“Yes, I wish you to do so.”
It ran thus:
Peter Brant—Sir: I have received your letter making an appeal to me in behalf of Ernest Ray, the son of my cousin. You wish me to educate him. I must decline to do so. His father very much incensed my revered uncle, and it is not right that any of his money should go to him or his heirs. The son must reap the reward of the father’s disobedience. So far as I am personally concerned, I should not object to doing something for the boy, but I am sure that my dead uncle would not approve it. Besides, I have myself a son to whom I propose to leave the estate intact.
It is my advice that you bring up the boy Ernest to some humble employment, perhaps have him taught some trade by which he can earn an honest living. It is not at all necessary that he should receive a college education. You are living at the West. That is well. He is favorably situated for a poor boy, and will have little difficulty in earning a livelihood. I don’t care to have him associate with my boy Clarence. They are cousins, it is true, but their lots in life will be very different.
I do not care to communicate with you again.
Stephen Ray.
Ernest read this letter with flushed cheeks.
“I hate that man!” he said hotly, “even if he is a relative. Peter, I am sorry you ever applied to him in my behalf.”
“I would not, Ernest, if I had understood what manner of man he was.”
“I may meet him some time,” said Ernest thoughtfully.