"An imbecile."
"So I see. But what connection has he with Lord Level's family?"
"He is a connection, or he would not be here."
"Can he be—be—a son of Lord Level's?"
"A son!" interposed the steward, "and my lord but just married! No, sir, he is not a son, he is none so near as that; he is but a connection of the Level family."
The lad came forward from the wall where he was standing, and held out his top to his old friend the doctor. "Do, do," he cried, spluttering as he spoke.
"Nay, Arnie, you can set it up better than I: my back won't stoop well, Arnie."
"Do, do," was the persistent request, the top held out still.
Mr. Ravensworth took it and set it up again, he looking on in greedy eagerness, slobbering and making a noise with his mouth. Then his note changed to a hum, and he whipped away as before.
"Why is he not put away in an asylum?" asked Mr. Ravensworth.