“Is he a farmer?”
“Yes, in a way. He raises horses and pups and costly cattle.” Then, turning to Mr. Cabot. “It is the young man I brought into your office this morning, Jim.”
“Well, he is too beautiful for the country! If I could spend a summer near a face like that I shouldn’t care what the scenery was.”
“Is his name Amos Judd?” asked Molly.
“Why, yes. Do you know him?”
“I think I met him early this winter. His reputation is not the best in the world, is it?”
Mr. Fettiplace seemed embarrassed. He took a sip of wine before answering.
“Perhaps not. There have been stories about him, but,” and he continued with more than his habitual earnestness, “I have a higher opinion of him and would trust him farther than any young man I know!”
She felt, nevertheless, that Mr. Judd’s reputation might not be a proper subject for a young lady to discuss, and she remained silent. But her father was not a young lady, and he had heard nothing of the improprieties of the young man’s career. “What is his particular line of sin?” he inquired.
“He has none. At present he is all right; but at college, and that was five years ago, I am afraid he took a livelier interest in petticoats than in the advertised course of study.”