"Oh, he's probably just been playing 'possum--practising dissimulation,
getting used to being a politician! You be watching out, Lucretia. He'll
forget himself and make a bolt pretty soon. The test of the thing will
be in seeing whether he holds out or not!"
In his indignation, Harlan was too confused just then to grasp the fact
that his tormentor was craftily handing him over to the Presson
womenfolk, bound, branded, and supple--unless he proposed to merit his
grandfather's label in their estimation.
"Now, look here, grandfather"--he began, wrathfully; but the Duke pulled
him away, drowning his protests in a laugh.
"You have placed me in a ridiculous position, and that's a mighty mild
way to put it," complained the indignant victim, when they were outside.
"I don't understand, grandfather, why you do something to me every now
and then that knocks all the props out from under me. It isn't
decent--it's vulgar--it's shameful, the way you do some things!"
"Operate in a queer way, do I?" inquired the old man, blandly.
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