He whistled a minute, and we studied each other’s eyes. “Well,” said Julian, “I suppose we owe everything to the old fellow, and if he is really coming we’ll have to prepare for him.” “Perhaps we better go out to the little farm,” I suggested. “Yes, I think we better. We’ll have to economize, to gratify all his fastidious tastes.” “I wish he’d sent word to you, instead of to me,” I burst out. “It’s your relation this time.” “Yes, I wish he had,” said Julian, smiling. “Are you glad or sorry, Julian?” “Glad, of course. But why didn’t you tell me before?” “How could I tell you what I didn’t know myself?” “Oh, it’s his fault, evidently,” said Julian. I began to wonder if Julian would not be a little jealous of T’férgore. As I had never seen T’férgore myself, I did not know what his aptitude might be at putting himself forward and eclipsing the master of the house. But I was glad it was Julian’s relation this time. We had had several of my kin living upon our hearthstone at various times, and though Julian was always kind, I think he undervalued the stock from which I sprung. He said I must have been changed in the cradle, for refinement was my natural atmosphere. I did myself feel a creeping of the flesh at brother Jack’s ways; but the dear boy had been brought up away from me, and his manners were not his fault. He had an affectionate and honorable nature, and soon quit spitting upon our Brussels rugs and hard finished floors; his English, however, was beyond all help. I loved Jack so dearly that it was a grief to me to see him falling to pieces in his clothes, and slipping up and down in shoes that were never buttoned. He frequently put his trousers on wrong side foremost, and came to me to help him hunt the pockets. With my own pin-money I bought him hats that must adorn his rosy face, but after he slouched out in them once they looked disreputable. His coat-sleeves hung over his dirty fists like a hackman’s. Whenever he passed through his room he left it as if it had been struck by a tornado. The earth adhered to Jack. Stray burrs and dumpings of gravel appeared by the chair where he sat to put on his slippers. He had no cattish horror of mud, and left the print of his foot on his napkin under the table. When Jack was partially dressed, he shouted for me, to the remotest corners, to come and button his sleeves and hand him his tie. The more fastidious our company, the louder would Jack bite his nails, while he sprawled like a spread eagle on the sofa, until every pause in conversation became vocal with that horrible cracking. He lost everything portable which was not tied or buttoned about his person, but he was always so good-natured about the losses it seemed stingy to regret the money it cost to replace things.