Let him alone if you please."
Seabrooke was blind and deaf to all her interference.
"I will know," he repeated. "I will bring the doctor here if you do
not tell. Who was it?"
Charlie's eyes turned involuntarily towards the corner of the room
occupied by Lewis Flagg's bed and other belongings, and Seabrooke
caught the look. Quick-sighted and quick-witted, he drew his own
inferences and attacked the boy from another quarter.
"It was Flagg, then," he persisted.
The color flashed up over Charlie's pale face, but he only answered
sharply:
"I tell you to let me alone. You're real mean, Seabrooke."
"So he is," said Mrs. Moffat, "and I wish the doctor would come. We'd
see if he'd have this sick boy put about this way, Mr. Seabrooke. I
tell you I have the care of him now, and I'll not have him plagued
this way."
But Seabrooke was gone before she was half through with this speech,
and poor Charlie was left to take his coffee in such peace as he
might with the dread hanging over him of being reported as a
tell-tale. Mrs. Moffat's sympathy and her almost abuse of Seabrooke
did him little good; he was very sensitive to praise or blame, and
could not bear the thought of incurring the ill-will of any one of
the boys.
CHAPTER XIII.
ACCUSATION.
Quiet and self-contained and little given to impulse as he was,
Seabrooke, when roused to anger or resentment, was a very lion in his
wrath, and there was one thing which he could never tolerate or
overlook, and that was any attempt to take an unfair advantage of
him.
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