I read his rigmarole?
No.' Mr.Andrew shrugged his shoulders, and opened the letter, saying: 'Well, listen'; and then he coughed, and rapidly skimmed the introductory part.
'Excuses himself for addressing me formally--poor boy! Circumstances have altered his position towards the world found his father's affairs in a bad state: only chance of paying off father's debts to undertake management of business, and bind himself to so much a year.

But there, Tom, if you won't read it, you miss the poor young fellow's character.
He says that he has forgotten his station: fancied he was superior to trade, but hates debt; and will not allow anybody to throw dirt at his father's name, while he can work to clear it; and will sacrifice his pride.

Come, Tom, that's manly, isn't it?
I call it touching, poor lad!' Manly it may have been, but the touching part of it was a feature missed in Mr.Andrew's hands.

At any rate, it did not appear favourably to impress Tom, whose chin had gathered its ominous puckers, as he inquired: 'What's the trade?
he don't say.' Andrew added, with a wave of the hand: 'Out of a sort of feeling for his sisters--I like him for it.

Now what I want to ask you, Tom, is, whether we can't assist him in some way! Why couldn't we take him into our office, and fix him there, eh?
If he works well--we're both getting old, and my brats are chicks--we might, by-and-by, give him a share.' 'Make a brewer of him?
Ha! there'd be another mighty sacrifice for his pride!' 'Come, come, Tom,' said Andrew, 'he's my wife's brother, and I'm yours; and--there, you know what women are.