'
"My father didn't speak again--he hadn't the heart, and Aleck went out,
leaving the money on the table."
Again my companion stopped and fumbled over the matches in his safe,
striking one or two nervously and relighting his cigar. It was
astonishing how often it went out. I sat with my eyes riveted on his
face. I could see now the lines of tenderness about his mouth and I
caught certain cadences in his voice which revealed to me but too
clearly why the negro loved him and why he must always be only a boy to
the old slave. The cigar a-light, he went on:
"When the war closed I came home and began to pick up my life again.
Aleck had gone to Wisconsin and was living in the same town as young
Cruger, one of my father's law-students. When my father died, I
telegraphed Cruger, inviting him to serve as one of the pall-bearers,
and asked him to find Aleck and tell him. I knew he would be hurt if I
didn't let him know.
"At two o'clock that night my niece, who was with my mother, rapped at
my door.
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