“My daughter, Mr. Warren,” (ah! now it is coming! thought poor Harry,) “my daughter, I am inclined to believe, has made great proficiency under your instruction—you have my thanks for initiating her into some of the more abstruse sciences which she never before attended to.”
Did Harry dream, or was the wrath of Mr. Lillie veiled under the most cutting irony! He could only bow, and smile “a ghastly smile.”
“And speaking of the Muses, my dear young sir,” continued Mr. Lillie, “I have just been amusing myself with a trifle—a mere flight of fancy—if you have a few moments leisure now, I will read you a few passages.”
Of course our hero considered himself favored—and accordingly with true bombastic style Mr. Lillie read several stanzas from the closely written pages of his poem. Never had Harry listened to such trash—he could hardly credit his senses that any man should be so inflated with vanity as to deem it even passable!
“Ah, it strikes you I see,” said Mr. Lillie. “I knew it would. Yes, I see it hits your vein exactly—this convinces me that our tastes are congenial.”
Again Harry bowed—not daring to trust his voice, he was forced to nod his head continually like a Chinese mandarin in a toy-shop.
“Mr. Warren,” proceeded the author, wheeling his chair round and regarding our hero with great benignity, “I have imbibed a great regard for you, and mean to make your fortune—to smooth your path to eminence. Yes, I like you, and am convinced there is no one more worthy than yourself to receive——”
Harry started—his face radiant with hope, he bent eagerly forward to catch the rest of the sentence.
“But, by the way, my young friend, this conversation must be strictly confidential.”
“Certainly, my dear sir!” exclaimed Harry, almost breathless.