CHAPTER LXXXVII.
“Good morning, Mr. Ellet!” said Mr. Jones, making an attempt at a bow, which the stiffness of his shirt-collar rendered entirely abortive; “how d’ye do?”
“Oh, how are you, Mr. Jones? I was just looking over the Household Messenger here, reading my daughter ‘Floy’s’ pieces, and thinking what a great thing it is for a child to have a good father. ‘Floy’ was carefully brought up and instructed, and this, you see, is the result. I have been reading several of her pieces to a clergyman, who was in here just now, I keep them on hand in my pocket-book, to exhibit as a proof of what early parental education and guidance may do in developing latent talent, and giving the mind a right direction.”
“I was not aware ‘Floy’ was your daughter,” replied Mr. Jones; “do you know what time she commenced writing? what was the title of her first article and what was her remuneration?”
“Sir?” said Mr. Ellet, wishing to gain a little time, and looking very confused.
“Perhaps I should not ask such questions,” said the innocent Mr. Jones, mistaking the cause of Mr. Ellet’s hesitation; “but I felt a little curiosity to know something of her early progress. What a strong desire you must have felt for her ultimate success; and how much your influence and sympathy must have assisted her. Do you know whether her remuneration at the commencement of her career as a writer, was above the ordinary average of pay?”
“Yes—no—really, Mr. Jones, I will not venture to say, lest I should make a mistake; my memory is apt to be so treacherous.”
“She wrote merely for amusement, I suppose; there could be no necessity in your daughter’s case,” said the blundering Mr. Jones.
“Certainly not,” replied Mr. Ellet.