In spite of his gnarled
hands and the sawdust that had lodged in the frayed creases of his
clothes, he was in his way, Stephen realized, as great a gentleman and
as typical a Virginian as Judge Horatio Lancaster Page. Both men were
the descendants of a privileged order; both were inheritors of a formal
and authentic tradition.
"This is Mr. Darrow," said Vetch in a voice which contained a note of
affectionate deference. "I think he knew your father, Culpeper. Didn't
you tell me, Darrow, that you had known this young man's father?"
"No, sir, I only said I'd worked for him," replied Darrow, with an air
of genial irony which brought the Judge to Stephen's mind again. "That's
a big difference, I reckon. I did some repairs a few years ago on a row
of houses that belonged to Mr. Culpeper; but the business was all
arranged by the agent."
"That was part of the estate, I suppose," explained Stephen. "My father
leaves all that to his agent."
"Yes, I thought as much," replied Darrow simply; and after shaking hands
with his rough, strong clasp, he sat down in a chair by the window.
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