A Knight of the Nineteenth Century

"Well, I kinder do it out o' spite to myself. There's somethin' inside of me sayin' all the time, 'Why are you spendin' time and money on this young scapegrace? It'll end in your havin' to give him a dinner, for you can't be so blasted mean as to let him go without it, and yet all the time you're wishin' that you needn't do it.'"

"Well, you need not," said Haldane.

"Yes, I must, too."

"All I ask of you is what you think that work is worth."

"Well, that ain't all I ask of my confounded old self. Here, you're hungry you say--s'pose you tell the truth sometimes; here you're down, and all the respectable people sittin' down hard on you; here you are in the devil's clutches, and he's got you half way toward the brimstone, and I'm grudgin' you a dinner, even when I know I've got to give it to you. That's what I call bein' mean and a fool both. A-a-h!"

Haldane stopped a moment to indulge in the first laugh he had enjoyed since his arrest.

"I hope you will pardon me, my venerable friend," said he; "but you have a rather strangely honest way of talking."

"I'm old, but I ain't venerable. My name is Jeremiah Growther," was the snarling reply.

"I'm fraid you have too much conscience, Mr. Growther. It won't let you do comfortably what others do as a matter of course."

"I've nothin' to do with other people. I know what's right, and I'm all the time hatin' to do it. That's the mean thing about me which I can't stand. A-a-h!"

"I'm sorry my coming has made you so out of sorts with yourself."

"If it ain't you it's somethin' else. I ain't more out of sorts than usual."

"Well, you'll soon be rid of me--I'll be through in an hour."

"Yes, and here it is the middle of the afternoon, and you haven't had your dinner yet, and for all I know, no breakfast nuther. I was precious careful to have both of mine, and find it very comfortable standin' here a-growlin' while you're workin' on an empty stomach. But it's just like me. A-a-h! I'll call you in a few minutes, and I won't pay you a cent unless you come in;" and the old man started for the small dilapidated cottage which he shared with the cat and dog that, as he stated, managed to worry along with him.

But he had not taken many steps before he stumbled slightly against a loose stone, and he stopped for a moment, as if he could find no language equal to the occasion, and then commenced such a tirade of abuse with his poor weazened little self as its object, that one would naturally feel like taking sides with the decrepit body against the vindictive spirit. Haldane would have knocked a stranger down had he said half as much to the old gentleman, who seemed bent on befriending him after his own odd fashion. But the irate old man finished his objurgation with the words: "What's one doin' above ground who can't lift his foot over a stone only an inch high? A-a-h!" and then he went on, and disappeared in the house, from the open door of which not long after came the savory odor of coffee.