“Do you know, we were thinking of that ourselves, Peter?” said Auntie Nan.
“A better chance,” the Ballawhaine continued, “of the few places open in the island than if he were brought up at the Manx bar only, which would cost me less than half as much.”
“Oh! but the money will come back to you, both for Ross and Philip,” said Auntie Nan.
The Ballawhaine coughed impatiently. “You don't read me,” he said irritably. “These places are few, and Manx advocates are as thick as flies in a glue-pot. For every office there must be fifty applicants, but training counts for something, and influence for something, and family for something.”
Auntie Nan began to be penetrated as by a chill.
“These,” said the Ballawhaine, “I bring to bear for Ross, that he may distance all competitors. Do you read me now?”
“Read you, Peter?” said Auntie Nan.
The Ballawhaine fixed his hollow eye upon her, and said, “What do you ask me to do? You come here and ask me to provide, prepare, and equip a rival to my own son.”
Auntie Nan had grasped his meaning at last.
“But gracious me, Peter,” she said, “Philip is your own nephew, your own brother's son.”