"Slang again, Eddie," put in Flo.
"Yes. Edgar delights in these flippancies; his trade seems to induce that," said Mrs. Winton. "Will you pass your cup, Mr. Charles?"
As Henry handed his cup to Flo, almost dropping it in the excitement of being dubbed "Mister," Edgar took up his mother's words, and exclaimed, with simulated indignation:
"Trade! Who calls it a trade? Remember, mater, that journalism is a profession—the Fourth Estate!"
"There's not much profession about attending inquests on suicides, and writing about the drunks and disorderlies," Flo remarked, fearless of her brother's displeasure.
"Come, come now," interposed Mr. Winton, who had not spoken since Edgar broke in upon his remarks. "You mustn't give our young friend too low an opinion of his new business," and turning to Henry, he remarked: "It is your first appointment, is it not?"
"Yes, I have only done some odds and ends for the Guardian when at Stratford. Of course, I'm hoping to do some good work here, but we must do the small things before we are able to do the great ones, I think."
A long speech for Henry to make before company, and not performed without an effort.
"True, indeed, for only those who can do the little things well can do the great things well," was Mr. Winton's comment.
"And I was only joking," added Flo, looking archly at Henry, whose eyes immediately contemplated the lessening liquid in his cup. "Journalism is all very well, I'm sure, but newspaper fellows are so conceited that I think we need to take some of the side off them."