“Perhaps so,” Katie said, thoughtfully. “At any rate, I am glad you are a young man.”
“So am I, Kate,” Frank laughed. “There, Prescott, now we have quite decided upon that point, what is your next idea?”
“My dear Frank, I have no idea,” Prescott said; “it is for you to turn over in your mind what you think would suit you.”
“I was thinking of that as I came down from town, Prescott,” Frank said, disconsolately; “and upon my word I don’t see what I am fit for. I write a rascally bad hand, and I am sure no one would take me as a clerk; I couldn’t do anything in the literary line, to save my life, I can pull an oar you know; but then, fellows must be apprenticed before they can be watermen. Upon my word, the only thing I can see for myself,” he said, ruefully, “is to go into the ring. I fancy there ain’t above one or two men I couldn’t hold my own with.”
“A prizefighter, Frank! For shame! How dare you talk of such a thing?” Katie said, indignantly.
“He is only joking, Kate,” Prescott said, although he saw that Frank had been half in earnest. “He is laughing at himself and us.”
“Yes, I suppose it would not do,” Frank said, with half a sigh; “but upon my word it is about all I am fit for.”
“You see, Arthur, if Frank could get any little thing to do here, I could help. I could give lessons in, singing. Besides, I can work very well. I am a wonderful hand at bonnets.”
“You are a wonderful goose,” Frank broke in, seizing her and taking her from her chair on to his knees in his own easy chair, and checking her remonstrances with “Do as you are told, Katie, Prescott won’t mind.”
“Frank, I am really ashamed of you. I shall go away. I will, Frank; please let me go.”