"I'll make a tremendous charge; I'll earn a lot of money in a short time,
and we'll live on it."
"Well, I hope the opulent youth will be a dismal dunce--he probably
will--" Morgan parenthesised--"and keep you a long time a-hammering of it
in."
"Of course the longer he keeps me the more we shall have for our old
age."
"But suppose _they_ don't pay you!" Morgan awfully suggested.
"Oh there are not two such--!" But Pemberton pulled up; he had been on
the point of using too invidious a term. Instead of this he said "Two
such fatalities."
Morgan flushed--the tears came to his eyes. "Dites toujours two such
rascally crews!" Then in a different tone he added: "Happy opulent
youth!"
"Not if he's a dismal dunce."
"Oh they're happier then. But you can't have everything, can you?" the
boy smiled.
Pemberton held him fast, hands on his shoulders--he had never loved him
so. "What will become of you, what will you do?" He thought of Mrs.
Moreen, desperate for sixty francs.
"I shall become an homme fait.
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