"
He had pulled himself together and spoken these last words ringingly,
and now grasping Mr. Barradine's hand he gave it a mercilessly severe
squeeze.
"Damnation!" Under the horny grip, Mr. Barradine emitted a squeal of
pain. "Confound it--my good fellow--why the deuce can't you be
careful what you're doing?"
Mr. Barradine, very angry, was ruefully examining his hand; and Dale,
apologizing profusely, stared at it too. It was limp in texture,
yellowish white of color, with bluish swollen veins, some darkish
brown patches here and there, and slight glistening protuberances at
the knuckle joints-an old man's hand, so feeble that it could not bear
the least pressure, and yet decorated with a young man's fopperies.
Dale noticed the three rings on the little finger-one of gold, one of
silver, one of black metal, each with tiny colored gems in it--and
while heartily ashamed of his rustic violence, he felt a secret
contempt for its victim.
"That's all right." Mr. Barradine, although still wincing, had
recovered composure, and what he said now appeared to be an implied
excuse for the sharpness of his protest. "When you get to my time of
life, you'll perhaps know what gout means."
"Sorry you should be afflicted that way, sir," said Dale contritely.
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