“Am I, father?” said Charley, whose heart smote him as he spoke, telling himself the while that he was deceiving the generous old man, with whom he had hitherto been open as the day.
“Yes, my dear boy—yes, of course you are! It’s just what I wanted, Charley, to see you a little more inclined for society. You’ll have quite a large party, of course?”
“Well, no, father,” said Charley; “I think not. Your large affairs are never so successful as the small ones.”
“Just so, my dear boy; I think you are right. Well, have it as you please, precisely, only give your orders. Slave of the lamp, you know, Charley—slave of the lamp: what shall I do first?”
“Well, dad,” said Charley, flushing slightly, “I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind doing a little of the inviting for me.”
“Of course not, my dear boy. Whom shall I ask first?”
“Well, suppose you see the Brays,” said Charley, whose face certainly wore a deeper hue than usual.
“To be sure, Charley!” said the old gentleman, smiling.
“They’ve been very kind, and asked me there several times, so you’ll ask them all?”
“Decidedly!” said the old gentleman.