A GENTLEMAN'S PURSE


In a small, bare room Colonel Boyce sat himself down on a pallet bed and
made a wry face at his son. "My poor, dear boy," he said, and shifted
uneasily, and looked round at the stained walls and shivered. "It's damp,
I vow it's damp," he complained.

"Oh yes. It's damp after rain, and it's hot after sun, and it's icy after
frost. It's a very sympathetic room," said Harry.

"They are barbarians, these Wavertons. I vow they give their horses
better lodging."

"Oh yes. I am not worth so much as a horse," said Harry.

"Lud, Harry, don't whine,"--his father was irritated. "Have some spirit.
I hate to hear a lad meek."

"I thought you did," said Harry.

The Colonel laughed. "Oh, I am bit, am I? _Tant mieux_. But why the devil
do you stay here?"

"Now why the devil do you want to know?" said Harry.

"No, that is not kind, boy."

"Oh, Oh, are we kind?"