“No, no, my dear, don’t misunderstand me. I meant that people generally prefer to keep to the old-fashioned ways of doing things.”
“But, my dear,” retorted Aunt Hannah, who had been put out that morning by rebellious acts on the part of Martha, “you are as bad as anyone. See how you threw away Vane’s pen-holder that he invented, and in quite a passion, too. I did think there was something in that, for it is very tiresome to have to keep on dipping your pen in the ink when you have a long letter to write.”
“Oh, aunty, don’t bring up that,” said Vane, reproachfully.
But it was too late.
“Hang the thing!” cried the doctor, with a look of annoyance and perplexity on his countenance; “that was enough to put anyone out of temper. The idea was right enough, drawing the holder up full like a syringe, but then you couldn’t use it for fear of pressing it by accident, and squirting the ink all over your paper, or on to your clothes. ’Member my new shepherd’s-plaid trousers, Vane?”
“Yes, uncle; it was very unfortunate. You didn’t quite know how to manage the holder. It wanted studying.”
“Studying, boy! Who’s going to learn to study a pen-holder. Goose-quill’s good enough for me. They don’t want study.”
Vane rubbed his ear, and looked furtively from one to the other, as Aunt Hannah rose, and put away her work.
“No, my dear,” she said, rather decisively; “I’m quite sure that Martha would never approve of anyone meddling with her kitchen-boiler.”
She left the room, and Vane sat staring at his uncle, who returned his gaze with droll perplexity in his eyes.