"I believe it, William."
"And it has always been a source of comfort to me to think that you, sir, have entertained a most kindly feeling to me, sir."
Mr. Bates had averted his eyes, and he moved his feet restlessly, his demeanor seeming to indicate that he regretted having accepted the supper invitation and was perhaps desirous of withdrawing his acceptance.
"I hope," Dale went on, "I haven't been presumptuous in my estimate of your feeling, sir."
"No." And the old man looked up again. His eyes, his whole face had grown soft, and the tone of his voice was firm, yet rather low and very sweet. "No, William, my feeling for you began in taking note of your sharpness combined with your steady ways, and it has ended in love."
"That's a large word, Mr. Bates."
"It's no larger than the truth."
"Then I say 'Thank you, sir, for the honor you have done me.'" Dale pressed the old chap's hand, dropped it, and returned to the high stool. "And now, after what has passed between us two, man to man, you'll credit me with no disrespectfulness if I make bold to let fall certain remarks."
Bates nodded his white head and stared at the floor.
"There's a thing, sir, that I particularly want to say. It is about yourself, sir--"
"Go on, William," said Mr. Bates, "and get it over. I know what you're after, of course--something about Richard. Well, I'll take it from you. I wouldn't take it from any one else."
"D'you remember all you used to advise me about the danger of rats, telling me to fight 'em as if it was the devil himself, horns and tail, and not just so many stinking little avaricious rodents? You said, one rat was sufficient to mess me up."
Mr. Bates nodded.
"And you knew what you were talking about--no one better. And for why? Because it was your own story you were telling me, in the form of a parable."
"You're wrong there, William."
"Not a bit. You'd had one rat--but, by Jupiter, he was a whooping big 'un, and he'd eaten your grain, and messed you up--he'd ruined your business, and well-nigh broken your heart, and practically done for you."
"Have you finished?" asked Mr. Bates, with dignity.
"Yes, sir--almost;" and Dale in the most earnest manner besought his old friend to resist any further attacks from that wicked son. "I do implore you, sir, not to be weak and fullish. Don't take him to your boosum. He's a rat still--an' he'll gnaw and devour the little that's left to you, so sure as I sit here."