“What is the opinion of boys to a young man with your prospects in life?” said his father, carefully ignoring the question of food supply. “Besides, you ought to be particular, sir, for the sake of your sister May, who has married so well.”
“What, to jerry-sneaky Frank Burnett? A little humbug.”
“Morton!”
“Well, so he is, father. I asked him to lend me five shillings the day before yesterday, and he called me an importunate beggar.”
“You had no business to ask him for money, sir.”
“Who am I to ask, then? I must have money. You won’t let me go out to work.”
“No, sir; you are a gentleman’s son, and must act as a gentleman.”
“I can’t act as a gentleman without money,” cried the lad, eating away, for, to hide the look of pain in her face, Claire kept diligently attending to her brother’s wants by supplying him with a fair amount of thin tea and bread and butter, as well as her own share of the bacon.
“My dear son,” said the MC with dignity, “everything comes to the man who will wait. Your sister May has made a wealthy marriage. Claire will, I have no doubt, do the same, and I have great hopes of your prospects.”
“Haven’t any prospects,” said the lad, in an ill-used tone.