“We thought him a nice sort of youth when he was improving himself in London,” said Clement.
“You both were very good to him,” said Lance, “and those three years were not wasted. He is a far better sub-editor and reporter than I was at his age, with his French wit and cleverness. The only fault I find with him is that he longs for plate-glass and flummery instead of old Froggatt’s respectable panes.”
“He has become the London assistant, who was our bugbear,” said Geraldine.
“I don’t know how we should get on without him since we made ‘Pur’ daily,” said Lance.
“How old ambitions get realized!” said Geraldine.
“Does his mother endure the retail work, or has she not higher views for him?” asked Clement.
“In fact, ever since the first Lambkin came on the stage any one would have thought those poor boys were her steps, not good old Lamb’s; whereas Felix always made a point of noticing them. Gus was nine years old that last time he was there, while I was ill, and he left such an impression as to make him the hero model.—Aye, Gus is first-rate.”
“I am glad you have not altered the old shop and office.”
“Catch me! But we are enlarging the reading-room, and the new press demands space. Then there’s a dining-room for the young men, and what do you think I’ve got? We (not Froggatt, Underwood, and Lamb, but the Church Committee) have bought St. Oswald’s buildings for a coffee hotel and young men’s lodging-house.”
“Our own, old house. Oh! is Edgar’s Great Achilles there still?”