"Why—for money!" said the first speaker. "What an ado about nothing!"
"Inconceivable! Just imagine, George, a man who can sing as he does, teaching a, b, ab!"
"Well—imagine it," said George,—"and then you'll wish you were six years old to have him teach you."
"How cross you are," said his friend lazily. "And despotic. Was there nothing left of all that immense property? I've just come home, you know."
"Not much," said George. "A little—but Endecott wouldn't touch that—it was all put at interest for Miss Pet. He would have it so, and even supported her as long as she staid in the country. What he works so hard for now I don't understand."
"Works, does he? I thought he was studying for the church—going to bury himself again. It's a crying shame! why he might be member, minister, Secretary, President!"
"He!" cried George in hot disdain,—"he soil his fingers with politics!
No—he's in the right place now,—there's no other pure enough for him."
"I didn't know you admired the church so much," said his friend ironically.
"I don't—only the place in it where he'll stand. That's grand."
"And so he's at work yet?"