A FAMILY COUNCIL
As soon as he was released from business, Tom Stanton hurried home to
impart the unexpected intelligence that his cousin Herbert had arrived
in the city. As might be expected, the news gave no particular pleasure
in the Stanton homestead.
“Did you tell him who you were, Thomas?” asked his mother.
“Catch me doing it!” said Tom. “I ain't quite a fool. I don't care about
owning any pauper relations.”
“He isn't a pauper,” said Mr. Stanton, who, hard man of the world as he
was, could not forget that Herbert was the son of his sister.
“He's the next door to it,” said Tom, carelessly.
“Thomas is right,” said Mrs. Stanton. “You may depend upon it, Mr.
Stanton, that when this boy finds you out, he will apply to you for
assistance.”
“Possibly he may.”
“I hope you won't be such a fool as to encourage him in his
application.”
“If he were in actual distress, my dear,” said Mr. Stanton, “I should
feel that I ought to do something.”
“Then you'd allow yourself to be imposed upon, that's all I've got to
say. There is no need of his being in distress. He is a stout boy, and
capable of earning his own living.”
“He might get sick,” suggested Mr. Stanton, who was not so hard-hearted
as his wife.
“Then let him go to the hospital. It's provided for such cases.”
“Is Herbert good-looking?” asked Maria, with interest.
“He won't get a prize for his beauty,” said Tom, disparagingly.
“Is he homely?”
“No,” said Tom, reluctantly. “I suppose he'll pass; but he's
countrified. He hasn't got any style,” and he glanced complacently
at his own reflection in a mirror, for Tom was vain of his personal
appearance, though by no means as good-looking as Herbert. In fact, he
was compelled secretly to confess this to himself, and for this reason
was more than ever disposed to view his cousin with prejudice.
“I should like to see Herbert,” said Maria, who had her share of female
curiosity, and thought it would be pleasant to have a cousin to escort
her round.
“Perhaps I'd better invite him round to dinner tomorrow,” said Thomas,
sarcastically.
“I wish you would.”
“Thomas will do no such thing!” said Mrs. Stanton, decidedly. “It's my
opinion that the less notice we take of him the better. Your father is
in good circumstances, to be sure, but whatever he is able to do, ought,
of right, to go to his own family. We don't want any poor relations
coming here to get their living out of us.”
“Just my sentiments, mother,” said Tom Stanton, approvingly.
“It doesn't seem quite right,” said Mr. Stanton, uncomfortably, “to
neglect my sister's child.”
“Don't make yourself ridiculous with your scruples, Mr. Stanton,” said
his wife. “It's the boy's duty to take care of himself. It would only do
him harm, and lead to false expectations, if we allowed him the run of
the house.”
“Besides,” said Tom, “I shouldn't want to have Tom Paget and Percy
Mortimer, and other fellows that I associate with, ask me who he is, and
have to tell them that he is my cousin.”
This argument had considerable weight with Mr. Stanton, who was anxious
to elevate himself in society, and looked with complacency upon the
school acquaintances Tom had formed with the scions of distinguished
families.
“Well,” said he, rising from the table, “let it be as you will. We won't
go out of our way to invite the boy here, but if he presents himself, as
he doubtless will, we must take a little notice of him.”
“I don't see why he couldn't have stayed in the country,” said Mrs.
Stanton. “It was the best place for him.”
“Of course, it was,” said Tom.
“He could have had no other object than to seek us out, and see what he
could get out of us. For my part, I would advise you to recommend him to
go back.”
“He has secured a place, it seems, and would not be likely to give it
up.”
“It's a great pity he should have got into the same counting-room with
Tom. He will presume on the relationship as soon as he finds it out.”
Mrs. Stanton need not have been alarmed, for Herbert was too
high-spirited to seek an intimacy where he had reason to think it would
be disagreeable. But his aunt knew nothing of him, and judged him by
herself.
“He's there, and it can't be helped,” said Mr. Stanton.
“At any rate, if he does stay in the city,” persisted Mrs. Stanton, “I
hope you'll give him to understand that he needn't call here more than
once in three months. That is as much as he can expect.”
“After all, he is my sister's son,” said Mr. Stanton. “I can't feel that
this would be quite kind in us.”
