"What can we do, Fitz?" she asked.
"What can we do, mother? That's the question. When I was in Summer Street, this evening, I thought I would call upon my friend Choate. Choate is a gentleman and a scholar—he is."
"Pshaw, Fitz!" ejaculated the poor woman. "Why will you talk about your friend Choate? He is not your friend. He would not touch you with a ten-foot pole. He looks down upon you from an infinite height."
"Not he. Choate always treats everybody like a gentleman. He always treated me like a gentleman. I believe in Choate—I do."
"It is ridiculous for you to talk about his being your friend."
"He is my friend in very deed. I called upon him at his residence, in Winthrop Place, this evening. He treated me like a gentleman. He was glad to see me. He shook hands with me, and welcomed me to his house, as though I had been the governor of the state. Everett was there, and Winthrop came in before I left. I heard them speak of Webster, and I suppose he was expected. I was introduced to Everett and Winthrop."
"You!" exclaimed his mother.
"I, mother!"
"Poor child, they were making fun of you!" sighed Mrs. Wittleworth.
"Not they. Everett bowed to me as gracefully as though I had been the President. Winthrop was a little stiff; but what did I care for him, as long as Choate and Everett were on good terms with me?"