“Think that’s right about young Ryerson, do you, Everett?”
“About his folks losing money? Yes, sir; I gathered as much from what he has told me.”
“Sorry to hear it. He seems a fine sort of a boy. Do you like him?”
“Yes, sir, I like Phil,” answered Everett decisively.
“All right. Why is it you see so little of him then?”
“Well, we don’t meet very often, sir, and he seems rather stand-offish; doesn’t appear to want to chum.”
“Of course he doesn’t. He’s a Southerner. I’ve met a good many of them. They’re as proud as turkey cocks. If his people have lost their money, why, he has got it into his head, I daresay, that you don’t care to know him. Now don’t let him think that, Everett. If there’s anything on God’s green earth I hate it’s that sort of thing. Don’t be a money-snob, my boy.”
“I don’t think I am, sir. It hadn’t occurred to me that Phil could imagine anything of the sort.”
“I don’t say that you are, Everett; but don’t let it look that way. Now you look him up when you go back Monday and don’t let him put you off; give him to understand that it doesn’t make a continental bit of difference to you whether there’s been an auction at the old homestead or not. Get him in here to dinner with you. If he’s down on his luck, cheer him up. Take him into Parker’s some evening and put some cocktails where they’ll do the most good; you may charge it to me.”