“Not I,” said Titus, contemptuously. “I think he’s a great, big fraud.”
The Judge sighed. Titus’s manner was cool, but he must be greatly stirred about the matter, for he was not stuttering at all, and at each reply he made to his grandfather he stepped slightly forward.
Finding himself crowded against the parlor door, the Judge opened it and went in.
“Grandson,” he said to Titus, who was still advancing, “I want you to do more good in the world than I have done.”
“I’ll be satisfied to do half as much,” replied Titus, dryly.
“You liked the boy when he came,” said the Judge, uneasily.
“I’ve never liked him for one single minute,” said Titus, striking an inlaid table with his fist. “I’ve pretended to like him.”
“So you pretend, too?” said the Judge.
“If I didn’t pretend a bit,” said Titus, energetically, “I’d be fighting from morning till night, with no stops for meals. Suppose I told half the fellows in school what I think of them?”
“Suppose I told half the men downtown what I think of them?” reflected the Judge, with inward shrinking.