But it
ain't likely that I'll say yes, is it? And do you suppose Jim would come
if I did ask him? He knows you believe he's a--well, all that's bad. You
told him so, and you sent him away. I will give in that I'd like to have
him here. He's one of the few men friends I've made since I landed
in New York. But, under the circumstances--you feelin' as you do--I
couldn't ask him, and he wouldn't come if I did."
She remained silent for a time. Then she said:
"Uncle, I want you to tell me the truth about Mr. Pearson and
father--just why they quarreled and the real truth of the whole affair.
Don't spare my feelings; tell me what you believe is the true story. I
know you think Mr. Pearson was right, for you said so."
The captain was much troubled.
"I--I don't know's I'd better, dearie," he answered. "I think I do know
the truth, but you might think I was hard on 'Bije--on your father. I
ain't. And I sympathize with the way he felt, too. But Jim did right, as
I see it. He acted just as I'd want a son of mine to do. And... Well, I
cal'late we'd better not rake up old times, had we?"
"I want you to tell me. Please do."
"I don't know's I'd better. You have been told the story different,
and--"
"I know I have. That is the reason why I ask you to tell it.
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