That is," he suavely
corrected, as he saw surprise in every eye, "the house which the law
will give me, if anything ever happens to that chit of a girl whom
my brother left behind him."
Growling some words at the dog, who showed a decided inclination to
lie down where he was, the old man made for the door and in another
moment would have been in the street, if I had not stepped after him.
"You are a Moore and live in or near that old house?" I asked.
The surprise with which he met this question daunted me a little.
"How long have you been in Washington, I should like to ask?" was
his acrid retort.
"0h, some five months."
His good nature, or what passed for such in this irascible old man,
returned in an instant; and he curtly but not unkindly remarked:
"You haven't learned much in that time." Then, with a nod more
ceremonious than many another man's bow, he added, with sudden
dignity: "I am of the elder branch an live in the cottage fronting
the old place. I am the only resident on the block. When you have
lived here longer you will know why that especial neighborhood is
not a favorite one with those who can not boast of the Moore blood.
For the present, let us attribute the bad name that it holds to
- malaria." And with a significant hitch of his lean shoulders
which set in undulating motion every fold of the old-fashioned
cloak he wore, he started again for the door.
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