Leslie was silent.
“I say he’s a nice boy; isn’t he?” cried the old man, raising his voice.
“I heard what you said. He is your nephew.”
“Worse luck! How is he getting on at Van Heldre’s?”
“I have not the least idea, sir.”
“More have I. They won’t tell me. How about that friend of his? What do you think of him?”
“Really, Mr Vine,” said Leslie laughing, “I do not set up as a judge of young men’s character. It is nothing to me.”
“Yes, it is. Do you suppose I’m blind? Do you suppose I can’t tell which way the wind blows? If I were young, do you know what I should do?”
“Do away with the chimney shaft and the stamps,” said Leslie, laughing.
“No; I should just get hold of that fellow some night, and walk him to where the coach starts.”