“Look here, Punch,” said Pen, laughing, “you had better be still and listen, and I will try and make it plain to you. My uncle was my father’s executor, who had to see that the property he left was rightfully distributed.”
“Oh, I see,” said Punch.
“And my father made him my trustee, to take charge of the money that was to be mine when I became twenty-one.”
“All right; go on. I am getting it now.”
“Then he had to see to my education, and advise me till I grew up.”
“Well, that was all right, only if I had been your old man, seeing what a chap you are, I shouldn’t have called in no uncle. I should have said, ‘Young Penton Gray has got his head screwed on proper, and he will do what’s right.’ I suppose, then, your uncle didn’t.”
“I thought not, Punch.”
“Then, of course, he didn’t. What did he do, then?”
“Made me leave school,” said Pen.
“Oh, well, that don’t sound very bad. Made you leave school? Well, I never was at school but once, but I’d have given anything to be made to come away.”