"There is nothing clogs a man so much as a brother of a certain kind."
"I take care that my brother does not clog me."
"I believe, Townsend, that you do." What did he mean by the inflection with which the words were uttered? "You are wondering why I talk to you like this. I will explain."
He took a sip from his glass. Then held it up in front of him, connoisseur fashion.
"I am something of a curiosity. I have lived my own life. In my way, I have enjoyed it. But I have one thing with which to reproach Providence. He has not bestowed on me a son." He emptied his glass. "Townsend, why don't you drink? I can recommend this port. Drink up, and let me fill the glasses." I let him. "That a son is not always an unmixed blessing I am aware. On the other hand, Dora has been a model child. Still, a daughter can hardly do for a father what a son can. So I still am hoping for a son."
What did the old beggar mean? He was still so long that I thought he had forgotten to go on. But I did not feel that it was my cue to break the silence. And at last he condescended to remember.
"You have in you the makings of the sort of son that I should like to have."
"I? Sir Haselton, did I not say you flattered me?"
"I hardly think I do. I think I know you pretty well. Dora seems to think she knows you even better." Now I began to see his drift.
"Townsend, what do you think of Dora?"