" The old Southerner was stately now in
his emotion. "I can never do so adequately. You are at least entitled to
my confidence." His face grew a little whiter; he drew himself up as
though to meet a blow. "My boy, my son, sir, stole a large sum of money
from the bank where he was employed in New Orleans. He was not
suspected; and indeed, as far as the bank is concerned, the matter
remains a mystery to this day. Shortly afterwards the Spanish war broke
out. My son was an officer in a local regiment. He obtained an
appointment for the front." The old gentleman paused; then he stood
erect, head back, at salute, like the gallant old soldier that he was.
"My son, sir, was a thief; but he redeemed himself, and he redeemed his
name--he fell at the head of his company, leading his men."
Jimmie Dale's eyes had grown suddenly moist.
"I understand," he said simply.
"He wrote this letter to me, making a full confession of his guilt; and
gave it to me, telling me not to open it unless he should not come
back." The colonel's voice broke; then, with an effort, steadied again.
"It would have killed his mother, sir. It strained our resources most
severely to pay back the money to the bank, and I lied to her, sir--I
told her that our investments were proving unfortunate.
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