od deal of haughtiness, but they were not too proud to see the
representative of their family form an alliance with the Smitherses."

"When uncle had been sold up two or three times."

"Don't allude to such matters, Sydney, my child," said the lady,
sternly.

"Can't help it," grumbled the boy, sourly, as if his breakfast had not
agreed with him, consequent upon his making improper combinations of
carbon, acid, and alkali--"it stings a bit. The fellows say uncle
wouldn't have married you if it hadn't been for the dibs."

"Sydney, my dear boy, you can afford to look down with contempt upon
such evil, envious remarks. Your dear uncle fell deeply in Jove with
me, and I with him, and we are extremely happy. The only trouble I have
is to combat--er--er--certain little weaknesses of his, and yearnings
for the--er--er--the--"

"Turf, auntie. Yes, I know."

"The racing and the gambling into which he had been led by dissolute
companions. But enough of this, my dear. I find I am being
unconsciously led into details of a very unsavoury nature. Your uncle
is now completely weaned from his old pursuits, and happy as a model
country gentleman."

The "dear boy" winked solemnly at the bronze bust of a great
Parliamentary leader on the chimney-piece, and the lady continued--

"In a few days he will address his constituents at the head of the poll
as member for Deeploamshire."

"What price Watcombe?" said the "dear boy," sharply.

"I do not understand your metaphor, Sydney, my child," said the lady,
coldly.

"I mean, suppose Watcombe romps in at the race."

"Race! Oh, my dear boy, pray do not use that word. If you mean suppose
his adversary should be at the head, pray dismiss the thought. Your
dear uncle must win and take his seat in the House. Some day I shall
see his nephew, my dear child, following his example--the second baronet
of our family. Think of this, Sydney, and learn to feel proud of
descending from one of the manufacturing commercial princes of the
Midlands, whose clever ingenuity resulted in the invention of a
complicated instrument--"

"Improved devil," said the "dear boy" to himself.

"For tearing up old and waste woollen fragments into fibre and dust."

"Devils dust," said Sydney, silently.

"The former being worked up again into cloth--"

"Shoddy," muttered Sydney.

"And the latter utilised for fertilising the earth and making it return
a hundredfold."

"Gammon," said Syd.

"The wh