Mr. Ephraim Huxter, on perceiving Ben, wreathed his homely features into what was intended for a gracious smile, and, rising, took his nephew's rather unwilling hand.
"So this is Ben," he said. "Bless me, what a young gentleman he's grown, to be sure! Don't you remember me, Ben?"
"No, I don't," said Ben, but not truly, for he had recognized his uncle at first sight. Indeed, any one who had ever seen Mr. Huxter would be likely to remember his harsh features and ungainly form.
"It is your Uncle Ephraim," said his mother.
"Humph!" said Ben, not feeling it necessary to express any pleasure. With his improved fortunes, his pride had developed, and he had come to look upon his mother's brother as a low person, who was immeasurably his inferior.
"Yes, Ben has become quite a gentleman," said his uncle, surveying his broadcloth suit, and gold watch-chain ostentatiously displayed over his vest. "But I dare say he hasn't forgotten when he used to run round in a shirt and overalls, and hoed potatoes at three cents an hour."
Ben did remember distinctly, and the recollection was far from pleasing; so he thought it best to forget it.
"I don't remember anything of the kind," he said, rather roughly.
"I suppose you'd want to be paid better now, ha, ha!" said Mr. Huxter, laughing as if he thought it a capital joke.
"I don't know anything about hoeing potatoes," said Ben, haughtily. "I'm not a laborer."