The warmth of Clavering’s greeting to General Brandon delighted the simple old warrior. Clavering, who had too much sound sense to avoid allusions to his early life or to tell lies about it, recalled the time when he was a sutler and General Brandon was an officer. Then he carried the latter off to an alcove in the library, which was now deserted except by Élise and Lydia. These two young women, reclining like odalisks among the cushions of a luxurious sofa, discussed Rosalka and the rest of their swains in low voices and in terms which luckily their father did not overhear. Into the alcove Clavering caused his choicest brands of whiskey to be brought, and at once plunged into talk; and into that talk he infused all his powers of pleasing, which soon produced upon the simple old General a species of intoxication. If any one had told him that Clavering’s attention was due to the sight, more than once obtained since Sunday, of Elizabeth Darrell’s graceful figure and interesting, melancholy face, General Brandon would have called that person a liar. “You know,” said Clavering, as soon as the two were comfortably established with the whiskey and the cigars, “that I am being badgered and bothered by a set of sharks, calling themselves lawyers, who want to rob me of every dollar of my fortune. You have perhaps read in the newspapers something about this K. F. R. land–grant business.” “I am aware the public prints have given considerable space to it,” replied General Brandon, “but I have no knowledge of the merits of the case.” “Neither have the newspapers. The long and short of it is that the sharks, after fighting me through every court in the country, where I may say I have managed to hold my own pretty well, have contrived by political wire–pulling to get a Senate committee to investigate the matter. Now I don’t want to be lacking in courtesy to my brother senators, but of all the collection of asses, dunderheads, and old women, sneaks, hypocrites, and snivelling dogs, that ever were huddled together, that select committee of my esteemed contemporaries—Good Lord! let’s take a drink.” General Brandon drank solemnly. Whiskey of that brand was not to be treated lightly. “I know well all the country embraced in and contiguous to that K. F. R. land grant,” said the General, putting down his glass reverently. “I scouted and fought and hunted over all that region more than forty years ago, when I was a young lieutenant just turned loose from West Point.” “Why, then,” cried Clavering, his handsome eyes lighting up with a glow like fire, “you might be of real service to me.” He did not specify what manner of service he meant, and General Brandon innocently thought Clavering meant about the K. F. R. land grants. But no man who ever lived could tell Clavering anything he did not know about any piece of property he had ever owned; least of all could simple, guileless General Brandon tell him anything.