“All you have to do,” pursued Corey, “is to give him time, and he'll found a fortune and a family, and his children's children will be cutting ours in society. Half of our great people have come up in that way. Look at the Blue-book, where our nobility is enrolled; it's the apotheosis of farm-boys, mechanics, insidemen, and I don't know what!”
“But in the meantime this ancestor is now so remote that he has nothing to do,” suggested Sewell. “If you give him time you kill him.”
“Well, what do you want me to do? Mrs. Corey is thinking of setting up a Buttons. But you say this boy has a soul above buttons. And besides, he's too old.”
“Yes.”
“Look here, Bromfield,” said Bellingham, “why don't you get him to read to you?”
Corey glanced from his cousin to the minister, whose face betrayed that this was precisely what he had had in his own mind.
“Is that the job?” asked Corey.
Sewell nodded boldly.
“He would read through his nose, wouldn't he? I couldn't stand that. I've stopped talking through mine, you know.”
“Why, look here, Bromfield!” said Bellingham for the second time. “Why don't you let me manage this affair for you? I'm not of much use in the world, but from time to time I like to do my poor best; and this is just one of the kind of things I think I'm fitted for. I should like to see this young man. When I read in the newspapers of some fellow who has done a fine thing, I always want to see what manner of man he is; and I'm glad of any chance that throws him in my way.”