He was at once received with cordiality for his aunt's sake, but he soon earned a welcome for his own. Jo Weatherhead took to him amazingly. "That's what I call a gentleman," said he, "a real gentleman—sterling metal, and not Brummagem electro-plating. What a difference from that young Bransby! A stuck-up, impudent—but, Lord! what could one expect from an old Rabbitt's grandson! There's where it is."
"Mr. Rivers is a good Radical, Jo," Mrs. Dobbs answered slyly. Whereupon Jo nodded his head with undiminished complacency, and declared that if it wasn't for such Radicals as them, Radicalism might soon shut up shop altogether; concluding with his favourite apophthegm that many good things came down from above, but very few mounted up from below.
CHAPTER II.
Owen Rivers was greatly attracted by Mrs. Dobbs. He admired her uprightness of character, and downrightness of speech; her shrewd common sense, combined with unpretending simplicity; her indomitable strength of purpose, tempered by broad good nature. At the very beginning of their acquaintance, he told her that he had been recommended by his aunt Jane to take her (Mrs. Dobbs's) opinion as to his mode of life. And when Mrs. Dobbs tried to put him off by declaring that Mrs. Hadlow must have been joking, he answered that he, at any rate, was not joking; and begged her to speak candidly.
"If I speak at all, I shall speak candidly, you may depend," said Mrs. Dobbs.
And, in truth, Owen soon found that he had no cause to complain of her lack of plain speaking. Mrs. Dobbs was wholly and heartily on the side of Aunt Jane, and held many a stout argument with the young man.
"But, pray, how is one to manage?" asked Owen. "My aunt says, 'Go into a profession.' Easier said than done! Besides, although I might not object to be Lord Chancellor—or even, perhaps, Admiral of the Fleet—I have no relish for the intermediate stages, which makes a difficulty."
"That's all stuff and nonsense," said Mrs. Dobbs bluntly. "It's a shame to see a gentleman with your book-learning, and good gifts, wasting the advantages God has given him."
"Wasting my advantages! That's Aunt Jane's pet phrase. But those are mere words, you know."