"And now, after what has passed between us two, man to man,
you'll credit me with no disrespectfulness if I make bold to let fall
certain remarks."
Bates nodded his white head and stared at the floor.
"There's a thing, sir, that I particularly want to say. It is about
yourself, sir--"
"Go on, William," said Mr. Bates, "and get it over. I know what you're
after, of course--something about Richard. Well, I'll take it from
you. I wouldn't take it from any one else."
"D'you remember all you used to advise me about the danger of rats,
telling me to fight 'em as if it was the devil himself, horns and
tail, and not just so many stinking little avaricious rodents? You
said, one rat was sufficient to mess me up."
Mr. Bates nodded.
"And you knew what you were talking about--no one better. And for why?
Because it was your own story you were telling me, in the form of a
parable."
"You're wrong there, William."
"Not a bit. You'd had one rat--but, by Jupiter, he was a whooping big
'un, and he'd eaten your grain, and messed you up--he'd ruined your
business, and well-nigh broken your heart, and practically done for
you."
"Have you finished?" asked Mr. Bates, with dignity.
"Yes, sir--almost;" and Dale in the most earnest manner besought his
old friend to resist any further attacks from that wicked son.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350