“Call him cousin Alexander,” suggested Ralston. “Why do you make any distinction?”
“Because he’s not the rich one,” answered Miner, imperturbably. “He’ll be promoted to be my cousin, if the fortune is left to him.”
“Then I’m afraid he’ll continue to languish among your non-cousin acquaintances.”
“Why shouldn’t he inherit the bulk of the property?” enquired Miner, speaking more seriously.
“Because he’s a philanthropist, and would spend it all on idiots and ‘fresh air funds,’ and things of that sort.”
“There is Alexander Junior,” suggested Miner. “He’s careful enough, I’m sure. I suppose it will go to him.”
“I doubt that, too,” said Bright. “Alexander Junior goes to the opposite extreme. However, Jack knows more about that than I do—and is a nearer relation, besides.”
“Ham is right,” answered John Ralston, thoughtfully. “Cousin Sandy is the most villainous, infernal, steel-trap-fingered, patent-locked old miser that ever sat down in a cellar chinking money bags.”
“There’s a certain force about your language,” observed Miner.
“I believe he’s not rich,” said Bright. “So he has an excuse.”