“Oh, I know what you mean. If I do, everybody’s rights shall be respected. We’ll fix that beyond question, to your satisfaction, before a thing is done.”
“I don’t care about myself, particularly; you know that: but then there’s Seth, you know—we’ve always figured on the farm as his. It’s true he don’t want to be a farmer, that he hates the whole thing, but still that represents all his capital, so to speak, and—”
“My dear John, that shall all be arranged. I am a childless man—probably always shall be. As long as Father lives the farm shall remain in his name. Either his will can be in my favor, or I can manage the farm as a trustee for all three of us, after he’s gone. In either case, you shall both be protected in turn by my will—absolutely protected. Meantime, what do you want me to do for Seth? What does he want to do?”
“Nothing needs to be done for me,” began Seth, “I can—”
“Now, youngster, will you be quiet!” said John, in mock despair. “I’ll tell you what you can do for Seth, and do easily. Get him a place on some decent newspaper, in New York or one of the larger cities of the State, and let him have money enough to eke out a small salary at first, so that he can begin at editorial work instead of tramping up through the reporter’s treadmill, as I had to. That’s all Seth’ll ask, and it will be the making of him.”
“Begin at editorial work—Seth? Nonsense!”
“No nonsense about it. For two years back Seth has been doing some of the best work on my paper—work that’s been copied all over the State.”
“Bless my soul, what a literary family we are!” said the lawyer. “Does Aunt Sabrina write, too? Perhaps those love poems you have on the last page are hers.”
John continued without noticing the interjection. “Do you remember that long article on Civil Service Reform we had in the Banner last January?”
“I don’t think I do, John. To be frank, although we enjoy having you send us the Banner immensely, occasionally it happens that the stress of professional duties compels me to miss reading a number.”