But in my heart I meant to be very popular with them;
for I cherished the generous design of paying the whole tribute out of
my own pocket, and of disestablishing in Neopalia what seems to be
the only institution in no danger of such treatment here--the
tax-gatherer. If they understood that intention of mine, they would
hardly be so shortsighted as to set me adrift in my shirt like
a second Baron d'Ezonville, or so unjust as to kill poor old
Stefanopoulos as they had killed his ancestor. Besides, as I comforted
myself by repeating, they were a good-hearted race; unsophisticated,
of course, but thoroughly good-hearted.
My cousin, young Denny Swinton, was to dine with me that evening at
the Optimum. Denny (which is short for Dennis) was the only member of
the family who thoroughly sympathized with me about Neopalia. He was
wild with interest in the island, and I looked forward to telling him
all I had heard about it. I knew he would listen, for he was to go
with me and help me to take possession. The boy had almost wept on my
neck when I asked him to come; he had just left Woolwich, and was not
to join his regiment for six months. He was thus, as he put it, "at a
loose end," and succeeded in persuading his parents that he ought to
learn modern Greek. General Swinton was rather cold about the project;
he said that Denny had spent ten years on ancient Greek, and knew
nothing about it, and would not probably learn much of the newer sort
in three months; but his wife thought it would be a nice trip for
Denny.
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