“Leave it to me, then. If you're too soft-hearted, Mr. Stanton, I will
take all the responsibility, and the blame, if there is any.”
“Well, I think you've said enough on the subject,” said her husband.
“Tom, run upstairs and bring me a cigar. You know where I keep the cigar
box.”
“You'd better send a servant, father,” said Tom, coolly.
“It appears to me you are getting lazy, Thomas,” said his father.
“Thomas is right,” said Mrs. Stanton. “What do we keep servants for but
to run errands?”
“Still, Tom might have obliged me in such a little matter.”
“You shouldn't have asked him, Mr. Stanton. You seem to forget that we
are not living in the style of half a dozen years ago. You should adapt
yourself to circumstances.”
Mr. Stanton said no more, but sent a servant in Tom's place. But he
could not help thinking that the outward prosperity for which he was
striving was not without its drawbacks, since it compelled him to look
to servants for the most ordinary services.
The next morning Tom went to the counting-room, fully expecting that
Herbert would claim relationship as soon as he discovered his name.
While he would be compelled to admit it, he determined to treat Herbert
with such a degree of coolness that he would take the hint, and keep his
distance.
When he arrived at the counting-room, Herbert was already there, and Mr.
Pratt also.
“Good-morning,” said Herbert.
“Morning,” muttered Tom.
“This is Thomas Stanton, your fellow-clerk,” said Mr. Pratt, the
bookkeeper. “I believe you have not been introduced.”
“Now for it,” thought Tom.
But rather to his surprise, Herbert made no demonstration, but merely
bowed slightly.
“What does it mean?” thought Tom, a little perplexed. “Is it possible
that he is not my cousin, after all?”
“I think you came from Ohio?” inquired Tom, impelled by his curiosity to
ask the question.
“Yes,” said Herbert.
“Why didn't you stay there? Couldn't you make a living there?” asked
Tom, not over-politely.
“Probably I might,” said Herbert, quietly.
“Then I think you should have stayed there.”
“Which do you like best, the city or the country?” asked our hero.
“The city.”
“So do I.”
“But there's a difference. I have always lived in the city.”
“I suppose boys often do come from the country to the city,” said
Herbert. “Was your father born in the city?”
“No,” said Tom, glancing keenly at Herbert, to see if he meant anything
by the question.
“Then it seems he must have preferred the city to the country.”
Tom had his share of curiosity. He knew that it would be better not to
pursue this subject further if he wished his cousin to remain ignorant
of the relationship between them. Still, he was anxious to know what
Herbert's actual knowledge was, and whether he would be likely to avail
himself of it. He was therefore tempted to say, “I suppose you have no
relations in the city?”
“What makes you think I haven't?” asked Herbert, looking at Tom rather
peculiarly.
“I don't think anything about it. I only asked,” said Tom, a little
confused.
“Yes, I have an uncle in the city,” said Herbert, quietly.
“Oh, indeed,” said Tom.
He said nothing more, for he felt that he might betray his knowledge of
the relationship unintentionally. Herbert's manner left him as much in
the dark as ever.
Mr. Pratt set Herbert to work on some writing, and Tom, also, was soon
busy. After a while Mr. Godfrey came in.
“Good-morning, Herbert,” he said, pleasantly, offering his hand. “So Mr.
Pratt has set you to work, has he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think we shall find enough for him to do, eh, Mr. Pratt?”
“Yes, sir, I think so,” said the bookkeeper, who perceived that Herbert
was in favor, and it was as well to fall in with his employer.
“That's well. How do you like your boarding place, Herbert?”
“It isn't a very nice one, sir, but it is as good a one as I have a
right to expect for the money I pay.”
“Come round and dine with us to-night,” said the merchant. “Mrs. Godfrey
will be glad to see you. I'll give you my street and number.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Herbert. “I shall be glad to accept your kind
invitation.”
Tom listened to this invitation with envy. Mr. Godfrey occupied a high
social position. Moreover, he had a pretty daughter, whom he, Tom, had
met at dancing school, and he would have been very glad to receive the
invitation which had been extended to “that beggar, Herbert,” as he
mentally styled him.