mean to adopt you as my own daughter."
"Yes, father."
"No, no; you needn't call me father, you know, because it isn't true. Call me uncle, uncle, uncle."
"Is that true, sir?" asked Cap, demurely.
"No, no, no; but it will do, it will do. Now, Cap, how much do you know? Anything? Ignorant as a horse, I am afraid."