“Mais non! I have not thought it necessary.”
“It is a man altogether singular, my Uncle Peter,” I went on, “and truly I think that you will do better to rest here at New York a few days, in attending a response to the letter which I counsel you to send him. He loves not the surprises, my Uncle Peter.”
“I shall do all as thou desirest, my good Gregory,” said Uncle Florimond; and he dispatched a letter to his nephew, Peter Brace, that very evening, setting forth the state of his affairs, and declaring his intention to go to Norwich.
That night and the next he slept in Mr. Finkelstein's spare bedroom. On the evening of the third day an answer came from Uncle Peter, professing his inability to do anything to assist his mother's brother, and emphatically discouraging his proposed visit to Norwich. Uncle Florimond could hardly believe his senses. “Ah! such cruelty, such lack of heart,” he cried, “it is impossible.”
“Vail, Kraikory,” said Mr. Finkelstein, “de only ting is, he'll haif to settle down here, and live mit me and you. He can keep dot spare room, and we'll make him as comfortable as we know how. Tell him I be prout to haif him for my guest as long as he'll stay.”
“No,” I answered, “I can't let you go to work and saddle yourself with my relatives as well as with me. I must pitch in and support him.”
“But, my kracious, Kraikory, what can you do? You're only fifteen years old. You couldn't earn more as tree or four tollars a veek if you vorked all de time.”
“Oh! yes, I could. You forget that I've been studying short-hand; and I can write sixty words a minute; and Mr. Marx will get me a position as a short-hand writer in some office down-town; and then I could earn eight dollars a week at least.”
“Vail, my kracious, dot's a faict. Vail, dot's simply immense. Vail, I'm mighty glaid now you kept on studying and didn't take my advice. Vail, ainyhow, Kraikory, you and him can go on living here by me, and den when you're able you can pay boart—hey? And say, Kraikory, I always had a sort of an idea dot I like to learn Frainch; and maybe he'd give me lessons, hey? Aisk him what he'd sharsh.”
“Ah, my Gregory,” sighed Uncle Florimond, “I am desolated. To become a burden upon thy young shoulders—it is terrible.”