"I am Phil Courtney, the son of Squire Courtney, the president of the bank," answered Phil pompously.
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Brandon, in a tone of flattering deference. "I am proud to know you. You come of a fine family."
"Yes, my father stands pretty high," remarked Phil complacently.
"Really," thought he, "this man has very good manners, even if he has just come from the penitentiary. He treats me with a good deal more respect than Grit does. If I could help him to get the money I would."
"Not a man in town stands higher," said Brandon emphatically. "Are you a friend of my stepson?"
"Well, hardly," answered Phil, shrugging his shoulders. "You must excuse my saying so, but Grit hasn't very good manners, and, though I patronize him by riding in his boat, I cannot regard him as a fitting associate."
"You are entirely right, young gentleman," said Brandon. "Though Grit is my stepson, I am not blind to his faults. He has behaved very badly to me already, and I shall be obliged to require him to treat me with more respect. If he would only copy you, I should be very glad."
"You are very polite, Mr. Brandon," said Phil, flattered. "I hope, for your sake, that Grit will improve."