“What induced you to choose that Falck in Smith’s place?” he said to Mr. Boniface, in a grumbling tone. He persisted in dropping the broad “a” in Frithiof’s name, and pronouncing it as if it rhymed with “talc”—a sound peculiarly offensive to Norwegian ears.
“He is a friend of Roy’s,” was the reply. “What is it that you dislike about him? He seems to me likely to prove very efficient.”
“Oh, yes; he has his wits about him, perhaps rather too much so, but I can’t stand the ridiculous airs the fellow gives himself. Order him to do anything, and he’ll do it as haughtily as though he were master and I servant; and as for treating him in a friendly way it’s impossible; he’s as stand-offish as if he were a Crœsus instead of a poor beggar without a penny to bless himself with.”
“He is a very reserved fellow,” said Mr. Boniface; “and you must remember that this work is probably distasteful to him. You see he has been accustomed to a very different position.”
“Why, his father was nothing but a fish merchant who went bankrupt.”
“But out in Norway merchants rank much more highly than with us. Besides, the Falcks are of a very old family.”
“Well, really I never expected to hear such a radical as you speak up for old family and all that nonsense,” said James Horner. “But I see you are determined to befriend this fellow, so it’s no good my saying anything against it. I hope you may find him all you expect. For my part I consider him a most unpromising young man; there’s an aggressiveness about his face and bearing that I don’t like at all. A dangerous, headstrong sort of character, and not in the least fit for the position you have given him.”
With which sweeping condemnation Mr. Horner left the room, and Roy, who had kept a politic silence throughout the scene, threw down his pen and went into a subdued fit of laughter.
“You should see them together, father, it’s as good as a play,” he exclaimed. “Falck puts on his grand air and is crushingly polite the moment Cousin James puts in an appearance, and that nettles him and he becomes more and more vulgar and fussy, and so they go poking each other up worse and worse every minute.”
“It’s very foolish of Falck,” said Mr. Boniface. “If he means to get on in life, he will have to learn the art of rising above such paltry annoyances as airs of patronage and manners that jar on him.”