“Certainly—I respect his integrity, too—in fact, I appreciate all his good qualities, and only laugh at his vulgarity and foibles.”
“You intend to marry, Hycy?”
“Or, in other words, to call you brother some of these days.”
“And to have sons and daughters?”
“Please the fates.”
“That will do,” replied Clinton, dryly.
“Ho! ho!” said Hycy, “I see. Here's a mentor with a vengeance—a fellow with a budget of morals cut and dry for immediate use—but hang all morality, say I; like some of my friends that talk on the subject, I have an idiosyncrasy of constitution against it, but an abundant temperament for pleasure.”
“That's a good definition,” said Clinton; “a master-touch, a very correct likeness, indeed. I would at once know you from it, and so would most of your friends.”
“This day is Friday,” said Hycy, “more growling.”
“Why so?”