"Damn the lad!" was the prompt response. "I wish he were dead."

My uncle laughed.

"Dead!" the stranger repeated. "Dead, Top! And you, too--you hound!"

'Twas an anathema spoken in wrath and hatred.

"I'm thinkin'," says my uncle, "that ye're an unkind man."

The stranger growled.

"Save your temper, man," my uncle admonished. "Ye'll need the last rag
of it afore the night's by."

The man cried out against the threat.

"I'm tellin' ye," says my uncle--and I heard his broad hand come with
a meaning clap on the stranger's shoulder--"that ye'll be wakin' the
lad."

"The lad! the lad!" the stranger whined. "Is there nothing in the
world for you, Top, but that club-footed young whelp?"

I heard it! I heard the words! My door was ajar--my room at the head
of the stair--my ears wide and anxious. I heard the words! There
was no mistaking what this intruder said. "The club-footed young
whelp!" says he. "Is there nothing in the world for you, Top, but
that club-footed young whelp?" He said it--I remember that he said
it--and to this day, when I am grown beyond the years of childish
sensitiveness, I resent the jibe.

"Nothing," my uncle answered. "Nothing in the world, sir," he
repeated, lovingly, as I thought, "but only that poor club-footed
child!"

Sir? 'Twas a queer way to address, thinks I, this man of doubtful
quality. Sir? I could not make it out.

"You sentimental fool!"

"Nay, sir," my uncle rejoined, with spirit. "An they's a fool in the
company, 'tis yourself. I've that from the lad, sir, that you goes
lacking--ay, an' will go, t' the grave!"

"And what, Top," the stranger sneered, "may this thing be?"

"Ye'll laugh, sir," my uncle replied, "when I tells you 'tis his
love."

The man did laugh.

"For shame!" cried my uncle.

He was taking off his wraps--this stranger. They were so many that I
wondered. He was a man of quality, after all, it might be. "I tell
you, Top," said he, "that the boy may be damned for all I care. I said
damned. I _mean_ damned. There isn't another form of words, with which
I am acquainted, sufficient to express my lack of interest in this
child's welfare. Do you understand me, Top? And do you realize--you
obstinate noddy!--that my heart's in the word? You and I, Top, have
business together. It's a dirty business. It was in the beginning; it
is now--a dirty business for us both. I admit it. But can't we do it
reasonably? Can't we do it alone? Why introduce this ill-bo