“It always amuses me to hear a little chap like you calling that old giant ‘cousin,’ ” said Bright.
“He likes it. It makes him feel frisky. Besides, he is a sort of cousin. My uncle Thompson married Margaret Lauderdale—”
“Oh, yes—I know all about the genealogy,” laughed Bright.
“Who was Robert Lauderdale’s own cousin,” continued Miner. “And as Robert Lauderdale is your great-uncle and Jack Ralston’s great-uncle, that makes you second cousins to each other and makes me your—let me see—both—”
“Shut up, Frank!” exclaimed Ralston. “You’ve got it all wrong again. Uncle Robert isn’t Bright’s great-uncle. He’s first cousin to your deceased aunt Margaret, who was Bright’s grandmother, and you’re first cousin to his mother and first cousin, once removed, to him; and he’s my third cousin and you’re no relation to me at all, except by your uncle’s marriage, and if you want to know anything more about it you have your choice between the family Bible and the Bloomingdale insane asylum—which is a quiet, healthy place, well situated.”
“Well then, what relation am I to my cousin Robert?” asked Miner, with a grin.
“An imaginary relation, my dear boy.”
“Oh, I say! And his being my very own aunt by marriage’s own cousin is not to count for anything, because you two are such big devils and I am only a light weight, and you could polish your boots with me if I made a fuss! It’s too bad! Upon my word, brute force rules society as much as it ever did in the middle ages. So there goes my long-cherished claim upon a rich relation. However, you’ve destroyed the illusion so often before that I know how to resurrect it.”
“For that matter,” said Bright, “the fact is about as illusory as the illusion itself. If you insist upon being considered as one of the Lauderdale tribe, we’re glad to have you on your own merits—but you’ll get nothing out of it but the glory—”
“I know. It gives me a fictitious air of respectability to be one of you. Besides, you should be proud to have a man of letters—”