LITMIR.BIZ

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can you judge as to that, my dear?” said the lady, sternly.

      “Well, you see, auntie, one does get a bit queer sometimes. I had such a headache the other day when he called to see uncle, and he laughed at me, and took me over to the hotel and gave me a dose of stuff that cured it in half an hour.”

      “Sydney, my dear, I beg that you will never go to that hotel again. Avoid Tilborough as much as you would any other evil place. The next time you have a headache either go and see Dr Linnett or come to me, and I will give you something out of the medicine-chest. Dr Granton cannot be an experienced practitioner.”

      “Why, they say, auntie, he’s wonderfully clever over accidents in the hunting field.”

      “Yes, in the hunting field,” said the lady, sarcastically; “but a medical man’s practice should be at home, and in his own neighbourhood. A man who attends grooms at racing stables is to my mind more of what is, I believe, called a veter – ”

      “That’s right, auntie – a vet.”

      “Than a family practitioner,” continued the lady, sternly; “and it is a source of great trouble to me that your uncle does not give up his society. I desire that you avoid him.”

      “All right, auntie; I will.”

      “Always bear in mind, my dear, that it is easier to make acquaintances than to end them.”

      “Yes, auntie; I found that out in Loamborough. Some of the fellows will stick to you.”

      “Say adhere, my child.”

      “Yes, auntie.”

      “Always bear in mind what a great future you have before you. Some day – I sincerely hope that day is far distant – your dear grandfather must pass away, and then think of your future and the position you must hold. A title and a princely income.”

      “Oh, yes; I often think of it all, auntie. I say, though, I wish the chaps wouldn’t be quite so fond of chaffing a fellow about the old guv’nor buying his title.”

      “He did not buy it, Sydney, my dear,” said Lady Lisle, with a faint colour coming into her cheeks.

      “Didn’t he, auntie? They say so.”

      “The truth of the matter is, my dear, that the party – ”

      “Good old party!” said the “dear boy” to himself.

      “The party was pressed for money to carry on the Parliamentary warfare, and, with your dear grandpapa’s noble generosity, he placed his purse at the party’s disposal.”

      “Keeps it pretty close when I want a few dibs,” said the “dear boy” to himself.

      “And the baronetcy was the very least return that the retiring Prime Minister could make him.”

      “Oh, that’s it, is it, auntie?”

      “Yes, my dear,” said the lady, laying down one of her secretarial appeals she had that morning received from the enterprising dun of the Society for the Propagation of Moral Maxims. “Yes,” she said, with some show of animation, “the title was honourably earned and bestowed, and some day, Syd, my dear boy, you will be very proud of it. New? Yes, of course it is new.”

      “And it’ll grow old, won’t it, auntie?”

      “Of course, my dear. And the Lisles, your dear uncle’s people, need not be so proud of their old family title. The Lisle, your uncle’s ancestor, was only a wealthy country gentleman, who bought his baronetcy of King James the First.”

      “For a thousand quid, auntie?”

      “A thousand pounds, my dear,” said the lady, looking at him wonderingly.

      “Yes, auntie; but he was a gentleman.”

      “And so is your grandfather, Sydney, my child,” said the lady, rather austerely.

      “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said the “dear boy,” rather sulkily. “The fellows at Loamborough are always chucking the ‘Devil’ in my face.”

      “Syd!”

      “They do, auntie – it’s the machine that tears up the old shreds at the mills – and saying grandpa ought to have been made Baron Shoddy.”

      “My dear Syd!”

      “And do you know what they call me?”

      “No, no; and I don’t want to know, sir.”

      “Young Devil’s Dust,” snarled the boy.

      “Indeed!” said the lady, indignantly. “Loamborough was selected for your education because the pupils were supposed to be young gentlemen – aristocrats.”

      “So they are,” grumbled the boy, “and that’s the worst of them. Stink with pride.”

      “From envious poverty, Sydney, my child.”

      “Oh, yes, they’re poor enough, some of ’em, and glad enough to borrow my tin.”

      “Of course,” said the lady, bitterly. “The Lisles, too, have shown me a good deal of haughtiness, but they were not too proud to see the representative of their family form an alliance with the Smitherses.”

      “When uncle had been sold up two or three times.”

      “Don’t allude to such matters, Sydney, my child,” said the lady, sternly.

      “Can’t help it,” grumbled the boy, sourly, as if his breakfast had not agreed with him, consequent upon his making improper combinations of carbon, acid, and alkali – “it stings a bit. The fellows say uncle wouldn’t have married you if it hadn’t been for the dibs.”

      “Sydney, my dear boy, you can afford to look down with contempt upon such evil, envious remarks. Your dear uncle fell deeply in Jove with me, and I with him, and we are extremely happy. The only trouble I have is to combat – er – er – certain little weaknesses of his, and yearnings for the – er – er – the – ”

      “Turf, auntie. Yes, I know.”

      “The racing and the gambling into which he had been led by dissolute companions. But enough of this, my dear. I find I am being unconsciously led into details of a very unsavoury nature. Your uncle is now completely weaned from his old pursuits, and happy as a model country gentleman.”

      The “dear boy” winked solemnly at the bronze bust of a great Parliamentary leader on the chimney-piece, and the lady continued —

      “In a few days he will address his constituents at the head of the poll as member for Deeploamshire.”

      “What price Watcombe?” said the “dear boy,” sharply.

      “I do not understand your metaphor, Sydney, my child,” said the lady, coldly.

      “I mean, suppose Watcombe romps in at the race.”

      “Race! Oh, my dear boy, pray do not use that word. If you mean suppose his adversary should be at the head, pray dismiss the thought. Your dear uncle must win and take his seat in the House. Some day I shall see his nephew, my dear child, following his example – the second baronet of our family. Think of this, Sydney, and learn to feel proud of descending from one of the manufacturing commercial princes of the Midlands, whose clever ingenuity resulted in the invention of a complicated instrument – ”

      “Improved devil,” said the “dear boy” to himself.

      “For tearing up old and waste woollen fragments into fibre and dust.”

      “Devils dust,” said Sydney, silently.

      “The former being worked up again into cloth – ”

      “Shoddy,” muttered Sydney.

      “And the latter utilised for fertilising the earth and making it return a hundredfold.”

      “Gammon,” said Syd.

      “The whole resulting in a colossal fortune.”

      “Which

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