“Uncle John will come to the funeral. And Uncle John will very likely provide for James, and take him into his business, which is that of a wholesale druggist; but what is to become of me, I can’t think!”
“Should you be glad if your uncle took you instead of James?”
“Why no, not glad; because it is not a line of business that suits my taste. You know, Mrs. Cheerlove,” said the poor boy, faltering, “I always aspired to be something of a gentleman.”
“And is not your uncle one?”
“Hardly. But I would be anything just now, to be of service to mamma—my mother!”
“That’s right. Perhaps you would like to be in a surveyor’s office.”
“That would be better—only, who is to place me in one?”
“Or should you like to be a medical man, like your father?”
“Ah, Mrs. Cheerlove, his was a hard life! And those hospitals! But have you heard of Mr. Pevensey’s kindness?” cried he, suddenly brightening.
“No!—in what?”