On the second morning Lord Fortinbras asked him another question.
“Is your father having any trouble with the remaining shares?”
“That I can’t say. A Boston lawyer is handling the matter, but if the least breath of rumor starts, they may cost him as much as he has paid you for the voting majority.”
“I see. Does he need a loan?”
“Thank you, sir, but he’s maneuvering to make Mr. Ferry put up the money himself.”
“What a man, what a man! Well, there should be one holding that will give him no trouble. The daughter-in-law of my friend Jimmy Hogg lives near Boston. Is there a place called Wickford?” Marvin looked up in surprise.
“I have spent many a week-end at Wickford. In fact I roomed with your friend’s grandson at college.”
“Another link, my dear chap, between your youth and my eighty years. Jimmy married at two and twenty, and became one of my father’s draftsmen. When my father returned from Canada and organized the original company, I persuaded him to give Jimmy some stock. It made him well-to-do in a few years, and he wished to retire. Think of it, a man of thirty-five with a son ten years old! We mocked him, and he emigrated as his Huguenot ancestor had done before him. His son grew up in Connecticut and married the Endicott girl. Since you know her, tell her that I say she should give you those hundred shares for a song.”
“Lord Fortinbras, was there any ground for calling his ancestor a Huguenot?”
“Best in the world, lad. The name was La Hoque, which on English tongues becomes La Hogue. But after the French were defeated at La Hogue all the blackguards began to taunt the man, and he changed the name to plain Hogg. I used to tell Jimmy that he had no right to that name. If the grandson is a decent fellow, tell him it’s poor navigation to sail under a British flag when the bottom is French. If you want this tale corroborated, have my man run you down to Beaulieu and see the vicar. He’ll show you the records.”