"No, I'm hurt."
"I'm very sorry," said Henry, "but permit me to say that a man of your strength of mind shouldn't be hurt by a present disappointment that may serve to prevent a possible calamity in the future."
"High-sounding nonsense. I could pick up almost any bootblack and make a good business man of him."
"But you can't pick up almost any boy and make a good bootblack of him. The bootblack is already a business man in embryo."
Witherspoon did not reply to this statement. He mused for a few moments and then remarked: "If it weren't too late we might make a preacher of you."
Mrs. Witherspoon's countenance brightened. "I am sure he would make a good one," she said. "My grandfather was a minister, and we have a book of his sermons now, somewhere. If you want it, my son, I will get it for you."
"Not to-night, mother."
"I didn't mean to-night. Ellen, what are you giggling at?"
"Why, mother, he would rather smoke that old black pipe than to read any book that was ever printed."
"When I saw the pipe that had robbed Kittymunks of his coat," said Henry, "I thought of my pipe tied with a ribbon."