“Do you come from Wrenville?” asked John, interested. “Why, I've got relations there. Perhaps you know my cousin, Ben Newcome.”
“Is Ben Newcome your cousin? O yes, I know him very well; he's a first-rate fellow.”
“He isn't much like his father.”
“Not at all. If he was”—
“You wouldn't like him so well. Uncle talks a little too much out of the dictionary, and walks so straight that he bends backward. But I say, Paul, old Mudge deserves to be choked, and Mrs. Mudge should be obliged to swallow a gallon of her own soup. I don't know but that would be worse than choking. I wouldn't have stayed so long if I had been in your place.”
“I shouldn't,” said Paul, “if it hadn't been for Aunt Lucy.”
“Was she an aunt of yours?”
“No, but we used to call her so, She's the best friend I've got, and I don't know but the only one,” said Paul, a little sadly.
“No, she isn't,” said John, quickly; “I'll be your friend, Paul. Sometime, perhaps, I shall go to New York, myself, and then I will come and see you. Where do you expect to be?”
“I don't know anything about the city,” said Paul, “but if you come, I shall be sure to see you somewhere. I wish you were going now.”