aken a studio in
Pimlico and furnished it, and as she had come of age yesterday, there
was really no more to be said. Ted, of course, would live with her, and
choose his own profession. But Ted's profession was not so easily
chosen. The boy had brought a perfectly open mind to the subject, and
discussed the reasons for and against the Church, the Bar, the Bank, and
a trade, with admirable clearness and impartiality; but when invited to
make a selection from among the four, he betrayed no enthusiasm. Finally
he was asked if he had any objection to the medical profession, and
replied that he had none, having, indeed, never thought about it. On the
whole, he considered that the idea was not a bad one, and he would try
it. He tried it for a year and a half, but not altogether with success.
He had been advised to take up surgery, for a great man had noticed his
long sensitive fingers, and told him that he had the hands of a born
surgeon. He managed to get through the hours in the dissecting-room,
standing on his head from time to time as a precaution against
faintness; but his heroism gave way before the horrors of the theatre.
Soon, with indignation naturally mingled with pleasure at this
fulfilment of its own predictions, the family heard that Ted had flung
up the medical profession. That the boy had the hands of a born surgeon
was considered to be an aggravation of his offence; it constituted it
flying in the face of Providence. When Ted drew attention to the fact
that he had passed first in Comparative Anatomy, his uncle James told
him that stupidity was excusable, and that his abilities only proved him
a lazy good-for-nothing fellow. He then offered him a berth in his
office, with board and lodging in his own house; and as Ted was in low
water, there was nothing for it but to accept. Mr. James Pigott remained
master of the situation, without a suspicion of its pathetic irony. Ted,
whose intellect was incapable of adding two and two together, had to sit
on a high stool and work endless sums in arithmetic. Ted, whose soul was
married _sub rosa_ to ideal beauty, had to live in a house where every
object had the same unwinking self-complacent ugliness, and where the
cook was the only artist whose genius was appreciated. Ted was a little
bit of a Stoic, and he could have borne the long impressive dinners and
the unstudied malice of the furniture, if only his uncle would have let
him alone. But Mr. Pigott was nothing if not con