Gould made a snatch at the check, but it was in a light blaze; and the old man held it till it burned down to his fingers, and fell in black flakes over the taper, and the daintily warm gold that held it. Ward jumped up from his chair with an oath on his lips. Gould turned white, and staggered back. “Uncle, uncle! I owed every dollar of that money,” he cried out. “My honor is at stake.” The old man picked up his hat and cane with silent deliberation. “Sir. Sir, I say! Gould owes me half the money; and, by Jove! I must have it,” cried Ward. “Owes you! What for?” This curt question made the young gambler start and bethink himself. “What for? What for? Why for money I lent him the other night for the Soldier’s Fair. That nephew of yours, sir, is one of the most benevolent, tender-hearted fellows that the sun ever shone on. That night he met me in front of the fair, really distressed. “‘Ward,’ said he—my name is Ward, sir. Gould forgot to present me, but Ward is my name—‘Ward,’ said he, ‘I’ve just done a foolish thing. You’ll say so, when I tell you what it is——’ “Said I, interrupting him, ‘I’ll lay five to one that you’ve been at your old tricks—emptying both pockets to help some miserable soldier’s family out of trouble. But it’s in you, this tender-heartedness; and all I can say will never drive it out.’ “‘No,’ says Gould, ‘you’re wrong there. It is no family this time; but you know a draft has been made.’ “‘Yes, I know,’ said I, ‘and you have been drawn.’ “‘Wrong again,’ says your nephew. ‘But every man owes a life to his country. I cannot serve; it would break my dear uncle’s heart should I be killed; and he is too good a man for me to give him one moment’s pain.’ I beg your pardon, Gould, for saying this; but truth will out, and your uncle will forgive me. “‘Well, what have you done?’ said I. “‘Simply this,’ replied Gould, blushing like a girl. ‘I’ve given every cent that I have on hand to a brave fellow to take my place in the ranks and fight my battles. It’s a mean way of doing things; but I could not leave my uncle, not—not even for my country; and Burns was determined to go.’” “Who? What name did you say?” cried the old man, grasping his cane hard. “Burns, sir. Burns was the name I used.” “A man who left two boys, a young girl, and an old woman behind to suffer while he fought? Was that the person?” “Yes, sir; no doubt of it. Gould would never tell you of it; but these were the facts.” “How long was this ago?” “I—I—how long was it, Gould? I know when you told me, but it was before that.” “I cannot say. All this is unauthorized, sir. I never dreamed that he would tell this story. Indeed——”