"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-
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.