“Susan Howard,” returned Joel. “The Howards were a stuck-up set, grandmarm and all—not a bit like t’other side of the family. My mother’s name was Scovandyke——”
“And yours?” interrupted Durward.
“Is Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your service,” said the young man, rising up and going through a most wonderful bow, which he always used on great occasions.
In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, he said, “Can you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this Lucy Temple, your great-great-aunt’s daughter, would be to you?”
“My third cousin, of course,” answered Joel. “I figgered that out with a slate and pencil.”
“And her son, if she had one?”
“Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure—but enough to brag on, if they happened to be smart!”
“Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple’s son?” said Durward, to which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, “Wall, s’posin’ you du, ’twon’t make it so.”
“But I am, really and truly,” continued Durward. “Her first husband was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it seems.”
“Jehosiphat! If this ain’t curis,” exclaimed Joel, grasping Durward’s hand. “How do you du, and how is your marm. And do you know Helleny Rivers?”