“You're right there! I hope he has learned neither. I want to teach him those things myself.--He's not an ill-looking fellow!” “There's not a better lad in England, sir! If you had brought him up as he is, you might ha' been proud o' your work!” “_He_ seems proud of somebody's work!--prouder of himself than his prospects, by Jove!” said sir Wilton, feeling his way. “You should have taught him not to quarrel with his bread and butter!” “I never saw any call to teach him that. He never quarrelled with anything at my table, sir. A man who has earned his own bread and butter ever since he left school, is not likely to quarrel with it.” “You don't say _he_ has done so?” “I do--and can prove it!--Did you tell him, sir, you were his father?” “Of course I did!--and before I said another word, there we were quarrelling--just as it was with me and my father!” “He never told me!” said Simon, half to himself, and ready to feel hurt. “He didn't tell you?” “No, sir.” “Where is he?” “Gone to London with your bounty.” “Now, Simon Armour,” began the baronet with some truculence. “Now, sir Wilton Lestrange!” interrupted Simon. “What's the matter?” “Please to remember you are in my house!” “Tut, tut! All I want to say is that you will spoil everything if you encourage the rascal to keep low company!” “You mean?” “Those Mansons.” “Are your children low company, sir?” “Yes; I am sorry, but I must admit it. Their mother was low company.” “She was in it at least, when she was in yours!” had all but escaped Simon's lips, but he caught the bird by the tail.-- “The children are not the mother!” he said. “I know the girl, and she is anything but low company. She lay ill in my house here for six weeks or more. Ask Miss Wylder.--If you want to be on good terms with your son, don't say a word, sir, against your daughter or her brother.” “I like that! On good terms with my son! Ha, ha!” “Remember, sir, he is independent of his father.” “Independent! A beggarly bookbinder!” “Excuse me, sir, but an honest trade is the only independence! You are dependent on your money and your land. Where would you be without them? And you made neither! They're yours only in a way! We, my grandson and I, have means of our own,” said the blacksmith, and held out his two brawny hands. “--The thing that is beggarly,” he resumed, “is to take all and give nothing. If your ancestors got the land by any good they did, you did not get it by any good you did; and having got it, what have you done in return?” “By Jove! I didn't know you were such a radical!” returned the baronet, laughing.