“My son Bolingbroke informs me that you have manifested some interest in his future welfare, for which I am extremely grateful to you, Captain Gildrock. I hope you will be able to do something for him; for a word from you would secure for him a good place in a store,” said Mrs. Millweed, after she had succeeded in introducing the subject.
“I offered your son a place in my school for a year. If he is going to accept the offer I made him, I want him here at seven to-morrow morning,” replied the captain bruskly. “I don’t know any thing about him, and I can’t recommend him for a place in a store.”
“I don’t wish to make a mechanic of him,” protested Mrs. Millweed. “I am looking for something higher than that for him.”
“Do you think that being a counter-jumper is something higher?” demanded the captain, laughing heartily at the idea.
“I wish him to be a merchant; and I am sure that is higher and more respectable than a greasy mechanic,” added the lady with a sneer.
“Very well, madam: I cannot do any thing for your son,” added the captain decidedly. “There
are ten times as many clerks as can find places now.”
“I have never allowed my boys to work on the farm; and they haven’t acquired any low ideas,” continued Mrs. Millweed as she moved to the door, closely attended by Bolingbroke.
The visitors departed, and it was not probable that they would again darken the captain’s door.