“Did any one ever call him Wat Tartar, mother?”
“If they had, they 'd have caught one, Tony, I promise you.”
“I thought so. Well, he went on to say that he had nothing he could give me. It was to the purport that I was fit for nothing, and I agreed with him.”
“That was not just prudent, Tony; the world is prone enough to disparage without helping them to the road to it.”
“Possibly; but he read me like a book, and said that I only came to him because I was hopeless. He asked me if I knew a score of things he was well aware that I must be ignorant of, and groaned every time I said 'No!' When he said, 'Go home and brush up your French and Italian,' I felt as if he said, 'Look over your rent roll, and thin your young timber.' He 's a humbug, mother.”
“Oh, Tony, you must not say that.”
“I will say it; he's a humbug, and so is the other.”
“Who is the other you speak of?”
“Lord Ledgerton, a smartish old fellow, with a pair of gray eyes that look through you, and a mouth that you can't guess whether he's going to eat you up or to quiz you. It was he that said, 'Make Butler a messenger.' They did n't like it. The Office fellows looked as sulky as night; but they had to bow and snigger, and say, 'Certainly, my Lord;' but I know what they intend, for all that. They mean to pluck me; that's the way they 'll do it; for when I said I was nothing to boast of in English, and something worse in French, they grinned and exchanged smiles, as much as to say, 'There's a rasper he 'll never get over.'”
“And what is a messenger, Tony?”