"For two good reasons. In the first place, I hate him. I hate him in right of my French ancestors, and I hate him as a true American democrat. Then, over and above all that, a war with the English would be the making of me. I should rise then. I would be their Hannibal. But now we have nothing better to do than giving fits to these yellow Mexican vagabonds." "A shabby employment," said Morton, "and yet I think I should like it." "You would, ey?--then go with me to Mexico." "It's a temptation," said Morton, his eyes lighted with a sudden gleam,--"I am in a mood for any thing, I do not care what." "I knew there was something ailing you," said Rosny; "why, you have had no appetite. You've lost all your spirits. Has any thing happened? Are you ill?" "Nothing to speak of. I am well enough in health." "Well, come with me to Mexico. When a man is under a cloud, he always makes the better soldier for it. If you have had bad luck, why, you can fight like a Trojan." "I could storm Hell Gates to-day," exclaimed Morton, giving a momentary vent to his long pent up emotion. "Good! I always knew that there was stuff in you, though you _are_ worth half a million. It isn't that, though--is it? You haven't lost property--have you?" "Not that I know. Never mind, Dick; every man has his little vexations, sometimes, and is entitled to the privilege of swearing at them." "Well, I am not the man to pry into your private affairs. Come with me to Mexico. I can promise you a captain's commission,--perhaps I can get you a major's. I am not a cipher in the democratic party, I'd have you know, though I am not yet what I shall be soon. I helped Polk to his election, and my word will go for something. But, pshaw!--what am I talking about? With your money, and a little management, you can get any thing you want." "I have more than half a mind," said Morton, hesitating; "but, no,--I won't go."