The circumlocution and indefiniteness of this letter led me to infer that there was something behind it which the writer had not stated.  It soon appeared that my friend agreed with me in this inference.  I could not but smile at the coolness with which he quoted the common phrase to the effect that there was an African in the fence.

“I fear it is the old story over again,” he said; “but I am glad I have done my duty to myself and to my dear mother, whatever the consequences may be.”

After some discussion, it was agreed that I should call at Mr. Allen’s office (he was a lawyer) and endeavor to obtain from him a statement of all he might know of the new arrangement announced in the letter which had been received.  I lost no time in entering upon my mission.  But I was compelled to make several applications at the office before it was possible for Mr. Allen to give me a hearing.  A late hour of the business-day was, however, finally assigned to me, and just as the gas was lighted I found myself by appointment in a private room used for consultation, sitting face to face with Mr. Allen.  I briefly stated my errand, and presented the trustee’s letter to him as a more complete explanation of my verbal statement.

“Yes, I see,” said Mr. Allen thoughtfully, after reading the letter and returning it to me.  And he tilted back his chair, clasped his hands behind his head, and gazed for some minutes reflectively at the ceiling.  I sat quietly and studied his face and the objects in the room.  He was a large man, squarely built, with straight, strongly-marked features, blue eyes, and sandy hair.  In the midst of his books and papers he seemed to me a sterner man than I had previously thought him.  “Yes, I see,” he repeated, at the close of his period of reflection.  And then he removed his hands from his head and placed them on his knees, and brought his chair squarely to the floor, and, leaning forward toward me, looked keenly in my face, and said, “Did I understand that you were one of those people,—­that is, similar to Mr. Brown?”

“How, sir?” said I in bewilderment.  “How do you mean?”

A moment later the purport of the question, which I had in a strange way seemed to feel as it was coming, dawned fully upon me, or I should rather say struck me, so sharp and sudden was the shock I experienced.  If there was anything in which I was secure and of which I had reason to be proud, it was my Puritan and English ancestry.  As the blood flew to my youthful face in instinctive protest and indignation, my appearance must have been a sufficient answer to my interrogator; for I remember that he, at once springing to his feet, offered me his hand, making profuse apologies and begging a thousand pardons.

I somewhat stammeringly explained that it was of no consequence, and proceeded to name the families in my ancestral line, adding the remark that these families, both those on my father’s side and those on my mother’s side, were pretty well known, and that they were the genuine English and Puritan stock.