“But you can’t get your people in your lodgings to cook dinner for you,” said Harry, entering into this question with feeling, “they don’t know how--and then they won’t--they are dreadfully independent. So we have to do the best we can. And I am not like you, Uncle Henry; in your time I suppose the Joscelyns were swells? but they never were, you know, in my day. I was brought up like that.” “The Joscelyns of my time, Harry, would never have recognized themselves in your description. They would not have known what swells meant,” said Mr. Henry, rather severely; but he did not enter into details, for indeed, though they were “swells,” the living had always been very plain at the White House. Then there was a little pause, and Harry felt better after two or three of Mrs. Eadie’s cutlets. He said in a moment of repose, “I am going off, Uncle Harry, by the train to-night.” “Are you so? but what are you to do about your luggage? you can’t go without your luggage.” “But I shall--I’ll ask nothing. I’ll take nothing out of that house.” “This is foolish, Harry. You should rather take everything you can get; but, however, I hope I know better than to argue with an angry man--or boy. You are quite right to get back to your work.” “It is about the only thing I have got left,” said Harry, somewhat tragically. “And you could not have a better thing. But you will not always feel like that. If you would like it, though I don’t know that it is a very hopeful office, I would see your father, Harry.” “Nobody need see my father on my account,” cried Harry; his lips quivered a little, but nothing save wrath was in his face; “that’s all over. For my part I shouldn’t mind if it were all over together. I hate Liverpool just as I hate Cumberland. I have a great mind to go clean off--” “Abroad? and the very best thing you could do. Show yourself fit to keep up the credit of your employers abroad, and it’s the best stepping stone to advancement at home. I am very glad to hear you have such an enlightened notion.” Harry was not pleased to have the ground thus cut from under his feet. To be told, when you hint at what seems a desperate resolution, that it is the best thing you can do, is exasperating. He withdrew with dignity from the field and proffered no more confidence. The cutlets gave him a safer outlet, for though he was in trouble he was hungry. It was a long time since six o’clock; he had resisted Eadie’s offers of a “snack” between, and the cutlets, though very nice, were not more than a mouthful to Harry. Mr. Joscelyn trifled with one on his plate; but he supplied his nephew with a liberal hand. “I shan’t be here, I am afraid, to see you away. I am dining out, as I told you--it is unfortunate. But you are used to looking after yourself.”