Randolph had expressed to his father in the morning an intention of calling upon Gilbert. His motive was not interest in our hero’s welfare, but curiosity to find out how he was situated, as indeed he freely acknowledged.
“I wouldn’t call if I were you, Randolph,” said his mother.
“Why not?” asked her husband.
“Gilbert will move in a different sphere,” said Mrs. Briggs, loftily. “I do not wish my son to form intimacies beneath him.”
“I don’t intend to,” said Randolph; “I want to see what sort of a place he is in.”
“He will be likely to presume upon your condescension, and boast of you as one of his friends.”
Mr. Briggs understood Gilbert better.
“No fear of that!” he said. “Gilbert is a boy of spirit. He is not one to seek or accept patronage. His pride is quite as great as Randolph’s.”
“What has he to be proud of, I should like to know,” said Mrs. Briggs, with a sneer.
“He is my ward,” said Mr. Briggs, stiffly, “and it is quite proper that my son should pay him some attention.”