"Morgan, the caretaker, has tried to kill me twice

since I came here. He fired at me through the window

the night I came,-Bates!"

I waited for his eyes to meet mine again. His hands

opened and shut several times, and alarm and fear convulsed

his face for a moment.

"Bates, I'm trying my best to think well of you; but

I want you to understand"-I smote the table with my

clenched hand-"that if these women, or your employer,

Mr. Pickering, or that damned hound, Morgan, or you-

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damn you, I don't know who or what you are!-think

you can scare me away from here, you've waked up the

wrong man, and I'll tell you another thing,-and you

may repeat it to your school-teachers and to Mr. Pickering,

who pays you, and to Morgan, whom somebody has

hired to kill me,-that I'm going to keep faith with my

dead grandfather, and that when I've spent my year

here and done what that old man wished me to do, I'll

give them this house and every acre of ground and every

damned dollar the estate carries with it. And now one

other thing! I suppose there's a sheriff or some kind of

a constable with jurisdiction over this place, and I could

have the whole lot of you put into jail for conspiracy,

but I'm going to stand out against you alone,-do you

understand me, you hypocrite, you stupid, slinking spy?

Answer me, quick, before I throw you out of the room!"

I had worked myself into a great passion and fairly

roared my challenge, pounding the table in my rage.

"Yes, sir; I quite understand you, sir. But I'm

afraid, sir-"

"Of course you're afraid!" I shouted, enraged anew

by his halting speech. "You have every reason in the

world to be afraid. You've probably heard that I'm a

bad lot and a worthless adventurer; but you can tell

Sister Theresa or Pickering or anybody you please that

I'm ten times as bad as I've ever been painted. Now

clear out of here!"

He left the room without looking at me again. During

the morning I strolled through the house several

times to make sure he had not left it to communicate

with some of his fellow plotters, but I was, I admit, disappointed

to find him in every instance busy at some

wholly proper task. Once, indeed, I found him cleaning

my storm boots! To find him thus humbly devoted

to my service after the raking I had given him dulled

the edge of my anger. I went back to the library and

planned a cathedral in seven styles of architecture, all

unrelated and impossible, and when this began to bore

me I designed a crypt in which the wicked should be

buried standing on their heads and only the very good

might lie and sleep in peace. These diversions and several

black cigars won me to a more amiable mood. I

felt better, on the whole, for having announced myself

to the delectable Bates, who gave me for luncheon a

brace of quails, done in a manner that stripped criticism

of all weapons.




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