Yet Anderson was under no illusion; there it lay sparkling, as it were, at the back of his sly wolfish eyes.
"How in blazes could you take me down ?" muttered McEwen--"Thought you was took up with these English swells." "I'm not taken up with anything that would prevent my looking after you," said Anderson rising.

"You let Mrs.Ginnell attend to you--get the leg well--and we'll see." McEwen eyed him--his good looks and his dress, his gentleman's refinement; and the shaggy white brows of the old miner drew closer together.
"What did you cast me off like that for, George ?" he asked.
Anderson turned away.
"Don't rake up the past.

Better not." "Where are my other sons, George ?" "In Montreal, doing well." Anderson gave the details of their appointments and salaries.
"And never a thought of their old father, I'll be bound!" said McEwen, at the end, with slow vindictiveness.
"You forget that it was your own doing; we believed you dead." "Aye!--you hadn't left a man much to come home for!--and all for an accident!--a thing as might ha' happened to any man." The speaker's voice had grown louder.

He stared sombrely, defiantly at his companion.
Anderson stood with his hands on his sides, looking through the further window.

Then slowly he put his hand into his pocket and withdrew from it a large pocket-book.